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blackbird-brewster · 16 days

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Fireworks

Jay (transman JJ)/Tara || Rated: Explicit || WC: 1907 Fills: Vehicular (for @cmkinkbingo2024), Fireworks (for @storiesofsvu bingo), Trans Characters (for @imagining-in-the-margins pride challenge)

Additional Tags: Trans!JJ, Trans!Tara, Married Couple, New Year's Eve, Car Sex, Blowjobs, T-Dick

Tara gives her husband, Jay, a blow-job and a New Year's Eve he'll never forget.

[Read on AO3]

"Do you have any resolutions for the new year, Jay?"

Jay looked to his wife and grinned, "There's no way to improve my life, I already have you in it."

Tara shook her head with a soft chuckle. "Oh, you're so smooth."

He took her hand and pulled her into him. He was five inches shorter when they were barefoot, but tonight Tara was in heels so he had to press up on his toes to meet her lips for a kiss. When they parted, he watched her nose scrunch up the way it always did when she genuinely smiled, and even after being together for nearly a decade, it still made his heart skip a beat.

He meant what he said, there was nothing more in the world he could hope for. He had a loving wife and two amazing sons. Henry, who was in the midst of planning his own wedding with his boyfriend, and Michael, who was in his freshman year at PITT. Jay couldn't have been prouder of his sons, both in their achievements and for the way they handled his coming out and subsequent transition. Over the years, it just became normal to all of them and at this point, the boys were used to having two dads, Will and Jay.

Tara, of course, had been the keystone of support when her husband made the choice to transition. It wasn't necessarily a shock to her when he first posed the idea. Tara herself was trans, although she'd come out and transitioned long before they met, she held Jay's hand every step of the way and his transition only made her love him even more.

"Seriously, you don't have any resolutions?"

"Why would I? My wife tells me every day that I'm absolutely perfect already," Jay quipped.

"Well, you are," Tara chuckled as she leaned down to kiss him again. "I love you."

He muttered a reply "Love you too" as he kissed her deeply. his hands moved around her waist, hers around his neck, as they completely got lost in each other.

"Ugh, you two are too much," Emily joked as she approached the bar. "Making out like a couple of teenagers."

They parted lips at the interruption, but kept holding each other. Jay rolled his eyes. "Nah, if we were teenagers we'd fooling around out in the car instead. But you know all about that, huh, Em?"

She glared at him with pursed lips. "I told you that story in confidence, dude."

"C'mon, Emily. It's hilarious!"

Emily groaned, "Noooooo. I'd rather forget that ever happened. It was so many lifetimes ago."

Jay ignored her and turned to his wife. "So, when Em was a teen, she was kinda into this guy -- uh, shit, what was his name?"

"Stop it! We really don't need to rehash these details, Tara doesn't care."

"Oh no, now I'm intrigued," Tara replied. "Spill it."

Seeing she wasn't going to escape the situation Emily exhaled slowly, tossed back the rest of her champagne, then proceeded to tell Tara the story of the first blow job she ever gave when she was a teenager.

"Why is this a horror story?" Tara interrupted. "Sounds about like any sloppy teenage sex."

"Well, it was up until the end," Emily continued with a grimace. "Right before he was about to finish, the car started rolling backwards. Turns out, he'd forgotten to put the emergency brake on and we were parked on a hill. So he starts panicking and I tried to get my head out of his lap so he could worry about the car, and that's when I realised..."

"Her hair was stuck in his pant zipper!" Jay cackled.

"Oh god," Tara replied in shock. "What happened?"

"Well, luckily, the car came to a natural stop," Emily explained. "Unluckily, that stop was because it'd rolled backwards into a Polizia Municipale car. So, there I was with my hair stuck in his zipper, his dick in my face, and we'd crashed into a police car."

Tara cackled with laughter imagining the scene. "Okay, yeah, that is a horror story."

Emily stared at Jay. "I think you owe me a drink now."

He gladly obliged and bought all three of them another round. It was still two hours before midnight and the bar was lively with New Year's energy. He and Tara joined their friends on the dance floor for a while, before splitting off again to a secluded booth in the back to catch their breaths. Jay stared into his glass, seemingly lost in thought.

"You okay?"

He shook out of his daze and smiled at Tara. "Yeah, all good."

"Jay, you know you can't lie to me. What's on your mind, love?"

"It's kind of stupid," he leaned back, stretching his arms over the back of the booth. "But I was just thinking about Emily's story and I felt, I don't know... I guess I was thinking about how I never got to have those experiences as a teenager."

"You never gave someone sloppy head in a car?"

Jay shrugged. "Well, yeah, of course I did. But that's the thing, I was always on the giving end of it. I guess, sometimes I still get caught up on all the things I missed out on because I wasn't the man I am now when I was younger."

"Ah," Tara nodded in understanding. "I mean, it's never too late to experience those things."

"Tara, we're nearing our 60s," Jay reminded flatly. "I think we're well past the horniness of our youth."

Tara ran her hand up the inside of his pants under the table, whispering into his ear, "You sure about that, pretty boy?"

Just having his wife's hand ghosting up his leg made his cock twitch. With her other hand, Tara pulled out the car keys and dangled them in front of him with a mischievous grin. She kissed him deeply, moving her hand even closer to his growing erection. "I think, my new year's resolution is making up for all the years you missed out on, handsome. What do you say?"

He glanced around the bar, noting that their friends were all preoccupied and seemingly hadn't even noticed he and Tara stepped away. On one hand, what his wife was suggesting was downright juvenile, on the other, his cock was already throbbing at the thought. The latter won out and he swiped the keys and made a beeline for the front door with Tara in tow.

They slid into the back seat of their SUV and as soon as the door shut, Tara's lips were on his. She kissed him hungrily as one of her hands massaged his dick over his jeans. He moaned softly into the kiss, already completely hard and soaking wet from barely any contact. She'd always had this effect on him, just one of Tara's kisses could make his cunt wet enough to ruin his underwear.

Remembering Emily's story, Tara quickly pulled her hair into a bun before undoing Jay's zipper. She massaged his cock with the palm of her hand while her fingertips teased his opening over the fabric of his briefs.

His head lulled back as he braced a hand on the back of his wife's head. "Fuck, I want your mouth on me."

"As you wish." Tara replied. She the waistband of his underwear down to get to his erection. He'd had a fair amount of growth on testosterone and while it might not have been the biggest dick in the world, it was his dick and that alone made it Tara's favourite.

She leaned down and traced her tongue in a circle around it, teasing in the way he loved. His hand tightened against her head as he pushed her down further. She wrapped her lips around his dick and went to work, moaning nonstop as she sucked him off. He shimmied his pants an underwear down his thighs to give her better access and her fingers slid into his cunt.

He groaned from deep within his chest. "Fuck, baby, you're too damn good at that."

Tara laid her head in his lap, glancing up at him while her tongue swirled around his cock. She fluttered her long lashes as she took all of him in her mouth. She really was good at this. As his body changed during his transition, she'd spent time learning all his new erogenous zones, committing them to memory to drive him wild in a way that validated his new body and identity. She knew exactly where to touch, where to lick, where to suck. Tara was on the forefront of multiple fields of study relating to her career, but when it came to getting her husband off, she was the world's sole expert.

She took her time, knowing this was all about making up for missed experiences. Every time she had him on edge, she'd slow down, her fingers would still inside him as she changed to use broad tongue strokes to lick up his cum. She watched him the whole time, grinning the best she could with her mouth full of his dick.

Every place Tara's hands and mouth touched came alive with electricity. Jay's entire body was thrumming with pleasure. He slid Tara's dress off her shoulders so could fondle her tits while she continued. Every time he pinched a nipple, she'd whimper around his cock. So, naturally, he kept playing with her nipples until they were taut, just to enjoy the sounds she made. She was currently laying with her long legs tucked underneath her and he couldn't resit pulling up the back of her dress to slide his hand in her underwear and press a thumb against her hole.

"Jay," she gasped against his cock. "This is supposed to be about you."

He slapped her ass. "You know I can't keep my hands off you."

She shifted to pop her ass up more, glancing up to him. "I'm all yours."

She went back to giving him head with renewed fervor as he slapped and groped her ass. She slipped a third finger into his cunt and he groaned loudly. Tara knew he wasn't going to last much longer, she sucked the length of his cock in her mouth as her fingers fucked him harder.

His body went rigid at the exact same time the sky over the harbor suddenly lit up with the loud boom of fireworks. Jay grunted as he came, soaking his wife's hand with cum. Her long fingers slowed their rhythm, but never stopped completely. Tara kept stroking them upwards, accented with a deep thrust in time with each explosion. Her lips still around his cock, she continued fucking him throughout the fireworks display, until Jay was seeing nothing but stars.

He finally swatted at her when he was far too overstimulated to keep going. Tara granted him mercy and moved her fingers from his cunt to her mouth. She sucked them clean before leaned in to kiss him, using her tongue to let him taste the mix or her spit with his own cum.

"Okay, I fully support your resolution," Jay smiled as he pulled his pants back up.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, this year should definitely be spent making up for things I missed out on before I was truly me."

"The perfect resolution," Tara responded. She kissed him passionately. "Happy New Year, Jay."

"Happy New Year, Tara."

#criminal minds #tara lewis #jennifer jareau #jara #queerminal minds #cmkinkbingo2024 #kbdaybingo2024 #mentioningmargins #cm fanfic #my writing

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drabbles-mc · 9 months

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Latest & Greatest

Neil Fak & F!Reader

For @the-slumberparty's Bingo Challenge! Bingo square: family friend

Warnings: 18+, language, weed, pining if you squint

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: I finished yet another rewatch yesterday and I just love Neil Fak so much. So here we are.

The Bear Taglist: @withmyteeth @garbinge @narcolini @hausofmamadas @ashlingnarcos @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

It was impossible to hear much of anything with all of the chaos going on. There were at least ten different conversations going on, most of them being conducted by screaming instead of talking. On top of that there was the clattering of pots and pans, items being thrown and dropped, not to mention Donna’s slew of timers. The ringing was all so staggered that no one could keep them all straight, least of all Donna. It was bedlam, but they all knew it was coming, and year after year they all kept deciding to come back.

Because of all of that, Fak hadn’t heard his phone the first time it chimed when a text message came in. When the reminder chime rang, he was too deep in a yelling match with Richie to pay it any mind. It wasn’t until all of the people who were usually occupying his time were being occupied by someone or something else, that he took the time to check his phone.

“Still doing Christmas at the Berzatto’s?”

He smiled, completely tuning out the rest of it for a moment as he replied, “Fence in 5?”

