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elvendria · 1 year

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Clean (Formerly Love is a Battlefield)

AU Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Part Two

Summary:

You return to Hawkins after a few years in the middle of the night during the summer with your 4-year-old sister in tow, thinking the two of you could fly under the radar and settle in at Forest Hills Trailer Park. You thought you could get by without bumping into your old enemy, Eddie Munson, the town freak.

But you weren't always enemies, in fact, there was a time when you two were closer than anything.

Eddie dreams of making it big, you just dream of making it out of here alive.

\\enemies - lovers//

((Warning I'm not from the US, so bare with me when it comes to states and such))

tw: 18+ MINORS DNI or I will be busting kneecaps, E.D, physical abuse, child abuse, runaways, the reader Joyce's ex-step-niece, Will and Johnathan's cousin, Joyce is Queen, Wayne is King, slow burn, gambling addictions, the reader is 20 and Eddie is 21, Chrissy is the villain but we stan Grace. Reader has a small scar on lower torso.

Word Count: 3,744K

part one part two part three part four

"Stupid... fucking... Car!!" You kicked the rims on the wheels of your car, screaming at it after you had tried for over 30 minutes to get it to work. But nothing, it just spluttered and coughed, before finally letting out a puff of black smoke from the back that made you want to sit back and cry.

You were due for work and couldn't afford to be late. After all, it was only your second week. It wouldn't make a good impression if you suddenly called and said you couldn't make it due to something stupid like your car not starting.

After what must have been your 7th attempt at beating the car into submission, you heard a few raps on the hood of the car, looking up to see Wayne there. He'd been coming around every so often, almost like he was trying to cram the missed years into a few afternoons.

Willow loved it when he came around, mainly because Wayne would spend most of his time sitting on the floor playing dolls with her, while you complained that he was going to hurt his back or something.

"Christ darlin', I'm sure they could hear you all the way into town." He chuckled as he stood beside you, thumb through his belt loop while another smoked a cigarette. "I'd ask you if you want one to calm your nerves, but I'm not about to condone smoking." He says, taking a drag from it, being a massive fucking hypocrite and knowing it too.

"I just don't know what I'm gonna do, I don't have the money to get her repaired, I only just started work!" You sank to the porch step defeatedly, head in your hands while the heels of your palms dug into your eyes.

Wayne would never admit this, never betray his nephew's trust like this, but it wasn't his idea to come over here to you.

Eddie was woken up by the sound of an engine backfiring. He had his arm draped around Chrissys' shoulders in a rather uncomfortable way, and it had caused a creak in his neck. She had told him he'd get used to it, and that she could only sleep with him if they slept like this, and so he endured it.

She figured he owed it to her anyways, due to the fact that while he was rutting into her last night, she moaned loudly and high pitched, expecting Eddie to be putty in her hands like he always is, but was met with his hand over her mouth while he repeatedly just said the words "Shut Up". He wasn't sure why, it hadn't happened for so long, and he thought once he started fucking Chrissy maybe those thoughts could go away.

And yet still thoughts of you, sitting on the floor beside him, telling him that his hair was growing back in fine, that he looked handsome, swam back into his mind. Then they turned to images of you on your back, pillow clutched to your chest as he bent your knees back to meet your chest, absolutely ravaging you. It was all he could think of last night

And so when she moaned in her irritatingly squeaky voice, it wasn't the one he wanted to hear. It was yours, all he could think of was you. Normally he'd open his eyes and watch whatever slut was under him squirm and writhe in pleasure, and that was enough. But last night, nothing but the thought of you was going to get him to finish.

He'd never let Chrissy know that she wasn't the only girl he was sleeping with. Not that she didn't know, but he knew that she could get a bit… crazy, demand that he only fuck her, that he stay hers forever. He didn't want that, he didn't want to be tied down to her. And yet that's all she wanted to do to him.

Climbing out of bed, he untangled his arm from Chrissy and looked out the window to see you standing beside your car like you were on the verge of setting the whole car on fire. You began kicking the rims, taking all your anger and frustration out on the hubcaps

It made him smile slightly, to see that you hadn't lose that spark inside of you. That raging fire that made you sometimes get a little mad at the slightest inconvenience, usually when you'd already been having a shit day.

But then he stopped and thought to himself, he shouldn't be smiling, he shouldn't find this endearing or cute, not after everything that happened. He quickly dropped his smile, walking out into the kitchenette to see Wayne awake and eating a bowl of Lucky Charms. The man never really did learn how to eat like an adult.

"Someone should go over there and tell her to shut the fuck up." He grumbled as he sat down to eat the cereal with Wayne. They didn't have a lot of money, so they always just stuck with one brand of cereal for both of them. Not that Eddie minded eating marshmallows for breakfast. "She's going to wake the whole park up."

"Well you're the mechanic, why don't you go over and fix it up for her." Wayne was probing, and not very discreetly. He wasn't entirely sure what happened all those years ago, just before she left, but if it was big enough to stop the two from being friends, then it must've been really bad.

"I'm not going over and asking her directly!" Eddie spoke like it was something obvious, something that Wayne should have known already. He could hardly go over and talk to her as if they hadn't killed each other emotionally 4 years ago. Like she hadn't taken his heart and crushed it on the ground when she left. "Look, just... go over for me and tell her to drop it to the shop, she doesn't need to know I'm the one working on it for her."

Wayne nodded his head, suppressing a knowing smirk. Standing up, he went to the door, about ready to swing it open when Eddie called after him.

"Can you..." The words felt heavy and swollen on his tongue. He wanted to speak but it was like his throat didn't want him to make any sound. He pushed passed it, determined to not be rendered mute just because she'd shown up one day and hadn't even made the effort to contact him. "Can you check to see if she's okay?"

Wayne just looked at him, disappearing out the door.

So that's how Wayne ended up convincing you to let him tow it to the nearest auto shop. Apparently, he knew someone down there that would fix it free of charge. You weren't about to turn down a free car service, so of course you nearly bit his hand off saying yes. It was free after all.

The main issue however still lay at your feet in a Willow shaped mess.

"Oh well, I'm free all afternoon, I'm sure I could look after her at mine for a while?" Wayne offered when you told him your dilemma. You were hesitant at first, you knew Eddie lived with him still, on more than one occasion he'd woken Willow up with the sound of his radio as his van sped into the trailer park. But you hadn't seen him, just saw the headlights and the giggle of some girl.

But once again, the offer of free stuff was just too tempting to refuse. You agreed, grabbing her favourite toy, a pink stuffed elephant she'd named bunny and her blanket. She'd undoubtedly take a nap around 3pm, sleeping wherever she fell, but she wouldn't sleep well without it.

You didn't go into the trailer, you didn't even step onto the porch. You saw the blinds move, you knew he was there, you didn't need to speak to him.

He's the one that gave up on you, he's the one that cut all contact.

He's the one who never wrote back.

You packed her lunch into a brown bag, knowing for a fact that unless Wayne knew how to cut a peanut butter and jelly sandwich into the shape of a dinosaur, then there was no way he was getting her to eat. Willow wasn't a picky eater, she'd eat whatever you gave her. She's just a bit happier if they're cut up all fun.

"I'll be home soon, real soon. But you're gonna have fun with Wayne right? And be the best girl for me?" You pushed a piece of her hair back as she spun on her toes swinging her arms in front of her. You had to dodge just to avoid being hit by her little ballerina act.

"I promise!" She held the edges of her little skirt and began to soon in a circle, being the playful and adorable child she was. "Can we have dino nuggies?"

"If you behave... then maybe, I'll see what I can do." You smiled as she let out a little cheer, knowing too well that you'd have dino nuggies for dinner. You could hardly ever say no to the kid. You kissed her on the head, another million thank you's to Wayne before you ran down the dirt road to the bus stop.

Thankfully there was one just down the road, and the bus was just pulling up as you got there, slightly ashamed at how out of breath you were. You fished out a few dollars from your pocket, climbing up the steps of the bus.

The driver was a bulky man, bald and very clearly sweaty. Like, a sweat patch in a V down his back sweaty. His winter beard was glistening and matted together in places around his chubby face. Handing him the $2, he gave you a smile, friendly and welcoming. He reminded you of the old guy you used to see sitting on a park bench near the casino your dad frequented.

"I don't normally see you on this route, are you from around here?" He spoke as he pulled away from the stop, the rickety bus bouncing along every curve and pothole on the road.

"Just moved from Nevada, well, moved back." You chuckled, introducing yourself as you took a seat near the front. Everywhere else was full.

"Well I'm Simon." He smiled as he carried on down the road with a faint smile on his face. "Simon the bus driver."

Admittedly, Hawkins was pretty in the summer. The flowers on the roadside were in full colour, the heat waves radiating off the ground and causing a slightly distorted view in the bottom half of your vision. You were walking the from where you got off the bus to your job, the faint smell of sunscreen and sweat in the air.

Girls walked around smelling of Salon Selectives, carrying gym bags on their way home from jazzercise or aqua aerobics at the pool. Guys were shirtless, or almost shirtless, smelling of Drakkar Noir and ego.

Everyone was preppy and perky and perfect, intent on having the summers you only see in movies, the kind where teenage dreams are more than dreams for those few precious months. The kind of story where the protagonist grows up, finds themselves, and gets their crush to finally notice them.

In other words, their dreams were bullshit. In the real world, these so-called protagonists won't find themselves until a bad acid trip in college and likely won't grow up till their mid-30s, and as for getting their crush to notice them? Well, they had a better chance of selling out The Garden with their one-man accordion band.

You walked into the store, throwing your bag behind the counter into a little shelf, tucked away for later. You stocked the till, readying for the day, beads of sweat gathering on the nape of her neck due to the lack of AC. There was a small breeze though, thanks to the door being open.

The record store was fine, you were fitting in well enough. The work was easy, the customers weren't awful, the music was good and the people you worked with were friendly. But that was the only issue.

Greg, your colleague, was a little too friendly. And sure, you'd worked with guys before who got a bit flirty and creepy, but you could handle that.

Greg was handsy, always touching you, hands on the shoulders and waist, occasionally brushing against your ass when he passed by you as you stocked shelves. Sure he made the occasional comments, but you were new, you couldn't afford to lose this job, and you didn't want to rock the boat.

"Hey there beautiful, looking fine as always." He sauntered up behind you, leaning on the shelf behind the till. You could feel his eyes on you, burning into you, as you served some girl buying the latest Madonna tape. Her eyes were on him, and in a way, you could understand why.

Greg was tall, lean, and muscular. When he crossed his arms his shirt bulged at the seams. He was buff and bulky. He was so stereotypically good-looking that it irritated you, like an itch under the skin that just wouldn't go away. Girls looked past his actions and the way he spoke to people all because he was the kind of guy you'd see on the football team.

"Morning Greg." You kept pleasantries, what else could you do? Greg wasn't your type, not by a long shot, and you'd tried your best in the last week to make that known, but the guy just could not take a hint.

He began rambling on again about something or nothing, definitely nothing that would hold your attention. You went off to restock the shelves and like a fucking shadow, there he was.

"I was thinking about catching a movie later, you wanna come with?" He leaned up beside you, resting his arm by his head. "We could go see that new-"

"I can't, I've got to get home straight after my shift. Sorry." You finished up, walking back over to the till to help with some customers while he sulked off in silence.

The shift went by quickly enough, the heat in the sun dying down to a warm humidity. You left the store, leaving the manager to lock up for the night as you headed back home, the promise of a cool shower and dino nuggets sounding more and more enticing with every step on the sidewalk.

The bus ride was quiet, resting your head on the glass as you looked at the town you once knew and how much it had changed. There was a mall now, which would have been much more convenient when you lived here before. Underneath it all however, when you looked past the fresh coat of paint, it was the same old Hawkins.

Walking the dirt path through the trailer park, you reached yours and noticed the lights were still out. Opening the door, you didn't see her there and figured she was still over in Wayne's.

Where he was.

It didn't give you much of a choice, either go and get her and risk facing him or have him show up at your door with her and face him. It was bound to happen at some stage what with you living across the road from each other. It would be an accident, spotting each other as you left the park, locking eyes for a split second before carrying on, ignoring the ache it left you with.

The same ache that both eased and worsened with every step towards the trailer, your heart banging away in your ribcage in time with your knuckles knocking on the door. You took a deep breath in, stepping back and waiting for it to open.

It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours, and when the door finally opened it wasn't the ageing man you had hoped it to be.

"Oh... you're here."

You wish you hated him in this moment. You wished your heart didn't loudly shatter on the ground, the last moments between you replaying over and over in your head.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" He looked at you, his brown eyes piercing into yours. His calloused hands brushed your arms, the blood thundering behind your ears.