The response was almost immediate. “Clock’s ticking”

You were already outside by the time he managed to escape the house. You were leaning against the fence that divided the back of your yard from the back of the Berzatto’s, arms rested on top of it. You couldn’t remember the exact year this became the meet-up spot for the two of you during the holidays, but it had stuck ever since. It gave you a breather from your own family, and it gave Neil a break from the Berzatto’s, not that he ever really seemed like he needed one.

Every year he was in a different flannel and sweater combo. You wondered if he and Theodore flipped for it each year to see who got to choose. Not that it really mattered much since they both ended up wearing the same thing regardless. One year you were going to have to weasel your way into going on that shopping trip with them.

“Can’t stay away, huh?” you said as he walked over to the fence.

He raised his eyebrows, laughing as he came to a stop in front of you. “You are the one who—”

“I meant from Donna’s,” you cut him off, chuckling as you nodded towards the house behind him.

“Oh.” He laughed and gave something of a shrug, not giving more of a response. There wasn’t really much more to say about it. He made himself busy, fumbling with the button on the pocket of his shirt. You didn’t say anything, just pulling your sweater tighter around you as you watched him pull a joint out of the small pocket. It was enough to send both of you into a fit of laughter.

“Saw Francie earlier when I went to the store,” you said with a chuckle. “Still on the no-fly list with Nat.”

Neil shook his head as he sparked his lighter, mumbling emphatically around the joint in his mouth. “Because of the fucking thing!”

You laughed. “Doesn’t help that she never said sorry.”

“Maybe she took your spot,” he said once he lit his joint.

“My spot?”

“On the no-fly list.” He took a drag before handing it to you.

You were laughing as you placed the joint between your lips. You inhaled deep before responding. “I’m on DeeDee's not Nat's.” You shook your head. “Pretty sure I’m fuckin'…permanently barred from entry.”

There was a beat of silence between you, like the conversation was about to take a heavy, serious turn. But instead you both broke down into fits of laughter. There was so much that could be said about Donna being the one that banned you from the holiday festivities, but you didn’t know if it said more about her as a person, or about you.

“You hated Christmas here anyway,” he finally said when the laughter had died down. Even as he said the words he still had that same goading smile on his face.

“Most sane people would.”

“You’re not sane.”

You handed the joint back to him with a roll of your eyes, “Sane-adjacent.” You paused, watching him pull another hit. “My mom asked about you, by the way.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “Bullshit. She did not.”

“She did!” You were laughing as he passed it back to you. “She asked how her favorite Fak was doing.”

“That does not mean—”

“And you’re my favorite Fak,” you kept going, talking over him the way you all always did with each other, “so by extension you’re also her favorite Fak.”

“What makes you so sure?”

You chuckled and shrugged. “’Cause I’m her favorite daughter.” A beat passed as you brought the joint back to your lips again. Your voice was slightly strained as you tried to talk without letting out your entire inhale at once. “So? What’s the latest and greatest?” You finally let go of the breath you’d been holding. “Catch me up on the last few months. What've I missed in the life of Neil Fak?”

He watched you for a second, staring at you as you stared down at the joint in your hand and tried to figure out how much more the two of you could even really get out of it. It was almost done, the rendezvous almost over.

“Got a new high score on Ball Breaker.”

You nodded, expression serious but the glint in your eyes giving away the humor of it all regardless. “Of course, of course.”

“The toilet at The Beef is still exploding every couple of weeks.”

“I think Richie breaks it purposely just so he can see you again.”

Another beat. Another second of you two staring at each other. Another shared fit of laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of that notion.

“How’s Ralph Squared?” you asked, trying to hold back just a little bit of your laughter over the fact that he named both his cats Ralph.

“Ralph are good! No escapes lately.” He tapped his knuckles against his head. “Knock on wood.”

Your smile was enough to nearly make your cheeks hurt. “Good.” You paused. “How are you?”

Fak shrugged and nodded. “I’m good.”

There was a look in his eyes that had you thinking maybe he wanted to say something more, but he didn’t do it. He wouldn’t. That’s not what these little meet-ups were for. These were for both of you to get some fresh air and something similar to silence after spending hours in your respective war zones. Granted, Christmas at the Berzatto’s made your family Christmas seem like a walk in the goddamn park. But you still enjoyed the breather. Still enjoyed leaning on the opposite side of the fence from Neil and smoking together like you were still in high school.

“Please,” you joked, “spare me the details. Don’t get too carried away on me now—I only have so long out here.”

He rolled his eyes at you, face turning pink in a way that you both simultaneously and silently agreed to chalk up to the cold. He snatched what little was left of the smoke from your fingertips and finished it off, both of you chuckling quietly at the petulant child-like nature of it.

“You know how I am,” he finally said with a laugh. “You?”

You sighed, dropping your head so that your chin was resting on your forearms, forcing you to look slightly upwards at him. “Still waiting for you to get out of Chicago for a week and come visit me!”

“It’s so far.”

“It’s not that far.”

“It’s pretty far.”

You rolled your eyes but you were still smiling. It was the same debate every time you came home. You weren’t actually that upset about it—you knew who you were dealing with after all. The Fak's and the Berzatto's weren’t the types to just up and leave Chicago. Even if it was just for a week.

“I’m just saying,” you stood upright, adjusting the sleeves of your sweater, “I’ve got a pull-out couch with your name on it.”

“I don’t even get a real bed?”

“I hardly even get a real bed!” you shot back with a laugh.

“That does not make me want to come and visit you more. Just saying.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’ll work on that.”

Before either of you could try and say something else to keep the conversation going, the screaming in the Berzatto house reached a crescendo, followed by the sound of shattering glass. Neil tucked his chin down for a moment, gathering himself up before heading back in to see what the damage was this time.

“I’ll let you go take care of that,” you said with a small laugh as you crossed your arms over your chest, the cold finally starting to get to you.

“I’m sure Mikey's got it all under control,” he replied, getting both of you to laugh.

“Mm, I don’t know, sounds like it might be A Fak.”

He laughed. “It’s always A Fak that’s why they invite us.’

You shook your head, unable to stop the smile on your face. “Merry Christmas, Neil. Tell Theodore I said the same.”

“And Francie?”

You laughed. “Sure. You can tell her, too.” You took a step back towards your parents' house.

He gestured to the fence. “Same time next year?”

You had to laugh. “I’m here for the rest of the week—I better see you again before I go. Preferably not in, you know,” you gestured to the fence again, “fuckin' no-man's land.”

“Pfft,” he mocked deep confusion and offense, “Do I not come when you call? Do I not respond when you beckon? It’s what I do—I show up.”

You laughed. “I’m just saying.”

“I’m hearing, I’m hearing,” he said, smiling as he started to make his way back towards the house. “Merry Christmas!” he called back to you once you turned around and started to head back to your own house.

You laughed as you turned just long enough to shout back, “And Happy Fuckin' New Year!”

#the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear fanfiction #fak #neil fak #neil fak x reader #neil fak x you #x reader #x reader fic #navy and roo's sleepover #navy and roos sleepover #slumber party #slumber party bingo #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc

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dragonflylady77 · 11 months

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First Lines of 10 Fics Game

Rules: share the first lines of 10 of your most recent fanfics and then tag 10 people. If you have written fewer than 10 fics, don’t be shy and share anyways :)

I was tagged by the lovely @callieb this time around.

1. definitely better than being dead (on Ao3)

When Billy comes to, everything hurts. He keeps his eyes closed, even though the space around him feels dark, and slowly takes a tally of where it hurts: hands, sides, chest, back, feet too...

He listens to the noises in the room and the regular beeping of a machine close by tells him he’s in a hospital.

Huh.

This is new.

Neil never lets him go to the hospital, not unless he absolutely has to, like that time before they left Cali—no, not thinking about that.

2. Steve's pick (on Ao3) (Billy Hargrove Bingo)

“So you’ll do it?”

Steve sighed, wishing his shift would end already so he could go home and crash, instead of listening to whatever issue Dustin had had with Mike fucking Wheeler. Again. He looked at the clock. Half an hour to go. Wednesday afternoon shifts usually dragged but this one had to be the worst one ever.

“Steve? Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, yeah, Dustin, fine, whatever.” He rolled his eyes, never happier that the shop was currently deserted. He guessed that everyone was at the movies, catching the new releases. Lucky them.

“Steeeeeeeve!”

Henderson’s whiny voice pulled him back into the present.

“Oh my god, what? I’m at work, you know that right?”

“I am aware. But I also know there is no one there. It’s Wednesday, Steve. So will you tell Mike you agree we should let Max in the Party?”

Steve heard the bell chime when a customer walked in so he looked up and who the fuck was the sex god who’d just walked into Family Video?

3. finding peace together (on Ao3)

Then one day Steve shows up.

Because there's nothing keeping him in Hawkins anymore and he's had enough of the cold and the monsters and he always wanted to see the ocean.

And slowly Steve and Billy become friends. And Steve is absolute rubbish at surfing but it's okay because every time he falls off the board, it makes Billy laugh.

And Steve comes to realise that's his favourite sound. He can't wait to finish work every day and meet Billy at the beach. He lives to hear him cackle when he gets rolled by a wave.

4. a frankly ill-timed visit (on Ao3)

Steve stretches as he wakes up, arm reaching beside him to find the bed is cold. He knows it’s not very late by the way the sun doesn’t quite reach into the room yet. Billy always gets up so early, even when they’re up half the night making love to each other.

Steve yawns and stretches as he finishes waking up. His body is sore in that pleasurable way that says ‘I had a really good time last night’. He can smell the enticing aroma of fresh coffee and slowly realises that the noise he can hear coming from downstairs is actually voices.

Plural.

5. never fall for a straight guy (on Ao3)

Billy is browsing the movies in the Horror section at Family Video, trying to find something Max hasn’t seen yet, when he hears Harrington whisper from the counter.

“You deal with him.”

“Steve…” Buckley whines and Billy moves closer to the head of the aisle so he can hear better, while still pretending to be oblivious and looking at the titles.

“No, Rob. I can’t. Not after…” Harrington stops and Billy feels a pang in his chest.

6. Steve can't take it anymore (on Ao3)

"I've been waiting to meet this King Steve everyone has been telling me so much about."

There's blood on Billy's lip and Steve wants to wipe it off with his thumb.

"Get out"

He presses two fingers onto Billy's chest and gives a little shove. The skin is soft. And warm. So warm even though it's October and Billy's shirt is unbuttoned.

Billy stares, his tongue coming out to wipe his bottom lip, murder in his eyes.

Steve can't take it anymore. If the guy is gonna kill him, might as well give him a reason to. So Steve gives into the urge he's been fighting since he saw Billy in the carpark on that first day of school. Before he can second guess himself, he grabs both sides of the collar of Billy's shirt, pulls him close and plants his lips on the other guy's mouth.

7. wake me up (on Ao3)

"Billy?" Steve wipes the sleep from his eyes and tries to remember where he is. He feels really good but isn't sure why.