Taking a deep breath, you looked up at him and nodded, never more sure of anything in your life. "Yes Eddie, I am."

"Willa needs her dinner, so..." Suddenly your shoes were very interesting. You weren't sure what to say to him, you wanted to scream and yell and ask him why he never wrote back, to tell him that for weeks and weeks, you ran to the mailbox to see if there was a letter, only to have your hopes dashed each time.

By the time you had found out, you were too hopeless to tell him, despite how much you wanted to.

The small thundering steps came before he could respond, and small arms wrapped around your legs, clutching tightly. "Sissy!"

"Heya pumpkin, you have fun with Wayne today?" You picked her up and balanced her on your hip. "Can you tell him I said thanks?" You looked at Eddie, your chest thumping and thundering away. Something flickered in his eyes as you picked Willow up, something you didn't recognise.

"Uh... sure, yeah no I'll tell him." He reached up and scratched his neck, his shirt riding up and a sliver of skin catches your eye. You feel like you can't breathe, like the world has stopped spinning.

Remember what he did to you. Remember how hurt you were when you realised how alone you truly were. Remember that girl you keep seeing leave.

You kept telling yourself this, over and over. He wasn't there when you needed him most. You weren't sure if he was even aware of how much you needed him then. But he had to be right? He got the letter. He had to have known.

Silence filled the air between you, and you were left with nothing to say. You nodded to him, grabbing Willow's bag and turning to leave.

You had reached your own door, talking with Willow playfully about her day on the way over. You had pushed the door open, setting her down and letting her run off into the trailer when you heard someone call your name. Turning, there he was, striding over to you purposefully, almost as if he had something lingering on his mind.

Before you could respond, he was there before you. "Eddie what are you-" And before you could finish your sentence, his lips were upon yours.

It was hungry, frantic almost, and yet somehow soft and gentle almost like he was afraid you were about to break. To say he took you by surprise was an understatement. It was like he had transported you back to a shy 16-year-old. Back to the beginning of the end.

You found yourself kissing him back for a brief second, body relaxing and letting him in before you were reminded of everything, of all the reasons you were not to let him in. You couldn't let your guard down around him. Not again.

Pulling back, you looked at him with wide eyes, your body reacting before you knew what to do. Quickly, you delivered a harsh slap to his cheek, the crack burning your palm.

"Eddie what the fuck!? You can't just come up and kiss me out of the blue!" You were yelling, angry as hell. You clenched your fists by your side, jaw clenched and set as you watched his face falter and fall, his ebony eyes full of something you couldn't quite place.

"Bunny please." He reached out, one hand cradling his face while the other came towards your arm to touch you, but you backed up before he could reach you. The nickname stung, given to you on account of the way you twitch your nose sometimes. "I have to tal-''

"You don't get to call me that anymore, you don't get to walk back in and pretend like the last four years didn't happen because they did Eddie. You don't get to say 'We need to talk,' because you never wrote back, you never answered me, you didn't talk to me. You weren't there when I needed you the most." And with that, you slammed the door in his face, sulking back into the trailer.

The rest of the evening was a blur. Between washing and feeding Willa, and doing the same for yourself, the only thing you could think of was that stupid fucking kiss and how it made your throat close up, your chest burn and your entire body buzz. You stood before your mirror that night, thinking about it as you towel-dried your hair.

You reached for just above the waistline of your panties, finding purchase in repeating the one small action you always found yourself doing when you were alone and stressed.

There, just above your underwear, lay a small horizontal scar about four to eight inches long. It was old, faded and healed, with a slight white colouring to it. You stared at it for a while, feeling along the slightly raised skin of it, relieving that day over and over again in your mind before you pulled on your shirt and hid it from view, climbing into bed and turning the lights off.

The sounds of crickets could be heard throughout the park, along with the occasional dog howl. You should be tired, you worked hard in the sweltering heat and were bound to be exhausted. Rolling over, you looked out a window into the night sky, the fateful kiss still lingering on your lips as your lids eventually drew heavy, causing you to slip into a sleep that was far from dreamless.

Across the way, Eddie was the same. He was on his side looking out the window, looking at the dark sky and asking himself the same question over and over again.

"What does she mean I never wrote back? She's the one that stopped the letters to me first."

part one part two part three

@vintagehellfire @1paire2vans @introvertedmouse

@ms1oftheboys @ashlynnkennedy @poisonedluv @302rocks @micheledawn1975 @corrodedcoffincumslut @f-cklife @chloe-6123 @hellfirexwhore @caseyqdilla @alyisdead @winchester-angel @sunflowerabyss @badluckgirl @blackb4ts

shoutout to @emotionaldreamer and @thecomfortgoth they were a huge motivation for me to finish this chapter!

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fandomsnstuff · 10 months

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this just started as me wanting to complain about the work it takes to prep a house to sell but now it's kind of an au

@taznovembercelebration

Day 15: vampire au/last

Kravitz is moving for possibly the last time in his very, very long life, and he ruminates a little on what got him to this point.

Read it on AO3

Barry drops another cardboard box into the growing sea of stuff in the garage. “One thing I wish I'd considered before becoming immortal was all the moving.”

“Tell me about it,” Taako says, writing his name on a piece of painter's tape and slapping it on a garbage bag of clothes. “One second I'm joining my hot ancient vampire boyfriend in his immortal curse, and next thing I know, I've moved fifteen times in the last hundred years.”

“We haven't moved fifteen times,” Kravitz skirts around him with another box. “This is only number ten.”

“That's still too many.”

He drops the box on top of Barry's. “It wasn't nearly this much work when it was just me in apartments and such. But four times the people, four times the stuff.”

Taako points at him, “this is the last time. New vamps, new start, new system. Taako can't be doing all this physical labour every couple of years for eternity.”

Barry leans against a stack of boxes. “Maybe this is why you deemed immortality a curse. You've been spending your eternal life doing one of the worst chores an adult can do.” Kravitz just shrugs. Barry says, “this'll be good. The land's nice and far from any prying eyes, and the house Magnus and Julia designed is beautiful.”

“No! More! Moves!” Taako chants.

“Okay,” Lup comes into the garage, “Magnus is on his way with the truck and reinforcements, so he'll start taking loads of stuff to the new house. Stager comes tomorrow, carpets get cleaned Wednesday, pictures Thursday, and we're in business by the weekend.”

“Let's sell this bitch,” Taako says.

A few months later, the old house has sold, and they're settling into their new, custom-built home. Kravitz is sitting out back, watching Lup and Taako argue about toppings by the pizza oven. His heart swells.

He'd been alone for so long. As far as he knew, he was the only vampire left. His life became an exhausting, monotonous dance of isolation. Running from place to place the moment he felt any whiff of suspicion in his direction. But then he met Taako. Handsome, wondrous, stubborn Taako.

Kravitz had wanted to run the moment he realised Taako had taken an interest. But when he started packing his things and looking for a new place, for the first time in centuries, he hesitated. Taako was the first interesting thing to happen to him in ages. Maybe he deserved to have a little fun.

“A little fun” quickly turned into deep, unavoidable love. So Kravitz tried to blow it up. He told Taako they couldn't be together, he walked away and blocked his number and ran. But Taako isn't so easily swayed. Through avenues that Kravitz is still in the dark about, he tracked him down and banged on his door until he was granted entry and an explanation. So Kravitz told him what he was. He told him they couldn't be together because Taako would age and Kravitz wouldn't and after a few decades he would be alone again. He didn't want to know a life of companionship if he was going to lose it in the blink of an eye.

And Taako laughed. He laughed until he had tears trickling down his face. He said, “you thought I didn't know? Babe, the moment you brought me home I knew. I don't give a fuck, all my friends are freaks.”

Kravitz met Taako's friends, and they all seemed normal to him. “Magnus?”

“Werewolf. And Julia.”

“Davenport?”

“Shapeshifter.”

“Merle?”

“Fae.”

“Lucretia?”

“Merfolk.”

Kravitz hesitates, because there's no way he's anything but human, but he has to ask, “Barry?”

“I'll give you three guesses.”

“...no.” Taako smirked. Kravitz stared at him wide-eyed. “There's absolutely no way.”

“Full blooded vampire.”

“Full blooded?!”

“The man has never had a drop of human blood in his veins.”

Kravitz pushed his hands into his hair. “I thought I was the only one left.”

Taako patted his back, “you just didn't know where to look.”

He looked at Taako. “Are you…?”

“I'm the only full human in the group.”

“What about Lup?”

“We still don't really know what she did, but she kind of Danny Phantom-ed herself and has been able to willingly shift to a phantasmal form for a few years now, so,” he shrugs, “she's human, but also maybe half dead? I try not to think about it too much.”

That conversation, as… mind blowing as it was, was the start of the rest of Kravitz's life. Taako made some very compelling arguments and convinced him to come back and try again. It was just under a year after that when he turned Taako. He was hesitant to do it, but was convinced when Taako reminded him that all his friends were immortal, and if he wasn't going to do it, he'd go to Barry, “and I'm not into him like that, so I'd rather not.”

On the back porch, watching the twins, Kravitz finally understands the concept of a forever home. Why spend eternity running when you could travel and have fun and do much more pleasant things than packing? And why not give yourself a soft place to land when you need to rest?

Barry comes outside and sits next to him, holding out a drink. “They're still at it?”

Kravitz takes it. “Yeah. Though they've moved from olives to anchovies.”

Barry chuckles and shakes his head. “I think they'll still be arguing about it when the next ice age comes around.”

Kravitz laughs, and they sit in a comfortable silence for a while. “Hey Barry. You've been around a while.”

“Sure have.”

“So you've been navigating life as an immortal for a long time. Like, almost as long as I have.”

“You've got maybe two hundred years on me, but yeah.”

“Then why the fuck did you let me move the four of us through ten houses in the last hundred years?!”

Barry laughs long and loud. He sighs. “Oh, my god,” he wipes a stray tear away, “I was wondering if you'd put that together.”

“Well?!”

“Oh, man,” he clears his throat. “You'd been on your own for so long, and set in your ways, and so afraid of being discovered, we thought it'd be best to do things your way for a while. To let you get used to us and the group and what have you.”

Kravitz narrows his eyes. Barry bites his lip like he's trying not to laugh again. “There's more. Spill it, Bluejeans.”

“Lup and I made a bet on how many moves Taako could go through before it got to him.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I won, for once.”

Kravitz considers this. “What'd you win?”

He smirks. “You don't want to know.”

“Ugh!” Kravitz stands. “Gross, I don't want to know about your sex bets.”

“I didn't say anything about sex!”

“A non answer is still an answer,” he turns to go back inside, “next time just lie and say money!”

Barry shouts after him, “this is your life forever now!”

#taakitz #blupjeans #taz #taz fic #barry bluejeans #taako #lup #taz Kravitz #kravit adventurezone #lup taaco #taz lup #blupjeans fic

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sorencd · 1 year

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APPLE CIDER

pairing: charlie dalton x f!reader

summary: he’s brash, annoying, distracts you from your studies, and plays the saxophone too loudly. you don’t like him at all. right?

word count: 0.6k

a/n: really tempted to make an unofficial part 2 to this one hdhasfuf

the room was frigid as the cold wind entered your room through the window, sending a chill down your body. you were staring up at the ceiling, thinking about the past events of this week. you got up from where you were on your bed to close the windowpane, deciding that you couldn't bear the chilly temperatures anymore, but sat down on the edge, you spotted your jumper that was hanging on the door.

'hi (y/n).' a voice from above you spoke, it was charlie. he had that cheeky smile again.

'what do you want, dalton?' you replied, annoyance evident in your tone. clearly stating that you didn't want him there and bothering you. you were studying outside of the school you attended, the neighbouring academy to welton, emma porter academy. you shouldn't have expected peace and quiet when you chose a bench outside of school as your place to study.

'you're really good at organising.' he said as he pointed at your notes.

you looked up at him with a bizarre expression, where did that compliment come from? to hide your confusion, you instead feigned irritation. 'seriously, what do you want charlie? i'm busy right now.'

'you looked lonely and i didn't see your friend amelia around here anywhere. so i figured i'd give a poor soul like you company.'

despite your best efforts to try and make him leave you alone, he was persistent. no matter how many times you told him to go away, he'd quickly change the topic and say something about you.

'you know what? i'll be the one to leave. please don't follow me.' you pleaded as you started walking away.

he didn't say anything the first few minutes you got up to leave, you were tempted to look back to see if he had any sort of reaction, but before you could, he beat you to it and spoke up.

'i like your jumper!'

you quickly shook your head as you cleared your thoughts of charlie. lately, he's been plaguing your mind and you have no idea why. it's giving you a hard time to focus and you're afraid your grades and studies would be affected if this continues.

you resumed what you were planning on doing and closed the window shut. you caught a glimpse of yourself in the reflection, your hair softly glowing from the light the moon illuminated.