His boyfriend's muffled reply provides an answer.

8. we talked about this (on Ao3)

“Oh my god, pretty boy, just fucking do it already.”

Max freezes in her tracks in front of Billy's door, the juice in her cup sloshing from the sudden stop.

9. only the best (on Ao3)

"Munson!"

Steve looked up when he heard the familiar voice. Wasn't he supposed to be at work? "Billy?"

Sure enough, Billy was making his way through the trees to where Steve was sitting with Eddie Munson.

10. DELIGHTFUL (part of my Harringrove Micro Poems series on Ao3)

Daily loving casual touches getting bolder

Envying other couples who don’t need to hide

Languishing to be away from prying eyes

Wow.

I have more I'm working on , including fics for @billyhargrovebingo and the fic for the @harringrovezine and my @harringrovebigbang fic too!

Watch this space!!

no pressure tagging @discodeviant @spaceofentropy @thissortofsorcery @intothedysphoria @half-oz-eddie

#tag game #10 fics 10 first lines #dragonflylady77

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damonjuicyscock · 2 years

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Pictures of You- Chapter 7 (90's Liam Gallagher X Reader)

Pairing: 90's Liam Gallagher X Reader

Warnings: Language, A bit violent, ANGSTY AF, Mention of alcohol, drugs and blood (yes, yes you read correctly), a bit of smut (it's a bit huh... well you'll see but even I cried when I wrote this part because it was hard to write), maybe a few spelling mistakes but I hope not.

Words: 2186

Summary: You're Oasis's official photographer. Things get complicated between you and Liam. So much complicated that maybe, you don't feel like you could ever be happy and don't deserve it.

A/N: Hello everybody ! Hope you're all doing fine. I invented a part in this (the gig, I didn't know what the setlist was). I'm sorry I didn't publish our weekly fluff or smut, but I was exhausted and I'll have to stop writing them until September, because I have classes to finish and I got a job. But don't worry, I'll still publish the fan fic, and I'll make it up to you in September by publishing two weekly smut for two months. I also have to take care of my mental health, I hope you understand. Anyway, this chapter is really hard to read and triggering especially in the end, so please prepare your tissues, and don't read it if you think you might feel triggered.

Enjoy !

(Liam said hello)

October 11th, 1995- New York City

Since I woke up in Liam’s bed, some things were starting to get different.

It was like Liam knew that what I said this day when leaving his room was absolutely false.

So now, instead of being an asshole to get to fuck le, he was playing the sweet old Casanovas to get to fuck me. Even if his ego and self-esteem were absolutely pissing me off, this other side pleased me, and oh fuck, I was falling for him slowly and dangerously.

This day, someone knocked at my hotel room’s door and woke me up. When I opened the door, a cute employee was holding a massive bouquet of red roses.

Good morning miss Y/L/N, I have this for you.

Oh wow! Let me help you, we’re going to put it on the table.

Once it was put on the table, I thanked him, giving him a tip.

I took a look at the bouquet, searching for a hint, but deep down I already knew who was sending them to me, because it wasn’t the first time one I was receiving.

That’s what I meant when I said Liam was playing the Casanovas to get to fuck me.

And bingo, I found an envelope with a word inside it. “One city, one bouquet, with love, Liam”.

I rolled my eyes in annoyment. I was annoyed but it was actually charming.

But it was time to have a little discussion with the said Casanova in chief.

I left my bedroom, only wearing my nightgown and went towards Liam’s room. I knocked at the door, and he didn’t seem to be alone, because I heard female moans.

I knocked harder and I heard someone open the door. His sweaty face appeared.

Am I bothering you? I said, sighing

Well yea, I’m busy, me.

Fucking someone?

Yea, the cute receptionist.

Then why the fuck are you sending me flowers? I said, starting to be angry

‘Cause I like ye?

Stop bullshitting me William! I shouted

And stop calling me like that, I already told ye!

That’s your fucking name! Go fuck whoever you want but stop sending me flowers!

Why? ye’re jealous?

Absolutely fucking not!

Then why are ye reacting like this?

Because you’re pissing me off, and it’s making me mad! Understood? You were right, I’m fucking crazy William and you don’t know what I can do okay? my hand fucking itches to slap you again and I will if you don’t fucking stop! I said screaming and laughing nervously at the same time

I shouted with all my lungs, spent all my energy and was as out of breath as Liam was.

Are ye done? He asked

Yes!

Good.

And just like this, he slammed the door in front of me.

I was really going mad. If Liam thought he could play with me, I would prove him wrong. He wouldn’t play this game for long. I hated this situation and I hated him, so much.

I lost control again and felt I wanted to break something. I could have if I didn’t forget the card of my hotel room inside of it.

So who’s the dumbass who had to go down to the reception still in her nightgown to ask an employee (who was the cute one again) to come and open the door for me? Me, myself and I.

When he opened the door for me, I thanked him again, embarrassed, and something I would never have suspected happened.

Are you… free tonight?

Am I… oh! Well, not until at least 23 hours.

23 hours?

Oh sorry, I meant 11pm.

Okay, I don’t mind, my service finishes at 10. Want to have a drink after?

Finally the cute employee was flirting with me.

It would be a pleasure…huh…

Frank, my name is Frank.

Then it would be a pleasure Frank. I said smiling

I’ll be waiting for you at the reception.

And I’ll be joining you there.

A bad day changing into a good one? I hoped. The other thing I hoped for was that Liam didn’t pay him for that. Because why would someone be with me anyway? There were my thoughts in 1995, because I was highly paranoiac. I’m still today, but far less than this.

During the gig, while I was taking pictures Liam’s look was insistent. I caught him during Columbia. It’s like he was singing to me and tried to send me a message. “I can’t tell you the way I feel way I feel, because the way I feel is oh, so new to me”. “This is confusion, am I confusing you?”

Then during Acquiesce: “I only want to see the light that shine behind your eyes” “Because we need each other, we believe in one another, and I know we’ll going to uncover what’s sleeping in our soul.”

Shakermaker: “Shake along with me”

Live Forever: “You and me are gonna live forever”.

It may not mean anything to you, but it really was a sign of something, maybe he really did like me? I was perturbed, I was lost. This man had something over me, and he just started, and it would never end.

After the gig, as planned, I joined Frank who eventually invited me to dine in a good restaurant. What I didn’t know was that I had been followed.

I understood it when I saw enter the restaurant with a brunette.

Oh fuck.

What is it? Frank asked

My boss is here.

You don’t seem to like him.

Well I forgot to tell you that I’m the official photographer of a famous band. And my boss is sat at the bar. Turn and look discretely.

He did as I said and got troubled.

Is that Liam Gallagher?

Yes it is!

You’re Oasis’s official photographer?

Happily and sadly, yes.

You don’t get along with Liam?

No, he’s an asshole.

Thought he was cool.

He isn’t. At least not with me. He was the one sending me the flowers. He likes to provoke me and piss me off. We hate each other and that’s why he does this. I’m practically sure he followed us.

Liam looked at us and sticked out tongue to me and I rolled my eyes.

Y/N, are you with me?

Yeah, sorry.

Do you want us to swap our places?

Please?

I don’t mind. It will allow you to truly be here with me.

And not to have this dickhead in front of me.

Liam stood the whole dinner. What was his purpose? What was he trying to do?

Frank and I got along quickly, learning to know each other, and during the dessert, he started holding my hand. That’s where it all went wrong.

Soon, I felt a hand slap my shoulder.

What do ye think ye’re doing?

Liam, for fuck’s sake leave me alone! I whispered

Nah, ye’re me girlfriend and ye have nothing to do here.

Oh yeah? Well first, I am not your girlfriend, second where is the bitch you were with earlier?

Gone.

Great dude. Now leave us alone or I’ll ask someone to call the cops. You’re harassing her, and this is illegal. Frank said

Ye shut the fuck up, it’s between me and me girlfriend.

I am not your girlfriend!

Frank got up and stood in front of Liam.

The smell of alcohol was strong, Liam was probably highly drunk, and it wasn’t the first time and wouldn’t be the last.

Leave. I won’t say it a third time.

And you all know how Liam is, he felt compelled to make a mess of things. Right after Frank said this, he was pushed on the table. He fell, knocking over cutlery, plates, and glasses, in fact, the whole table.

Liam! I shouted

Frank stood up, humiliated, but ran towards Liam, jumping on him, and they started to fight. Slaps over slaps, punches, strangling, kicks… And I couldn’t stop them. This time, I was the one humiliated.

I had my face in between my hands, I didn’t know how to stop them from fighting. I secretly hoped the restaurant staff would call security or something like that.

My wish came true when 2 muscled and hardboiled men separated them and threw them outside.

I paid the dues before leaving and finding them both outside, insulting each other, being held up by two persons so they wouldn’t fight.

Really? After what you both did, you’re still trying to fight? I said, angry and disappointed

Oh come on Y/N! You know he started it! Frank said

Yea, I started it because she’s me fucking girlfriend!

I don’t give a fuck who started it! For fuck’s sake, does any guy knows how to fucking behave?

Y/N, listen… Frank started

No, fuck you! both of you! And William, you can cure your wounds alone!

The young lad approached me, touched my shoulder with his hand, and he shouldn’t have.

I turned around and punched him in the face. To be clear, I punched his nose. So he was covered in blood, more than he already was.

I was already ashamed and feeling so enraged at the same time.

I left without saying anything, tears threatening to spill from my eyes. Liam was spoiling everything good that was happening to me.

It was 5am, I finally managed to sleep after drinking heavily, smoking joints and cigarettes, and it wasn’t something anyone would like to see.

And a loud boom was made against my room’s door.

Y/L/N, open the fucking door! A male voice with a strong mancunian accent shouted

As per usual, I crawled to the door, managing to grip the knob, and opened it.

Are looking to wake the whole hotel up Liam?

I need to talk to ye.

And I don’t, doesn’t seem like your fucking bloody nose was useful, maybe you want me to hit you again?

No.

Then fuck off!

But Liam was way stronger than me and found how to get inside my room.

What the fuck Liam?!

I swear that if ye don’t listen to me, ye’ll be the one getting a bloody nose.

Wow. I said, crossing my arms

Wot?

Well you’re just like him.

Like who?

Your father.

I saw his fists ball up.

Take this back right now. You don’t know what and who the fuck ye’re talking about. He said dryly

An alcoholic…

Stop.

And a wife beater.

I said stop! He screamed, threatening to punch me, tears invading his eyes

And you’re both cowards.

Liam approached me, and grabbed my neck, squeezing it. I was sure that if I said one more word, I’d be dead. And at this time, I was looking for it.

Do it Liam, strangle me… kill me… you’re dying for it.