'could you, i don't know, smoke somewhere else?’ you complained as you coughed while waving your hand in the air to try and get some smoke out of your face. charlie really went out of his way to sit down next to you on your favourite spot, the bench, to light a cigarette.

‘i think i’m fine where i am.’ he snickered and raised his cigarette up towards your head and though you tried moving away, charlie still managed to put cigar shavings on top of your head. to your dismay.

you stood up from the bench and quickly cleaned your head, you hoped the smell wouldn't rub off on you to save you the trouble of explaining to your parents why you smell like cigarettes.

'would you quit that?' you angrily grumbled as you scowled at him. he only laughed again in return.

'sorry sorry, wouldn't want to ruin your pretty hair.'

and there it was again. that feeling in the pit of your belly that bubbled up every time he'd compliment you. he's just messing around with you, isn't he? after all, you both hate each other.

for the second time tonight, you snapped yourself out of your daydreaming and made your way back to bed where you plopped down face first and let out an exasperated sigh.

charlie has been fogging your mind all week and it was starting to get annoying. that annoying sly grin of his, his annoying handsome face, annoying compliments, annoying soft hair, annoying charlie. you disliked him. hated, even. you hated him a lot. you don't even like him that much.

but maybe it's time to admit that you do.

#dead poets society x reader #dead poets society #charlie dalton #charlie dalton x reader

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bigmouthlass · 5 months

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Title: A Strange Detour

Series: Holler Me Home, part 1

Author: BJ

Fandom: Supernatural

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Dean Winchester/You, Dean Winchester/Reader

Synopsis: 'You' are an Omega fresh off a daring rescue of Alpha!Dean. Fate wouldn't be so cruel as to bring on a heat when you're seeing him home-- oh wait.

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega You, Omega Reader, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Knotting, Dubious Consent,

AN: If I've misused any of the ABO tropes, I apologize. There's a lot about ABO dynamics that bother me, I tried to play with it a little so it doesn't come off quite so . . . squicky. There is content referencing sexual abuse of minors but it's offstage, non-explicit, and not meant to be in any way titillating. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

The first flush hits as you climb through the door and lock it behind you. "Oh shit!"

The body stretched out on your bed murbles something.

"Never mind, go back to sleep."

An affirmative grunt is the only response, and you shut yourself in the RV's tiny bathroom. Pinching in your back dispenses with the notion that you can get by using regular drugstore suppressants; the damn things don't work when the show's already on the road. Instead you reach for the neutralizer and smear it over your scent points. Not much you can do about your privates, except stick a thick pad there and hope for the best. Cussing, you eat some aspirin with a cup of coffee, get in your captain's chair, and hit the backroads.

Your guest wakes up about the time you pass the state line. Tall, very handsome, stiff with the aftermath of an ass-whuppin’, the bruise on his cheekbone turning a nice shade of plum and lilac. "Morning sunshine. There's coffee in the cupboard over the stove. Make yourself useful."

Dean Winchester grunts something obscene but he goes to do as he's told. "What's with the cigarettes? Thought you quit."

"I did," you confirm, crushing your cigarette out and lighting another. "I've been up for thirty-six hours since I got the SOS from Garth to come save your dumb ass. Cigarettes keep me awake. Next step up is speed and that shit makes me sick." And the smoke should cover any scent that gets past the neutralizer.

"Alright you've made your point. Open a window or something."

"Can't. We'll lose the air conditioning."

"Don't care. Those things reek."

Conceding his point, you get him to open the windows. Whether or not that improves the air quality is debatable. Downwind of Gary stinks of burned oils and bad decisions. On top of that it's one of those overcast days where the world feels like a steam room on half power. Dean's flannel and your jean jacket get tossed up into the upper front bunk within minutes. Lord have mercy but why did he have to pick today of all days to wear a tank top? In his mid-thirties, Dean looks his age, and his age looks pretty damn good.

Of course short sleep is only part of the story. Thanks to the scrambling your hormones got from ten years of experimental suppressants, your heats are hard and painful. You scrap the plan to escort Dean back to Kansas yourself and make a new plan to hit up a fixer you know who lives in Illinois. Izzy’s got a bunch of beaters with clean titles and he owes you a big one.

Dean's not in a much better mood than you are. With how often he gets kidnapped and thrashed you'd think he'd be used to the process, but no. The ride turns into one giant bitchfest, Dean ignoring your growls to shut the fuck up as he complains about everything-- how much his back hurts, how he mashed his fingers in the cupboard door, how the radio isn't picking up anything but bad country western and whiny preachers. Battling the backroads of Indiana in a C-class RV in ninety degree weather and no air conditioning, with a bad heat coming on and the world's biggest fussy baby whining in your ear, is going in the books as one of your special Hells. You wish Sam was here. Nobody's better at Dean-wrangling than he is. You should be so lucky; Sam's holed up at the Winchesters' super secret hideout, fresh off surgery to repair a torn tendon in his knee.

A stop for gas and some fried chicken helps. "I'm sorry," you apologize, swallowing a big hunk of drumstick. "I don't think I've eaten since lunch yesterday and I'm a total bitch when I'm hungry."

"'M sorry too," Dean says around a mouthful of coleslaw. "I try to be nice to people who save my ass."

"Dude," you say, "saving your ass is not only a service to humanity, it's my distinct pleasure." Your reward is a blinding grin and an eyebrow waggle, and you try not to blush. The man is hot as a lit match and if things were different-- well, you'd have to take a number, people a lot cuter'n you have drawn blood for the pleasure of his company.

Your pussy clenches and a brutal cramp seizes your innards. Fresh slick oozes, the sensation making you cringe. You seize on Dean's casual, "So what's the plan?" like a drowning woman grabbing for a life ring. "Well my nearest fixer lives outside a little town name of Union Hill. He can hook you up with transportation and gas money." And you can park the RV in the middle of nowhere and howl out your heat in peace.

"You don't want to come back and visit?" Dean asks. If you didn't know better you'd think he looks a little . . . hurt. "Sam would love to see you. He told me to say thank you for that print you sent."

"Everybody should have a Van Gogh in their first house," you say, smiling. "It's like a national law." Your smile breaks on a massive yawn.

"Hey-- go get some sleep," Dean says. "I've got a CDL, I can drive this tin can."