And I broke something in him. He was so angry and crying at the same time. For the first time in my life, I had Liam fucking Gallagher wrapped around my finger.

His hate was powerful, as much as the smell of alcohol he had inside of his mouth. He was looking deep inside my eyes.

And who knows why, the second after, he had his lips crushed on mine.

I didn’t reject him. Instead, I bit his lip until blood spilled out of it.

As a reflex, he touched his lip, blood on his fingers, but kissing me again.

His body was fully glued against mine, and he took my thighs in his hands, gluing me against the wall. I could feel his hard-on poke against me, kissing me languorously.

I felt his hand go down between my legs, and he tore my undies off, undoing his belt, opening his trousers and boxers before slamming inside me without warning.

My mouth was filled with his tongue being mixed with mine; I couldn’t speak.

But I didn’t want this. I desired Liam, but not like that. Not as I was a prey being ready to be played with, killed, and eaten like a Lioness would do with a gazelle. His hips were rutting against mine in a savage and violent act.

I managed to pull my mouth of his, causing him to grunt loudly.

Liam, no, please, stop…

He kept going until tears started running down my face. He didn’t hear me but saw me.

He let go of thighs, letting me fall on the ground, against the wall, and he put his member back in his boxers, zipped up his trousers, and left my room, slamming the door, leaving me here, alone, and fragile against this wall and crying.

#liam gallagher smut #liam gallagher oneshot #liam gallagher fanfic #liam and noel #oasis band #oasis

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flydotnet · 1 year

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Bad Things Happen Bingo! The event where you send me requests according to this marvelous card! (Red cross is the completed prompt, character headshots are prompts I’ve already filled).

Papa’s a liar.

New fandom, new bazillion questions I ask myself about whether or not this is even worth finishing - and thenI do anyway because I'm stubborn and my card looks prettier with one more character on it. I'm not sure how I can still stress myself out over my characterization being at least serviceable when - and I counted - this is the fourth time I'm writing a new fandom with this card alone*. At this point, it's just to cause myself issues. Anyway! I love Twilight/Loid. He's the best spy of Westalis but he's also the dumbest idiot I've ever seen. My man buys his daughter a dog first because she wants it and then because something something Operation Strix. It was also funny to remove like 70% of his agency but that's because I'm a horrible person. And also it's fun. The prompt itself wasn't very fun up until I realized I could use "Crutches" as in both the actual item and emotional crutches - aka Anya and Yor, who are absolute units at disarming a spy, apparently! Have I mentioned I love this manga yet? I hope I don't regret this fic man

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Break a Leg, See If It Brings You Luck

Summary: It’s a good thing the only bullet he took was in the leg. It’s an easy thing to take care of and hide for the most part – far easier than on the chest or back, at the very least – as long as one finds a way to justify the slight limp it may carry with it, they’ll find themselves doing just fine.

Except this just had not to be an ordinary gunshot wound. No, the bullet just had to strike in right the perfect way to fracture the femur.

This is going to be a very long month.

Fandom: Spy x Family Characters: Loid, Anya and Yor Forget, the whole fam’s here (with a cameo from Bond too!) Ship: The eternally mutually pining TwiYor, you know how it is

Wordcount: 2.5K words

Event hosted by @badthingshappenbingo

AO3 version.

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Getting shot at is nothing new. It comes with the job, one could say: dismantle a smuggling network, or fight off human traffickers and you have a good 90% chance to get attacked with firearms in retaliation. In fact, it’s an exception when you’re not – which has also happened to him, of course – so you must be prepared to patch up a gunshot wound in case thing take a turn for the sour.

He’s not above admitting, at least to himself, that he’s sometimes not been able to avoid bullets as well as he should’ve. Most of those times are so long ago that the details of it are starting to lose their edge (kind of like him, at the moment, and he still has to take care of that issue too…), but they’ve all reminded him that, in the end, they’re simply bigger flesh wounds: they merely require a bit more tending to than your regular scratch or cut.

A bullet fracturing the femur is a new one, though, even to him.

What’s also new to him is the dependency that comes with such a fracture. Despite his best efforts, he didn’t manage to pretend like it didn’t exist in front of his fake family. He should’ve seen it coming, in retrospect, considering how much of his edge he keeps losing in front of both fake wife and fake daughter – but to Anya’s credit, she seemed to have realized on her own even before he could lie to her about this not being a big deal.

Sometimes, he wonders about the sharpness of this little girl’s instincts. For a child whose grades in school are nothing to write home about, she’s able to get through most of his smokes and mirrors, as if she could read what he meant to hide behind them. It’s… surely just his edge getting dull, though. What else could it be, huh? Surely this child who he found in some dump-like orphanage that barely deserves the name of one doesn’t read minds.

(If she somehow does, then Twilight must apologize, because exposing such a young girl to spy affairs could be considered child cruelty, he’s certain).

At least, it’s perhaps the easiest gunshot wound in the world to explain. After all, breaking a leg can happen for a wide variety of reasons and he doesn’t have to blame a crazed patient to get away with it. It made him look somewhat stupid when he had to tell both Anya and Yor that he had tripped in the stairs because they had just been washed and he had conveniently forgotten about that, slipping on a step and tumbling down the stairs. (As long as neither of them sees the bullet-shaped hole under the cast, it’s fine).

On the flipside, it’s handicapping him more than a regular bullet hole in that area. A bone takes longer to heal back to usable capacity than flesh and skin. That’s not even getting into the fact it’s his right leg that he can’t walk with: it means he’s even limited in his movements. A broken arm, as bad as it is, at least doesn’t prevent him from running and shooting; a broken leg, on the other hand, severely limits his options for walking and, by virtue of doing so, also prevents him from using his arms when moving around.

Crutches are a pain. How did he even forget?

Having to use both arms to move an immobile leg means he can’t even take care of chores at home, despite those being the only thing he has to worry about at the moment, aside from Operation Strix: WISE, for once, gave him time off from his usual missions, albeit only because he physically can’t handle them, he’s sure). He can’t cook dinner, he can’t walk Anya to school, he can’t walk the dog—

“Papa, can I walk Bond today?”

He jumps – he really needs to stop losing himself in thoughts, this is smoothing his edge – and faces a concerned-looking Anya.

“We should wait until your mother is home, Anya. You’ll get carried away by his strength.”

“Mama said she’d come back super late from work today,” Anya replies.

That’s true, yes. Yor proposed to stay home and take care of housework for him, but he refused. His broken leg shouldn’t impede on her professional life. Still, this is an issue, and the fate of his undercover operation relies on Bond being happy… Right!

“I could ask Franky to take care of Bond.”

“Yay, Uncle Scruffy to the rescue!” Then Anya freezes. “But, Papa, how are you gonna use the phone? You can’t stand up and use the phone at the same time!”

Dammit, she’s right… Well, partially, at least. He’s not that powerless, is he now?

“I assure you, Anya, I can maintain my balance on one foot and use the phone with my available hand.”

“That sounds dange’ous, Papa.”

Well, it’s not like he didn’t portray himself as a klutz no later than yesterday, he supposes.

“It’ll be fine.” She looks around for a moment, then walks to the phone. “What’re you doing, Anya?”

“I’m calling Uncle Scruffy!”

“What did I just—”

Anya, ever the free soul, grabs a chair and, with every single fibre of strength in her tiny body, puts it next to the phone.

“Papa?”

He sighs as he grabs the crutches at the foot of the couch.

“How do you use a phone again?”

With an annoyance he can’t even bring himself to hide (he doubts Anya would be convinced he doesn’t hate having to rely on sticks to walk around anyway), he gets up, sighing. Walking on those things is more tiring than it should be allowed to be.

“Let me at least input the number before you try calling at random, Anya.”

This is going to be a very tedious month, he can already tell – and it’s only been two days.

If you put it in a certain way, this entire fiasco benefits Operation Strix. Sure, it’s at the detriment of every other mission WISE is on, which means it’s detrimental to the peace between East and West because he’s stuck on pretending to be a psychiatrist (driven to work by his wife, of all things) and paperwork duties; but it means he can decipher documentation that may’ve taken longer to getting understood and he can watch over Bond. After all, the dog is part of the family, so taking care of him and making sure he’s well-fed and happy is of primordial importance.

(Maybe less so than Anya’s grades or his cover as a psychiatrist with patients so violent one has to wonder how it’s even possible, but important nonetheless).

Anya seems happy that “Bond has a friend”, at least, and to be fair, at least, the dog doesn’t ask about if he should be moving around the place, unlike Anya and Yor and every single one of his fake and real workmates. Maybe, if he could talk, Bond would ask to; but as it stands, Twilight doesn’t speak dog and Bond doesn’t speak human, so it’s fine.

In that way, it makes interacting in woofs a much better thing than constantly telling Yor that, no, he’s fine, just moving slowly compared to usual (and not having his hands free for most of it).

Do crutches really make you look that much like an invalid? When he listens to her, Twilight can’t help but think he’s actually lost his damn leg when, no, Anya just keeps asking if she can draw on his cast –he keeps telling her no, but each time comes out with less strength than the previous one, it’s a war of attrition and the child is winning – and it’ll be fixed. He’s not even tried walking on the damn thing (from experience, it only works when you’ve got enough adrenaline to cover up most of the pain).

Since coming back home with that gunshot wound (which, he’ll admit, he did underestimate quite a lot), Yor has been more insistent than ever on handling any chore that isn’t cooking, insisting she must get the groceries and see Anya off every day to school, among a shopping list of things Twilight isn’t even sure they’ve actually done at (Loid Forger’s) home like dusting bedsheets outside.

Yor’s help at home, as excessive as it is at the moment, is good for Operation Strix: it makes their fake marriage seem this much more realistic to outsiders, as Yor is regularly seen shopping for groceries with or without Anya, while giving him more time to gather intel for other WISE agents. These past few days, he’s been able to crack about a dozen ciphers that had been bothering the agency, catch three secret correspondences between Ostalian pro-war factions and repair very exactly fifteen tears in Yor’s and Anya’s clothes.

This is less of a net negative than expected; Twilight’s sure of it.

Still, he should set things straight with her again, and he has the perfect opportunity: Anya is sleeping at Becky Blackbell’s mansion today, which she referred to as “a mission for Papa’s peace” (she really must love spy cartoons), so it’s only Yor and him at home tonight. He was supposed to have a side-mission, but it got cancelled due to those same unforeseen circumstances that have been biting at him all week – and no matter how much he tried to insist, Handler refused to let him take care of it. Training to be able to conduct an operation while having one leg amputated really had no use, it seems.

Yor is also available, which is very convenient, in this case. They decided, like most of the time these days, to order something and eat it at home. To his misfortune, and almost as a bad omen, as soon as he goes to grab his crutches from the side of the couch, Yor picks him up like a glass statue of some kind and sits him to the table, going as far as to slide the other side to put his leg on another chair.

This really isn’t starting the right way.

They both pick at their dish until, finally, he decides enough is enough. He won’t be dependant on human crutches, be it a young girl or a strong woman who can absolutely bench-press over twice his weight.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with doing everything around home, Yor,” he tells her in almost a clinical tone.

She, however, stares right back to him like it wasn’t obvious.

“But you’re…”

“Partially incapacitated, I know. I wish to assure you, this isn’t as cumbersome as it looks.”

She looks down, eyes fluttering and cheeks reddening.

“But, Loid… I’ve seen how frustrated it’s made you to… have to compose with this.”

“It’s nothing I can’t manage, I assure you.”

A heavy silence settles between the two of them, only broken by bites of food and sips of water. It’s a deeply uncomfortable one – which Twilight rationalizes as silence never being a good sign for spies. Something about calm itself being a sign a threat is hiding beneath the surface. Yes, something like this, not about how he seems to have let Yor down or made her feel uneasy… (Uncertainty is also a lethal enemy).

In the end, she breaks the silence, fiddling with the hem of her red sweater (which matches her eyes oh so well – no time to think about that, Loid).

“I don’t mind, you know… In fact, I really like it! I’ve always liked helping people, I suppose, but it feels… different, when it’s you.” Her cheeks grow red as a poppy. “U-unless you really mind, of course! Then I can just let you be or wait until you really need something from me!”

Loid sighs. How is he supposed to say no to this, really? This is going against everything he’s ever learned, and yet he finds himself walking headfirst into it. Dangerous business, really. (The blur of mask and reality should worry him much more than that).

“I’d usually prefer handling myself, but if you say it doesn’t bother you, then I don’t think I can quite go against it.” He clears his throat to regain some seriousness. “Albeit, I don’t want it to be a burden on you. Think of yourself first.”

“Oh, of course! You’ll probably still have to at least help with dinner, but don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything else!”

She didn’t quite get what he meant, he’s pretty sure, but she’s got the spirit.

Crutches really are a spy’s worst hurdle to overcome.

There’s this one sentence that keeps getting on his nerves, no matter how he thinks about it.

Oh, no, let me take care of this for you!

And there’s this other sentence that triggers… something within him that he doesn’t quite get, but which doesn’t feel bad per say.

Oh, no, Loid, let me take care of this for you!

…wait. They sound the same.

Yor is nothing if not well-meaning (and a special brand of impossible not to stare at) but having to rely on her has felt horrible all week and he’s not sure of how much longer he can last with her insisting to do anything for him, from cooking to taking care of Anya, without forgetting driving him up to work (and that still stings). The feeling grows worse with each day passing too: like a poison, it sinks into every last cell it touches, no matter how unrelated, and it makes hard to focus on ciphers and intel gathering.

Loid Forger’s a lucky man, Twilight supposes, to have such a caring spouse ready to help him with so much for something as little as a broken leg and what it causes. Loid Forger, in fact, must absolutely relish in being able to take a break from violent patients and working graveyard shifts every single night of the week. Twilight? Not so much.

He thinks.

Maybe.

Okay, truth be told, he needed the break from the late-night, about-to-get-shot-multiple-times missions. He had already thought about it even before getting shot in the femur, but this has only confirmed his need for a breather, no matter how short. This, of course, comes at the price of his peace of mind, because he shouldn’t be taking it easy while WISE is going through such an intense staff shortage, but it does come with the main perk of not wavering on his feet so frequently.

Relying on civilians still doesn’t sit right with him but considering he too can’t sit properly at the moment, it may sound hypocritical of him (who is he kidding? He’s always a hypocrite, it comes with being an undercover agent and like a second nature to him). Some part of him doesn’t even hate it, per say; being able to spend time with Anya and Yor, not having to manage everything, taking his time… It doesn’t sound so bad. It goes against everything he’s ever known, but it feels… maybe not quite right, but quite agreeable. Or, at least, less uncomfortable than anticipated.

He’s even sure letting Anya draw on the cast was a good thing for Operation Strix. It makes him look like a good family man, which he needs for the sake of the mission.

This… might not just be about Operation Strix, though.

Just might.

#bad things happen bingo #spy x family #loid forger #anya forger #yor forger #crutches #dont be scared by the tag this is fluff #bthb #this is all for operation strix y'all

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sketchguk · 26 days

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these hc's are abt some jungkook and mc meetings when mc was still with taehyung. at this party , mc was trying to get something from a vending machine but it stopped working and so she kicks it but very weakly bcuz she's scared of ruining it ( she's the cutest ) . jungkook leans from the staircase and is like , damn these things keep eating our cash huh. and he comes down and asks and tries to help. When he's doing that he starts joking abt how mc's kick wouldnt have done anything bcuz it was so weak ........ and mc would be like, hey !!! dont make fun of me. and jungkook would say he can tease her bcuz he knows about kicks. ( he plays football YES HE'S A JOCK !!! ) they laugh and then mc says he should go and have fun . she would get a drink from the kitchen instead. but jungkook will be like, Hey thats ok, and i am having fun . MC would be feeling something bcuz he says it soooo sincerely . and then the machine works and two cans would roll out! he'll give them to mc but she will be like, UH that ones not mine. so jungkook will be like, Oh ... and then he';; say "maybe we can finish it together??" and before mc responds taehyung would enter the scene saying "there you are, you need to come out and see this ..." and mc would look at jungkook and jungkook would give her the other drink and say "or you can just keep it haha" taehyung would pull her out and while leaving mc will turn back and be like, thanks jungkook ! so that's just an hc about how sweet jungkook is and how mc thinks jungkook's eyes looked so pretty when he told her he was having fun with her <3 and jungkook wanted to spend that evening with her if taehyung has not dragged her out <//3 I will send another hc tomorrow or whenever to get to this one! have a nice day <333

jungkook au anon here again , i Just forgot to respond to what you asked about jungkook being insecure , LIKE YES OFCOURSE HE IS ! That's the whole point of the white lotus story and other than that, they even go on vacay to this place like the one on in the soop and mc goes along with the boys. So there's a lot of situations where jungkook feels veryyyyy insecure especially because tae's right there.

JUNGKOOK IS A FOOTBALL PLAYER?!!!! (aka soccer, sorry i'm american. it's my fatal flaw). he is so hawt and segsi <33 i adore him with all my heart. i hope he teaches her how to kick a ball around heheh. taehyung better be there to witness it too >:( (maybe they're having a boys night , and jungkook isn't even hanging out with the members. rather, all his attention is on mc. all the boys wanna gag because they're being lovey dovey like in the early stages of a crush loll). also, mc is so adorable with her weak, little kick LOL

why is he the absolute sweetest boy :'(( they don't make boys like him irl !! their banter is so adorable. of course he's having fun chatting her up !!! the most fun he could ever have !!! before he was c*ck blocked >:( what did taehyung want to show her? it couldn't have been THAT important 🤔

also !!! i watched the first season of white lotus but it was a lil slow to me. i know you said your head canons are based on season 2, but i have this incessant need to watch things in order LOL (even the seasons aren't related). i think i'm 3 episodes into s2, but i got a little busy !! it's definitely more interesting than s1 to me. seeing theo james naked was not on my 2024 bingo card....

I LOVEEEE reading aus where they go on vacation !! whether it's a winter cabin for the weekend or a beach house in the summer :')) there are so many different possibilities for the plot !!! tell me more ! tell me more !

what would jungkook typically do when he gets jealous??? would he stay quiet and walk away?? is he gonna stand up for himself and get the girl of his dreams?!!!

#ask #anon

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italeean · 2 years

Text

Silent treatment gone wrong

Sequel to this fic. Akutagawa keeps his promise and starts giving his boyfriend the silent treatment. Unfortunately, Atsushi comes up with a plan way too quickly

NOTE: It appears that I'm currently obsessed with Bungo Stray Dogs (even though I finished it some time ago already, don't judge me pls, I just keep getting inspired)🌸 Comunque, passiamo alle cose importanti (Anyway, let's get to the important stuff), today I wanted to write again about my kinnie in this series, the one and only Akutagawa, and my favorite ship. I hope you enjoy, every form of support and/or suggestion means a lot. Take care!! 💚🤍❤️

DISCLAIMER: This is a tickle fic, if it's not to your taste I don't suggest you read it

This is the most embarrassing situation ever. This was Akutagawa's first thought when he came back to the land of the living from his peaceful slumber. He'd felt something warm close to him and his first instinct was to scoot as close as possible to it, until he realized that it was his boyfriend, the one he was supposed to ignore for a week.

How could have he gone from 'I'm not talking to you for a week' to nuzzling closer to him with the outmost affection? Atsushi seemed still asleep, so he still had time to save his situation. He managed to get up quietly and go to the kitchen, leaving his lover still in dreamland.

After a little more than an hour, Akutagawa heard the sound of approaching steps and was greeted by a slightly sleepy Atsushi. "Good morning Akutagawa" he said with a warm smile, but he met the coldest reaction ever. Pure silence and just a glare from his boyfriend.

However, the weretiger wasn't that naive and noticed a faint blush straight away. From experience he also knew that the taller guy wasn't mad at him, he was more like grumpy (which he found really adorable).

"Aku-chaaan, is there something wrong? What did I do?" Atsushi opted for an aggressive tactic, giving his lover the best sad expression he could. The Rashoumon holder didn't fall for the trick and simply turned away, carrying on his 'silent treatment policy'. However, he underestimated the tenacity of his partner, who clung onto him the whole day. Also, they both didn't have work that day, how convenient.

“Aku-chaaan” I made lunch, do you want to eat?” when the Mafia executive came to the kitchen, he found his favorite meal and his favorite movie on the tv. The table was meticulously set and the meal sure took time to be prepared, so Akutagawa felt bad at the thought of ignoring the sweet gesture, which is why he sat at the table and ate with his lover. However, he didn’t say a word the whole time and then left.

Atsushi’s next move was starting a playfight with him, which was a total fail. When he tried to initiate it, the Rashoumon holder just used a basic self-defense move, pinned him to the wall, gave him a death glare and left.

“Ryuu-chaaan... can we cuddle on the couch for a bit?” this time Akutagawa actually looked like he was debating whether to give in or not. He even seemed a bit flustered by the cuteness of his partner, huddled up on the couch with a blanket, giving him the best puppy-dog eyes ever. The weretiger thought bingo... or maybe not. The taller one scuffed, then shrugged and left again.

After an hour more or less, Akutagawa started to feel guitly for ignoring his lover like that, so he went back to the living room, where he found Atsushi asleep on the couch, looking more peaceful than ever. The Mafia executive didn’t even try to hide the fond smile that made his way through his usually serious expression and caressed the detective’s hair, only to find his arm snatched and pulled forwards, causing him to fall on the couch.