"Watch it Winchester, this is my home you're talking about," you grouch. A power nap sounds nice right now, if for no other reason than it's a excuse to put some space between you and Dean. Far as he knows you're a Beta, and you intend to keep it that way. "You know how to get to Kankakee from here?"

Dean gives you a look.

"Sorry, my bad. Wake me when we hit the city."

"Yes ma'am," Dean says.

"Salute me when you say that."

Without looking back as he settles into your captain's chair, Dean flips you off. "Hey," he asks as he fires up the engine, "you know of a good barbecue joint around where we're going?"

"There's a truck stop on 57, maybe two or three exits south. They've got a pit out back. Why?"

Dean makes that dunno shrug sound. "I could seriously go for some ribs.”

---

You're deep under, dreaming of plush lips and -- of all things -- chocolate fudge and cheesecake when the RV lurches.

"Sorry," Dean calls back as you climb out of bed. "We're making a pit stop. I gotta find a pharmacy."

The RV lurches again, damn near throwing you off your feet. The coffeepot crashes to the floor. "Fuck-- Dean!"

"Sorry," he says, unconvincingly. Someone outside blares a horn and Dean hollers something you're sure he didn't learn in church. You peer out through the curtains and see a Walgreens. Dean wheels into a bank of parking spaces and cuts the engine.

"Wait a-- Dean! chill!" Too late, he's out the door and jogging across the parking lot. You stare at the remains of your coffee maker, source of the bitter fuel of life. How Sam has not strangled Dean in his sleep, you have no idea.

Well as long as you're here-- grimacing through the intensifying cramps you pick up a new coffeemaker and stock up on protein drinks and bottled water. Omegas can, and have, died of thirst or hunger while deep in heat. As you leave the store you see a Confinement Notice posted on the wall. Shit. You forgot, Illinois is a Confinement state-- unless you get your horny ass inside the cops can pick you up and stash you in a closet next to the drunk tank until your heat runs its course. For Your Own Safety, For Their Own Safety. It's tempting to rip the damn thing off the wall and burn it.

Dean's in the bathroom when you get back, grunting something about an upset stomach. Whatever, Dean locked in the bathroom means less chance you'll do something dumb. Maybe, just maybe, you can get out of this with your dignity intact.

If you can fight through the haze drifting across your brain. Thick killer fog, smothering logic and reason, turning off anything but a fierce longing for bare skin, lips, hands, knot. Your skin is burning, clothes are starting to chafe. You’re running out of time.

When you get to Izzy’s hideout -- a cozy basement cave on an abandoned farm with a yard full of rustbucket cars, the house and barn lost to a fire years ago -- you're in a state. Febrile, trembling, every erogenous zone on your body aching. You have to take a minute to get your knees under you when you climb out of the RV. Jesus, you've never had a heat hit this fast.

"No." With shaking fingers you touch the note caught in the storm cellar door, staring wide-eyed and disbelieving at heavy duty padlocks. "No no no no no no, Jesus fuck no--" you dash back into the RV and pound on the bathroom door. "Dean get out here! My fixer's gone, you gotta see if you can get one of his beaters running--"

"I can't." Dean's voice is even hoarser and deeper than usual.

"What? Why the hell not? Your legs broke?"

A choke of laughter. "If only."

"Dean this isn't funny," a crinkle of plastic gets your attention and you pick a shopping bag up off the floor. The receipt is inside and as you read the brand names your insides collapse into a void. Neutralizer and suppressants, Alpha formula. Oh Jesus died in vain and legally changed his middle name to Fucking, Dean is in rut.

"Why didn't you tell me?!?" you shrill. "Dipshit, it's really not a good idea to be riding around in a mobile home full of fucking guns when you've got a rut coming--"

"I didn't know!" Dean roars and you flinch. "My rut's not due for another three fucking weeks! Maybe one of those assholes dosed me. Maybe those painkillers you gave me did something-- I don't know." Dean goes on, oblivious to your silence. "Fucking thing comes every thirty-three days, has ever since I was fifteen. I could set my watch to it. I wake up this morning, I feel fine, three hours later I start getting the shakes. I thought if I loaded up on suppressants I could hold it off until I got home but the fucking things aren't working!"

"How bad is it?" you ask.

"I could pole-vault over myself right now," Dean says. "Look I know you're probably exhausted but you gotta get me back to the bunker--"

"Dean you see the bag hung over the towel bar on the door?"

A pause. "Yeah?"

"Open it up and look inside." The bag, an old army medic first aid kit, is where you keep the stuff from the drug trial-- copies of questionnaires, doctor's exam notes, charts of the side effects, the empty glass vials with their color-coded labels. You listen as Dean opens it up and rifles through the contents, and cringe when the anvil drops and he starts snapping out swears. "What the fuck?!? Omega?"

The contempt in the word gets you mad again. "Because it wasn't your business and my heats aren't regular. I wouldn't have shut us up in a box together if I thought I wasn't safe!" Your uterus clenches into a hard fist and your knees buckle, your palms smacking on the kitchen counter.

"Oh fuck. Do not tell me you're going into heat."

You cough out a laugh. "You tell me. Alpha."

Dean sniffs. "Oh Jesus Christ. How-- oh God you smell good. How did I never notice?"

"The shit I was on worked." There had been side effects of course-- your hair falling out all over, a uterus full of fibroids and scar tissue, the increased cancer risk, irregular and painful heats . . .

Not fun. But a breeding Omega is a liability as a Hunter, and you need Hunting more than you need a mate and pups. However vehemently your body disagrees right now.

"I knew you were something," Dean says, surprising you.

"Oh fuck off Winchester, I'm not one of those slobbering Betas you pick up in bars who want a walk on the wild side with a real-life Alpha. Did any of them ask you for a bite?"

"You're a vicious bitch when you're in heat, you know that?"

Your reply is lost in a high squeak of pain. The latch on the bathroom door rattles and you lock it from the outside-- you'd installed the bolt years ago. Just in case. Dean throws it a shoulder. Panicking, you shriek, "Dean stop!"

He slumps against the back wall. He takes a deep sniff, like a little kid smelling a flower. You can't help it, you pull a deep breath and moan as Dean's scent hits your brain, filling your senses with fudge and leather.

It takes every bit of your disappearing willpower to stagger to your bed.