After a short fight, he got pinned down by a way-too-smug Atsushi, who immediately proceeded to say “You really can’t tell if people are asleep or not, huh? You made the same mistake this morning...”

The taller one kept saying nothing, but his expression was far more eloquent than any word. HE’D BEEN AWAKE THE WHOLE TIME?! was the thought that crossed Akutagawa’s mind. So everything Atsushi did wasn’t an attempt to apologize, but to make him give in! Given the new information and his current situation, the Mafia executive started to sense the danger.

And, oh boy, he was right. His partner started digging in his sides with a purpose, trying to get a reaction out of him. At first it seemed like he wasn’t succeeding, since Akutagawa managed to (barely) control his laughter, but when he switched from digging to scribbling, the dam started breaking.

“Come ooon... laugh, we both know you want it” Atsushi’s words weren’t exactly helping and eventually some squeaky giggles started to pour. “Hahahahahahahha stop stuhuhupid Jinkohoho” the damage was done. “Finally! Are you ready to end the silent treatment, Ryuu-chan?” hearing that nickname, the Mafia executive quickly became beet red “Shuhuhuhuhuhut up” he tried to exclaim while laughing, only to get the opposite reaction.

“You wound me, love, how can you say such a thing?” the weretiger asked dramatically before moving up to the ribs for good measure, claiming that ‘someone needed a little attitude adjustment’. “Waaahahahah nahahahahahat theheheherehehe” it was almost cute seing the usually stoic guy being so helpless, and the fact that he wasn’t even trying to get away was even cuter.

The detective didn’t want to go straight for the death spot this time, so he tried squeezing and poking Akutagawa’s thighs and knees, noticing how the first spot elicited some lower-pitched giggles, while the other didn’t give much of a reaction. Feeling rather willing to keep experimenting, he tried to slide two fingers up and down the dark-haired boy’s feet, making said boy squirm and almost howl.

“Gohohohohohoho awahahahahahahyehehehe idihahahahahahat” since the taller one had still enough energy to be snarky, the light-haired boy decided to stay on that spot a bit more, enjoying the different kinds of laughter each zone produced. When a shriek echoed in the room, Atsushi understood that he’d made quite the discovery.

“You toes, really?” the yellow-eyed guy asked, never stopping scribbling on his lover’s toes, which caused almost the same reaction as the underarms. “NAHAHAHAHAHAHT THEHEHEHRHEHEH PLEHEHAHAHAHSEHEHE” Akutagawa was begging “AHAHANYWHEHEHEHREHEHEH BUHUHUT THEHEHEHRHEHEHE” unfortunately his boyfriend didn’t feel merciful that day and continued to tickle him until he began snorting while laughing.

“IHIHIHIHI *snort* GIHIHIHI *snort* GIHIHIHIVEHEHEH STAHAHAHP *snort*” Atsushi’s detective skills weren’t really necessary to understand that his partner had reached his limit, so he stopped immediately and got up.

“So, are you done with your formal protest?” he asked, and this time the Mafia executive nodded, still a bit giggly because of the ghost tickles. When he saw the expectant look on the weretiger’s face, he opened his arms, letting his lover lay on top of him, giving him the cuddles he’d asked for earlier that afternoon.

Noticing how comfortable Atsushi was, Akutagawa snorted and said “More than a weretiger, you look like a werekitten”. This comment earned him two wiggling fingers right into his underarms “HAHAHAHA SOHOHORYEHEHE STAHAHAHAP” none of them was ready for another fight, so they just laid there, cuddling for a long, long time.

#bungo stray dogs #shin soukoku #bsd #tickle fic #bsd tickle #tickle #ticklish!akutagawa #lee!akutagawa #ler!atsushi #atsushi nakajima

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calaofnoldor · 3 years

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

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stusbunker · 2 years

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Barstools and Backrooms 1

A Supernatural A/B/O Fanfic in Two Parts

Featuring: Omega!Dean Winchester x Alpha!Jo Harvelle

Written for: @spnabobingo

Square filled: Dean/Jo

Rating: Teen

Word Count: ~1250

Summary: Jo still doesn’t know what to do about the very pretty hunter that keeps showing up at her mom’s bar. Dean doesn’t know how to do anything other than overcompensate and ignore his omega status. Nothing is ever easy, for either of them.

SPN ABO BINGO Card

This isn’t the first time she’s sensed him, felt his inner omega hide from her very presence. It is the first time she’s certain it’s not from repulsion, but from fear. A guy like Dean, doesn’t seem likely he hasn’t taken a knot; the hunting life is never that simple. So it probably isn’t a sexual insecurity, but that still doesn’t ease the tension between them, the silent truce each time they see each other thickening whenever she invades his space.

She kicks herself for the gnawing curiosity. She sets the fresh bottle down next to his empty and looks expectantly at Sam. He shakes his head at her unspoken offer. She shrugs and wipes off the counter.

“How’d the hunt go?” She asks them both, eyes on her task.

Dean knows she wants details. Can feel the pull the life has on her. It’s almost as potent as her alpha on the air. He kicks himself for wanting to be part of the draw. To know he has something she wants besides what’s in his pants. He cocks his head to the side and pouts.

“Good.”

Sam chuckles at his answer, but Dean couldn’t resist the urge to tease.

“How’s it been here?” Sam asks, very diplomatically.

“Good,” Jo quips.

“Well, guess we’re all good then,” Dean says like he expects her to leave, like she’s just some waitress. Jo rolls her eyes.

"I heard it turned out to be a poltergeist."

"Who said that?" Dean asks defensively, looking to his brother out of paranoia.

"So it was, huh?" Jo took his reaction for further proof of her hunch.

"Maybe. Doesn't matter, things put down now." Dean takes a long pull off his beer, trying to end the 20 Questions.

"Thanks for the tip, it definitely sped things up." Sam thanks Jo and tattles on them both in the process.

"Oh I see how it is! You butting in on our hunts now?! And you? Getting your intel behind my back." Dean's hackles are now well and truly raised.

Jo and Sam try to hold back their amusement, but it erupts out of their mouths like traitorous chimes. Dean doesn't know why he's so upset, but he's digging his heels in all the same.

“It was the right call, she found the article that established the pattern. Don’t gotta be down my throat about it,” Sam adds calmly.

“Don’t see why she’s calling you at all,” Dean grumbles before taking another drink.

Sam freezes as realization dawns on his brow.

“Maybe if you’d answer my calls I wouldn’t have to,” Jo sasses back.

Dean feels the heat of shame wrap up the side of his neck, Jo’s voice softer than it should have been.

Sam sighs loudly. “I’m going to see if I can find Ash. Think you can behave yourself—selves?” He asks his brother before looking at Jo with equal emphasis.

“Can’t make any promises.” Dean’s back to breezy, like a deflated balloon his ego sags as his posturing returns.

Jo stacks clean glasses behind the bar, keeping busy to avoid her mother’s ire. They look around each other, their aloneness more a stage than a haven.

“I didn’t know it was you—- calling. I didn’t recognize the number. And when I got around to checking my voicemail—- Sam had already followed up on what you had. We had to finish it fast.” Dean isn’t sheepish, but he’s not apologizing either.

“You’re welcome,” Jo says plainly. “I figure if I can’t be out there, might as well—”

“Trust me, Jo. You don’t want to be out there. It’s long hours of getting your ass kicked, nobody thanks you and the pay’s crap. Might as well keep hustlin’ Big Buck Hunter, you’re making out like a bandit anyhow.”

“You don’t think I could do it?” Jo asks like a trap.

Dean looks her dead in the eye. “I don’t want to think about you out there. Not that you can’t, just that you shouldn’t. A hunt’s the last place you should be. I’ve been doing this so long— I don’t know anything else. You can do anything—- and you should.”

“I’ve got enough people telling me what I should do, thanks,” Jo’s rebellion rages in her words.

Dean doesn’t back down. “I’m not stupid enough to think I could boss you around, Jo. Just trust me—- you deserve better.”

She bleats out a single, humorless note. “Life isn’t about what anybody deserves.”

They sit with that heavy truth, Dean a fresh orphan and Jo the alpha daughter of a hunter’s widow. Dean peels the label off his beer. The door opens, a cool breeze whips through the bar, spreading the stale stench of a road worn alpha. Dean’s back straightens and Jo’s hand goes to her back pocket for her dad’s knife. They both hold their breath as the fortysomething hunter makes a beeline for the bathroom.

“You can go out the side door. I’ll tell Sam where you went,” Jo whispers, outwardly acknowledging Dean’s presentation for the first time.

“I’m just having a drink, Jo. He’s not gonna try anything. Probably thinks it’s you anyway,” Dean says out of the side of his mouth, even as his eyes dart for the exits and for his brother.

“But it’s not me. They all—- they’ve pretty much figured it out by now, Dean. Hell some of them placed bets on me before I presented. Mom took the whole pot once she found out, gave half of them lifetime bans,” Jo muses, knife clutched tight in her palm.

“Man, I’d hate to be on her bad side,” Dean huffs.

“Dean, I’m serious. You should leave. Save us all some hassle,” Jo presses.

“No. I am allowed to exist, Jo. And you of all people shouldn’t be so fucking skiddish about it. Look, I’ve had to fend off asshole alphas since I was sixteen. I’m just here having a beer, if he starts something—- I’ll put ‘em down. But, it’s not even gonna come to that, okay sweetheart?” Dean lays on the charm, pleading with his eyes, unable to hide the icy chill of sweat dripping down his back.

Jo looks at him, jaw stiff with her alpha need to protect. She knows he’s right, he’s disarmed her before, but suddenly his strength doesn’t feel like enough. She nods, not trusting herself to speak as the unwelcome alpha approaches the opposite corner of the bar. Ellen glances over and Dean watches as the mother and daughter have a silent conversation. Ellen takes the guy’s order while Jo leans back on the meat of her hands, essentially blocking Dean from sight with the petulant stance.

Dean doesn’t know what to do with their collective, unspoken shield. It’s a safety he doesn’t expect from anyone besides Sam or Bobby. He detests that he needs it in the first place. Jo flinches at the change in his mood, hair whipping over her shoulder to look him over.

He sighs, unwilling to cause these women any more grief. “You still got a spare room?”

She smiles, the smallest hitch to the side of her mouth. But her relief fills his chest with something warm, like approval. “Yeah, two down from Ash’s room. I’ll go grab the key.”

Dean nods his appreciation and watches her walk away, tight ass and tiny waist made all the more prominent by the bow of her apron strings.

He finishes his beer and contemplates the impossibility of Ellen being okay with Jo spending the night with him.