---

The next hours are pure misery. Wave after wave of need racks your body, your cunt clenching around nothing, every fiber of your being desperate for a knot, for seed. The tiny little space left where you live is just as desperate, cracking you with a whip of you are not your biology, you are not some hole for an Alpha to hump their come into, you are not some fucking brood mare, you are not, you are not, you are not--

Again and again you cry out as the words fail you. Your own hands and the toys in the nightstand drawer work overtime, wringing climaxes out of your body to the point of pain. They just make it worse. Your body doesn't want to come, it wants Alpha. Surrounding you, holding you down, pulling you close, knotting, biting, marking, mating-- just in time you sink your fangs into your pillow and howl.

When the first wave recedes it's dark outside. Your body feels like a clenched fist and you hiss in pain as you unwrap yourself from your pillows and pull yourself straight. It's agony but you know from bitter experience that you have to use these lucid periods productively. Your knotting toy lays at the foot of the bed, sticky and stinking. Tears of frustrated rage in your eyes, you pick it up and hurl it overhand, hard enough to dent the wall.

"Jesus!" Dean snaps from the bathroom.

"Sorry. Are you okay?"

"Well," Dean says as you lurch to the kitchen table and crack a bottle of protein drink, "I've got a hard-on that won't die and a really embarrassing mess to clean up--"

"Dude!"

"You asked, genius. And I am starving. I could eat a dead skunk if you put some onions on it first."

"There's a box of ration bars under the sink and the clear water tank is full. Just in case," you add, "there's a pistol and a silver knife in the toilet tank and some holy water in the medicine cabinet." You do what you can to clean off some of the sweat and slick, the cool water soothing on your skin.

The next wave hits and you're on the floor dragging the washcloth back and forth through your pussy, spread out on your front with your ass in the air. Dean's crouched down on the bathroom floor. You can see his face pressed against the little slats in the door, hear the hissing of breath through his nose. Gobbling up your scent like a kid with a sackful of Halloween candy. Shuddering, disgusted with yourself, disgusted with him, you crawl back into your bed for round two.

---

"You gotta let me outta here," Dean says, several hours later.

"You can't leave," you tell him tiredly. "Illinois has Confinement laws." You getting caught with an RV full of unregistered firearms, pipe bombs, drugs of all functions, magic supplies both holy and otherwise, and maybe one or two satchel charges is one thing. Dean getting picked up? The FBI would put him under the jail.

You hear Dean sit on the toilet lid. "Shit."

"Yeah. Don't suppose there's anybody you can call--"

"Phone's on the table. Besides," he adds, "everyone I can think to call is-- they shouldn't be coming here."

You hear the unspoken point. Garth's a Beta but there's a full moon coming and he won't risk being caught away from home. Sam is out of commission and an Alpha besides. Castiel is . . . well, he is what he is, but he's in the wind. "Shit.”

"I just said that."

"Hoho, very funny. Ha ha, it is to laugh."

Dean snorts. “Look, ‘Mega--”

“Don’t call me that! Don’t you ever call me that!!!” you yell.

“Okay okay okay-- just listen. Is it really so awful?”

"Do I have to dignify that with an answer?" you snap back. "This shit fucking hurts, you dick."

"That's not what I meant," Dean says. "I mean-- the thought of me. Is that really so awful?"

Oh God, what a question. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? I'd have to fight for you with anyone with eyesight and a libido that works."

Dean doesn't say anything for a moment. "So. Any Alpha that's good-looking?"

"Fuck you," you spit. "You have any idea how fucking demeaning this shit is? I'm going on about my day and all of a sudden I wanna drop my drawers for any twitching dick that walks by? When I was in school I had fucking Betas grabbing me in the halls. 'Present for me Omega.'" Your voice almost breaks. The memory of your first heat is one you don’t want back. "One of them was my fucking history teacher. Said it was his duty as an Alpha."

A bitter sound that might've started as a laugh comes from the bathroom. "Librarian," he says. "Dragged me into the science wing supply closet. Said her husband went noseblind and she was dying for a knot."

"Jesus." Would they? Of course they would. Young, attractive, bad reputation, mostly on his own-- to a certain kind of scum Dean would've been catnip. "How old were you?"

"Seventeen." Dean pulls a breath. "There were some others at that school. I got passed around like a fucking trophy." Or a whore, you think but don't say. "I never said nothing to anybody but I kept getting these looks from some of the seniors. Big bad Alpha, even the teachers want a piece. I tried-- I swear, I tried to stop. One of them, she taught one of Sammy's classes-- he started taking high school English when he was in sixth grade. She told me if I didn't fuck her she'd call the cops and get Sammy taken away."

You touch the surface of the locked door. The one threat Dean would never, ever take as anything but serious, the one thing that would scoop his guts out and make him nice and tame. "They can go straight to Hell," you say. Your tongue hits your fangs, fully descended. As if you could go back in time and rip the bitches to pieces for daring to lay a hand on your-- on him. "Every last motherfucking one of them."

Silence, no engine noises, no crunch of tires in the distance. Just insect wings and an owl hooting in the trees. Just you two and the angels right now, and you hope to God they're not paying attention.

"You're the first person that didn't instantly make a joke about it," Dean says finally.

"I make jokes about funny shit. That shit ain't funny."

"Yeah." You hear something light, leaflike-- Dean flipping a page. "Did someone hurt you? Is that why you signed up for this?"

"Omegas get hassled. It comes with the territory," you dodge the question. "I volunteered because--" you think a minute. "I went into heat once when I was tracking a tseste. Damn near died. OTC meds weren't strong enough, so I started doing some digging. Pfizer’s been working to develop heavy-duty suppressants for a while now. High dose hormone regulators. I sighed up for a clinical trial. Stuff works great-- no scent, no mating drive. The drug part of the study ended about a year ago. I just have to go to the doctor twice a year for follow-ups."

Dean snaps his fingers. "That's why you didn't take that case in Buffalo. That ghost ship."

"Yeah. I was parked outside Sault Ste Marie scaring the mosquitoes." Ashamed, you add, "I really am sorry about that, I heard you and Sam damn near drowned."

"Wasn't your fault." That leafy sound again. Of course Dean's read through everything in the bag. Nothing else to do in there but play with himself, you think and wish you hadn’t. Those big hands and nimble fingers, strong enough to bend iron, gentle enough to suture a wound or wipe a tear. "Did the jerks from the drug company tell you how bad the side effects could get?"