Part 2

#spnabobingo #dean/jo #omega!dean x alpha!jo #spn abo #spn fanfic #a/b/o dynamics

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rawrmeansmemes · 3 years

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THE EMPEROR’S NEW GROOVE ( 2000 ) SENTENCE STARTERS

Ah, how shall I do it? Oh, I know. I'll turn him into a flea, a harmless, little flea, and then I'll put that flea in a box, and then I'll put that box inside of another box, and then I'll mail that box to myself, and when it arrives... .I'll smash it with a hammer! It's brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, I tell you! Genius, I say!

Or, to save on postage, I'll just poison him with this!

Okay, I admit it. Maybe I wasn't as nice as I should have been.

Do you really want to kill me?

Just think of it as you're being let go, that your life's going in a different direction, that your body's part of a permanent outplacement.

I know. It's called a "cruel irony", like my dependence on you.

Hey, I've been turned into a cow. Can I go home?

Don't tell me. We're about to go over a huge waterfall.

Bring it on.

Oh, right. The poison. The poison for _____, the poison chosen especially to kill _____, _____’s poison. That poison?

Excellent. A few drops in his drink, and then I'll propose a toast, and he will be dead before dessert.

Okay, why does she even *have* that lever?

It is no concern of mine whether or not your family has... what was it again?

Yay. I'm a llama again!

This is ____, the emperor's advisor. Living proof that dinosaurs once roamed the Earth.

Take him out of town and finish the job now!

What about dinner?

___, this is kind of important.

All right. A quick cup of coffee. THEN TAKE HIM OUT OF TOWN AND FINISH THE JOB!

Listen, you guys. You're sort of confusing me, so, uh, begone... or, uh, y'know, however I get rid of you guys.

Now, now, remember, guys. From above, the wicked shall receive their just reward.

Why do we even *have* that lever?

Pull the lever, _____!

Wrong lever!

Oh, it's not the first time I was tossed out of a window, and it won't be the last.

What can I say? I'm a rebel.

Oh, and by the way, you're fired.

Fired? W-W-What do you mean, "fired"?

Um, how else can I say it? "You're being let go." "Your department's being downsized." "You're part of an outplacement." "We're going in a different direction." "We're not picking up your option." Take your pick. I got more.

I can't believe this is happening!

Then I bet you weren't expecting *this*.

Is that *my* voice? Oh, well.

A llama? He's supposed to be *dead*.

So, I'll be building my summer home on a more *magical* hill. Thank you.

You know, I'm pretty sure I heard some singing on the hill next to us. In case you're interested.

Well, ya got me. By all accounts, it doesn't make sense.

D'oh! You threw off my groove!

I'm sorry, but you've thrown off the Emperor's groove.

I was always taught that there was some good in everyone, but, oh, you proved me wrong.

Why did I risk my life for a selfish brat like you?

Well, that makes you ugly *and* stupid.

Yeah, you'd think he would've turned out better.

Why, I'm his third cousin's brother's wife's step-niece's great aunt. Twice removed.

Uh, do you need to hear all those words exactly?

Well, he's not as dead as we would have hoped.

Yeah, that would be kinda awkward, especially after that lovely eulogy.

I have no idea. You're the criminal mastermind, not me.

You're right. That's giving you way too much credit.

You know, in my defense, your poisons all look alike. You might think about relabeling some of them.

Well, which is it? That sounds like a pretty crucial conjunction.

Break it down? Are ya kidding me? This is hand-carved mahogany.

Huh? What? I didn't do anything. I didn't... Somebody's throwin' stuff.

You have a lovely wife. They're both very pretty.

Good, because believe it or not, I think I need a bath.

Oh, look. A golden-throated small-winged warbler. Just one more for exotic bird bingo. I am loving this.

Ok... that's the freakiest thing I've ever seen...

Um, what's with the chimp and the bug? Can we get back to *me*?

Maybe I'm just new to this whole rescuing thing, but this, to me, might be considered kind of a step backwards, wouldn't you say?

#rp meme #rp memes #sentence meme #sentence starters #starter sentences #disney rp memes

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holylulusworld · 3 years

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Single Parent

Title: Single parent

Square Filled: Relationship break-up

Ship: Mobster!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Characters: Sam Winchester, John Winchester, Benny LaFitte

Rating: Mature

Summary: Your arranged bond with Dean grows fruits but you can’t be happy as you should.

Warnings: angst, language, arranged marriage, unrequited feelings, sad reader, abandonment, Dean being a douche, giving birth (no description), shitty relationship, pregnant reader

A/N: I already outlined the story before I got the request. I changed the ending and a few scenes to make it fit.

Word Count: 3.5 k

Written/Created for: @spnmixedbingo

Divider by @firefly-graphics

2021 SPN Mixed BINGO Masterlist

Now…

“No John, I’m done,” you cry, running your hand over your baby bump. “You could force me to marry your son, to stay with him and have his heir,” you sniff, looking around the guest room you chose over your comfortable bedroom. “But you can’t force me to play the obedient housewife. I tried, John—I really tried but Dean doesn’t even like me.”

“He’s just a little stubborn and rough on the outside like me, doll,” John tries to reason with you. “Show him the latest ultrasound and he’ll change.”

“No, he won’t,” voice bitter you sit on the bed, shaking your head lightly. “That’s the problem. I-I’m nothing more than a breeder to your son. I know he doesn’t reciprocate my feelings, but I had hoped he’ll be kinder to me when he sees me swollen with his child. I know he cares for the baby, but sadly I’m not sure it’s because he loves them or as you want an heir.”

“Y/N,” sitting next to you John watches you tear up. Months of rejection and coldness took a toll on you. “I didn’t know it’s that bad.”

“He told Sam I’m nothing but a vessel for his child, John. I could be dead, and he wouldn’t care,” choking out a sob you give John a sad smile. “Did you know he never came to the doctor with me? He never showed and my gynecologist believes I am a single parent – and maybe I am.”

“What happened last week? Why did you suddenly move out of your shared bedroom, doll? Did Dean hurt you?”

“Not physically-“ you huff, looking at the wedding band around your finger. “I was at my doctor’s practice for the next check-up, as usual, Dean didn’t show, even though, he promised to be there,” sniffling you take the wedding band off, dropping it onto the bed, not wanting to feel it on your skin right now.

“We had a meeting, I’m sorry for keeping Dean away from you,” John lies, you can see it in his eyes and his voice is a little too low. He doesn’t realize you know him too well to not see through his lies. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt you, Y/N.”

“I saw all those happy couples and excited dad’s pacing around the waiting room and realized, Dean gives a shit on me and his child. I can’t leave, but at the same time I won’t pretend Dean is not the cold-hearted man he is,” sadly you can’t hide you are still in love with his son, but your try your hardest.

“What happened, Y/N? I heard you fought with your husband. Did he hurt you?” John presses. “I need to know…”

“You really want to know? Fine, I’ll tell you everything happening that day-“

One week earlier…

“Mrs. Winchester,” the nurse chirps, leading you into the room. “Where’s your husband? Didn’t he want to join us today?”

“He wanted but as always, business comes first,” you grumble, handing the young woman a business card. “That’s my brothers-in-law’s number. If I ever need help, please call him.”

“What about your husband?” confused the nurse looks at you, blinking a few times before she recognizes your teary eyes. “Ah, got it. I will call Sam Winchester if it’s necessary. We will add it to your medical record.”

“Thank you,” giving the nurse a sad smile you try to push the tears away. “As I said, my husband is always busy, and Sam offered his help. If not, call the second number, that’s my father-in-law.”

“No problem, Mrs. Winchester. Now let’s turn our attention toward your baby. Are you excited to find out about the gender?” nodding you swallow the lump in your throat, hiding you wished Dean would’ve come to find out with you.

“All done, Cher?” watching you walk out of the practice, a soft smile on his lips Benny offers his hand to you. “So, did they tell you the gender today?”

“It’s a boy,” you choke out, done fighting the tears. “You’re the first one I told, Benny-“ ignoring people watch you cry outside of your doctor’s practice you hide your face in Benny’s chest.

“He should’ve been here, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

“Everyone is always sorry; everyone but Dean,” angrily fisting Benny’s jacket you look up at your bodyguard. “I’m done trying, Benny. This is ridiculous. He’s not interested in me or the baby.”

“Dean cares about the baby, Cher,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “It’s true.”

“Dean only cares about my son as he needs an heir. There is no love in him. I-I wanted to share this with him. Dean, he should’ve been here with me, experience every step but he refuses to even give me that. My first pregnancy should’ve been something special but now, it only makes me sad.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks, awaiting your report as usual.

“Still alive. Benny got the ultrasound if you want to see them. If you want to know about the gender, ask your friend too,” you quip, walking toward the walk-in-wardrobe to get your favorite pajamas, you ignore Dean follows you. “Unlike other people he was there.”

“I had a meeting, Y/N,” arguing Dean watches you gather more clothes, frowning as you didn’t jump on him to tell him every single detail about your appointment.

Usually, you would excitedly tell him about the baby, forcing him to look at the ultrasound picture and demand his attention. Today, you barely said two words, not even tried to talk to him.

“A meeting, sex with one of your girls – I don’t care Dean. I’m tired of this, of you. To give you the space you need, I’ll go and have lunch with Charlie. Don’t wait for me–“ you chuckle, humorlessly. “Ah, yeah I forgot. You wouldn’t care if I never return.” walking out of the room, leaving a speechless Dean behind, you slam the door shut, making him flinch.

“Benny, my wife is gone; just like all of her belongings, we need to find her! She’s pregnant with my child.”

“You only care about the baby, huh? Do you even know it’s a boy, Dean?” Benny sneers, placing the ultrasound picture into Dean’s hand. “Y/N is not gone, she simply moved into the guestroom next to John’s room. I helped her while you were out, doing god knows.”

“Wait – she moved into the guestroom? Why?”

“Seriously, Dean? You promised to be there, at least to get to know about the gender, and yet, you didn’t come to the practice. I think Y/N gave up trying,” huffing Dean watches you step out of the guestroom, ignoring he glares at you.

“Y/N, you can’t just move out of our bedroom!” muttering the words Dean watches you walk past him.

“Oh, you meant me. I thought I’m only a vessel, a breeder to carry your heir,” whipping your head toward Dean you give him a cold glare. Your heart races and you can feel fresh tears well-up to your eyes, but you need to get this out before you can return to your room and cry some more.

“I’m talking to you, Y/N. What if you go into labor and I’m not close by?” Dean mutters.

“I think it’s for the best you keep on ignoring me and give your whores all of your attention,” brushing past Dean you slap his hand away when he tries to touch you.

“Y/N!”

“Don’t Winchester-“ you growl. “I fulfilled my duty and got pregnant. Now you can stick your dick into any pussy and stay the fuck away from me and don’t worry about my labor. I will, just like anything else since I got pregnant, handle this on my own. If I should need help at any point of my pregnancy, Sam and John offered to be there for me.”

Now …

“Dean messed up epically, huh?” John carefully tries when you get up to walk toward the nursery next to the guestroom. “What are you going to do?“

"Nothing, John. Just like the first four months of my pregnancy, I will try to do what’s best for my son,“ John’s eyes light up when you tell him he’s going to have a grandson. “Today I’ll focus on finishing the nursery. Benny and Sam helped me with the wallpaper and cradle. I must check on the bears I painted and will make a list of what I will need.”

“I can help,“ offering you a cracked smile John holds out his hand. “I got you into this shitshow, let me at least try to make things easier for you, doll.”

“You could check on the shelves and cradle,” you sniff. “I just wish I had a man like you or Sam by my side. I see the way Sam cares about his wife and children. I know Dean is a little closed-off, like you but he’s kind to everyone he likes. Must be me.”

“Oh, Y/N,” slinging one arm around your shoulders John leads you out of your chosen bedroom. “You still got people caring about you. Sammy and I will be there and help you.”

“I know…”

“You’re talented,” looking at the bears you painted John smiles. “Mommy bear and baby bear,” he hums, admiring your painting. “Where’s the dad?”

“I’m a single parent, John. Why should I paint a daddy bear if he gives a shit on me and his son?” Dean stands in the doorframe, watching his father help you fix one of the shelves, swallowing thickly. “You know, every single woman at my doctor’s practice looks so happy, they glow and I just-“

“I get it, Y/N. You wanted your pregnancy to be special,” nodding you look at the bears. “You could draw an Uncle Sammy and Granddad John bear.”

“I’ll think about it, John,” with a small smile on your lips you watch John place the plushies onto one of the shelves. “You know, he didn’t even care about my morning sickness or cravings. I had this image in my mind. Dean the devoted soon-to-be dad helping me during my pregnancy. I know he doesn’t love me, I’m not delusional. But a bit more attention would’ve been nice.”

Two months later…

Used to being on your own you walk into your doctor’s practice. This time you don’t look at all the happy couples wishing it were you and Dean. Over the last weeks, you made up your mind.

Only as you don’t get to leave Dean doesn’t mean you must bear his behavior. So, you decided to keep your distance and only ask John, Sam, or Benny for help with the nursery.

You no longer tell Dean about your check-ups or try to include him in your pregnancy.

“Morning, Mrs. Winchester,” you flinch when the nurse calls your name. “How are you feeling today? Will the baby daddy be here today too?”

“No,” you breathe out. “Let’s be honest, Sally.” giving the young nurse a sad smile, you point toward the other pairs. “I know you are only trying to be friendly but anytime you are asking about my non-present husband it stings. Why don’t you treat me like a single parent? Cause that’s what I am.”

“How’s the baby?” Dean asks again, following you toward the nursery. “Listen, I know you try to punish me but not telling me about our baby breaks one of my rules.”

“The baby is still alive. He grows fast and the ultrasound picture lies on your desk. If you have more questions, call my gynecologist or,” turning around you give Dean a cold look, “you could move your ass to the practice next time but I get it – you were busy.”

“I got the right to know about my son,” growling the words Dean steps closer but this time, he doesn’t intimidate you with his size. “Tell me everything.”

“Weight and size are average. His heartbeat is strong, and he sucked his thumb today,” you scoff at Dean’s sudden interest. “You would know more about your child if you actually cared. He started to be more active, I can feel our little boy kick me harder but so far, only John felt our baby kick.”

Walking away you enter your room, slamming the door shut behind you, locking it to take a deep breath.

“He’s my son too! You can’t shut me out!” Dean yells from the hallway.

“Sperm donator, you son of a bitch,” you growl. “If it were up to me, I’d file for divorce.”

“YOU WON’T!” he mutters. “I will not allow you to leave me.”

“I got that, but you should know that our marriage is over to me. If you dare to get close to me ever again, you’ll lose your hands or cock. Go and fuck one of your sluts.”

“I should-“ frustrated Dean kicks your door. “You’re still my wife, Y/N. I expect you to respect me and our bond.”

“Fuck that,” feeling exhausted you lie on your bed, gently running one hand over your belly. “He’ll not ruin your life, baby boy. I promise to protect you from your asshole father.”

“I heard that.”

“I don’t fucking care,” you cry. “Now leave me alone. You got the information you need. Don’t worry, your heir is still healthy. Even though, you didn’t help me at all…”

Two months, two weeks, and five days later…

“Looks good,” John hums, glancing at the ultrasound picture. “How are you, doll? Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m fine,” looking at your wedding band you try to swallow the lump in your throat. “Is there a way to protect my child from Dean? Can you add something to the prenup? Please.”

“I will not allow Dean to hurt your son, Y/N. I don’t think Dean would ever lay a finger on him-“

“That’s not what I meant. Being around Dean is unhealthy for me. What will he do to our child? How shall I explain to my baby boy that his father hates me? That I’m only a breeder to him, a body he could use to get a child.”

“Are you fucking my father?” ludicrously you look at Dean when he storms into your room, your solace. “That’s the reason you moved out of our bedroom – huh? You spread your legs for John Winchester.”

“What the fuck, Dean?” you sniff, reluctantly leaving the bed. “Over the last week I barely left my room as I didn’t feel well, and you accuse me of such a thing? I don’t have the time to fuck anyone. Unlike you, I had to take care of anything-“ whimpering you feel a piercing pain ripple through your womb. “Oh, god-“

“Y/N?” paling Dean watches you crouch down in front of your bed, crying out in pain. “What’s wrong? Y/N, talk to me, sweetheart.”

“Go and get your father or Sam,” you pant, while you try to remember everything the midwife taught you. “I think the baby wants to get out.”

“No, it’s too early,” panicked Dean rushes to your side to help you sit on the bed. “I’ll call an ambulance, Y/N.”

“O-okay-“ you scream, feeling another painful contraction approach. “No, no. My water just broke.” tears run down your cheeks when John and Sam stumble into the room. They heard your screams and try to help.

“Fuck, doll,” John mumbles, kneeling in front of you to calm you. “Sammy, call an ambulance and tell Benny to get Y/N’s bags. I’ll stay here to help her.”

“I already called an ambulance. Stop acting as if that’s your son,” Dean growls, glaring at his father.

“Do you want to help the mother of your child or fight with me right now, son? I think you showed how much you are interested in your child. Now shut the fuck up and help me here,” John would like to give his son a piece of mind but right now, he must take care of you.

��John,” grasping for your father-in-law’s hand, “promise me he won’t be there. I don’t want Dean inside the room while I give birth.”

"That’s my wife and child in there! Lemme inside,” Dean growls, fighting against one of the security guards. “Let me pass.”

“DEAN,” John’s voice booms through the hallway. “Your wife is in there. She’s in pain, scared, and tries to give birth to your baby. Stop acting like an idiot. You had it coming.”

“You didn’t care about your child or wife for over eight months. Did you honestly believe she wants you in there?” Sam huffs, squeezing Jess’s hand. “I was with Jess the whole time. I heard the heartbeat, saw my baby, felt it kick. I can’t believe you didn’t want to experience any of it.“

“I-I never wanted to marry Y/N. It was an arranged bond,” Dean sniffs, hearing you cry out in pain.

“This doesn’t change she’s your wife and that she needed you. Even more important, your son needed you. I believe babies bond with their parents in the womb. You could’ve talked to him, played music, or feel him kick.”

“Look at you baby boy,” cooing your son you feel your heart swell. Even if Dean is not going to show any affection toward your child, you’ll give the little boy all your love. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Can I finally see him too?” Dean mutters, sneaking into your room. “How could you let my father, Sam, and Jess see my son first?”

“I didn’t think you will find the time to visit me and your baby. If you would excuse me now, I want to concentrate on Robert Maximilian Winchester.”

“What?” gaping at you Dean feels his stomach churn. “You named him Robert? But-but we agreed to name him Dean jr. How could you not only keep me away while giving birth but also deciding on a name without me? That’s cruel.” Dean sniffs, looking at your son in your arms.

“Cruel–?” you take a deep breath, try to ignore the burning rage running through your veins. “Do you know what cruel means, Winchester? Cruel means that your husband, the man you love with all your heart ignores you completely. Cruel means that he never shows affection or at least cares about you during pregnancy.”

“I’m his father!”

“Sperm donator,” you retort. “We are only a breeder and a sperm donator. You are not a father, and never will be. You’ll not hurt my baby boy and push him away as you did with me. You can lay claim on him when he turns 18, until then I’ll give him all the love he deserves.”

“He’s my baby boy too,” sniffling Dean looks at your child, tearing up. “Let me at least hold him. Please.”

“Not today,” adamant you defend your son, not giving in. It’s your turn to be selfish and not to show any compassion. Dean can cry as much as he wants to.

Today, you’ll be the cruel one – even if it kills you.

“She doesn’t let me hold my son,” outside of your room Dean starts to cry. “I wasn’t allowed to hold my baby boy. How can she be so cruel?”

“I say it again – you had it coming,” John shrugs, ignoring he feels sorry for his son. “Y/N never was cruel. All she wanted was a bit of affection. Why couldn’t you give her that?”

“I just didn’t feel like pretending. But I care about our baby and want to hold him.”

Dean doesn’t leave your side. He sits next to your bed, still looking at his son.

“Please let me hold him, Y/N.”

“Five minutes,” you whisper, not looking at Dean. “You can hold him for five minutes and after that, you can pretend we do not exist until you need your heir.”

“It’s not like that,” with trembling fingers Dean takes Robert Maximillian out of your hands. “He’s so beautiful and tiny.”

“It’s a baby, what did you expect,” turning around to not watch Dean with your son you close your eyes. “Tell me when you are done playing daddy, Dean.”

“Why are you so cold. This isn’t you, Y/N.”

“That’s what happens to a loving person when she gives up. If you don’t like me the way I am now, you can always ask your dad to let me out of this marriage...”

“Look this is your room, baby boy,” cooing your baby you walk around the room. “There is a teddy bear, and over there is a cute duck. Maybe you’ll like the cat Sammy bought for you?”

“He doesn’t like cats,” Dean grumbles, walking into the nursery. “I bet he’s allergic like me.” hopefully looking at you Dean holds out his hands. “Come on, lemme hold him for a while.”

“I will leave you to your son, Dean. If you are done pretending you are a father, holler and I’ll take care of Robert,” carefully placing your son into Dean’s arms you ignore he tries to talk to you.

“Y/N, we should talk about a few things.”

“Don’t hurt yourself, Dean. I’m stuck in this marriage, but this doesn’t mean I let you walk all over me ever again. I am a single parent, and this will not change…”

>> Part 2

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