"They had to," you reply. "This isn't a super secret project to neuter all the Omegas in the world. Pfizer gets a suppressant formula that actually works, they'll be the richest bastards since the Pharaohs. I'd sell my soul not to have to deal with," your lip curls in revulsion as you take yourself in, soaked in sweat and slick and ready to throw yourself at any swelling knot, "this."

"Please tell me that’s a figure of speech."

You roll your eyes. "Even I'm not that desperate. It's not you, Dean. If it were just us--" why in God's name are you saying these things?

"It is just us," Dean points out. "Nothing here but you and me."

"You, me, and a mating instinct that still gets people off the hook for murder in 36 states." The words flow, like blood from a deep cut. "I took a shitload of drugs that killed my uterus and will probably give me cancer because that's better than pumping out pups by the boatload until my body gives up and dies. And don't tell me it doesn't have to be that way. It might not be legal to throw out job applications from Omegas but it still fucking happens. You know what I wanted to do before I had my first heat? I wanted to go to West Point. Be the first woman on the Joint Chiefs. But nope, the Corps loves Alphas but Omegas are too much fucking hassle--"

"You're not hearing me," Dean interrupts your tirade.

"And you aren't hearing me. I can't afford to forget I'm a fucking sow. It's gonna get me killed one of these days. You got the same classes I did Winchester, you know the life expectancy of Omegas tops out at fifty-five. Fifty for male Omegas."

"And thirty-five for female Alphas. That's not the point."

You gulp. Dean in rut and out of patience was not something you ever wanted to see. You clutch your midsection, another wave of heat stirring, sucking at you, pulling you under.

"I wanted you the minute I looked at you," Dean says, making your eyes pop wide. "I didn't make a move because I thought you couldn't stand Alphas. Remember that night, when Sammy and me met you?"

You nod. "The harpy nest."

"We had to pull you off that frat boy Alpha when he grabbed your ass." Shit. You remember the incident, sort of, you were pretty drunk at the time. You'd forgotten about the part where Dean had to drag you kicking and screaming off the premises while Sam talked the bouncer out of calling the cops.

Dean's voice goes even rougher, lower. It feels like he's speaking right to that surging, stinging want spreading through you. Your hind brain plucks the same old song on your nerves, mate-knot-breed, mate-knot-breed, the same old breedslut’s waltz. The animal inside wants to dance, and relishes the thought of taking Alpha’s lead. "If I wanted to knot you 'til you bleed I would. I can break through this damn door in a New York minute and you know it. And for the record," you shudder, "I can feel exactly how much you're hurting right now and you have no idea what it's like having to feel my mate in pain and just stand here with my dick in my hand."

The sensation of total stop gets underlined by another murderous cramp. Curled with pain, you shout, "MATE?!? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?!?!?"

"It's the only way this makes sense," Dean says. "You said you've never had your heat take you this fast. I've never been more than a couple days off-schedule. Either we've been hit with a curse and fuck I hope not or we're a match and our cycles are synching up."

"You don't honestly believe in that true mates crap," you say, digging your nails into your sides hard enough to break skin.

"I've seen it. There were these two guys. Hunters. We ran into them on a case. I saw the claiming bites. Sam asked them when they got together and Jose said they met on the streets. When they scented each other, they knew. Jose said it was like somebody distilled happiness. You know what you smell like to me right now?" Dean takes a long sniff. "Grape popsicles.” Another sniff. You can picture him scenting, head back, lips parted, skin flushed and shadowed with beard, a Renaissance angel in bluejeans, those eyes looking at you, wanting you. “Barbecue, with brown sugar and lots of pepper.”

You aren't aware of scenting and the words just sort of come out. "Mackinac Island fudge.” One hand slides down and between “My mom's old motorcycle jacket."

Faintly, you hear the clink of a belt buckle. "Cinnamon."

Your fingers glide over slicked flesh. "Cedar shavings."

A soft groan, a breathless voice. "Irish whiskey."

Both hands, seeking, circling, inside. "Toasting marshmallows."

You can hear the rhythmic sliding of skin against skin. A soft plosive sound, Dean spitting into his hand. "Hot engines."

Your body clenches at your fingers, the bands of muscle meant to lock behind Alpha's knot flexing and fluttering. "Gunpowder."

Dean's panting as he sinks to his knees. "Peanut butter--" he moans your name.

Climax breaks over you and you curl your fingers into a bony knot, your other hand rolling your clit like a marble in oil. "Baked apples," you cry out as Dean gasps from the other side of the locked door. Scent and seed and slick and tears. You crawl away from the bathroom crying out in pain as the heat rips and drags you under.

---

Never ask if things can get worse. God takes it as a personal challenge.

You didn't even make it into the bed. Instead of climbing up onto the sheets you’d curled up into a tight ball on the floor, and there you remain. You'd assumed the scent of an Alpha in rut made heat as bad as it could possibly get. Misss-stake. The paradigm has shifted, your instincts have seized on the idea (the truth, a little part of you cries) and that's not just an Alpha in the other room (mine!), it's Dean. You can't pretend the Alpha, the man, you're scenting is just some knot that happens to look like your friend (mate). Dean's hands on your blazing skin, Dean's mouth kissing yours, Dean's knot locked in your cunt, Dean's seed pumping into your body. Oh the things he could do to you, body and spirit so much stronger than he lets on.

Your scents have intensified to the point where you can taste them on the air, bite them off and chew them. A filmstrip voice from fifth grade sex ed class drones in your memory-- 'like their animal counterparts with similar mating cycles, Alphas and Omegas in season produce pheromones to indicate their status to potential mates. In the correct conditions, pheromones can be detectable up to a mile away. An unmated Alpha or Omega's pheromone production will increase the longer a breeding cycle continues without a successful mating.' The sound of hateful sniggering, always in your ears. Breeder, cum sink, momslut, Omega.

The sense of Dean's presence drags across your senses like fish hooks over your skin, and cruelest of all it's not demanding, it's begging, pleading. Alpha feels your agony and longs to take the pain away. Faintly you can hear Dean's voice, thick with his own need. He keeps asking you to answer him, laugh at this, say something at that, breathe like a train engine, anything to help you emerge from the Hell of your own body.

And something just . . . gives. Breaking strain, tipping point, limit reached and breached. "Dean!" you cry, sobbing so hard you can't breathe. "Help me! Dean, please--"

A crack like a gunshot, and the bathroom door splinters into matchsticks. You turn your head and there he is, barechested, jeans hanging open, his cock jutting up and out, the knot at the base dark and pulsing. You look for Dean and instead it's all Alpha and your heart crumbles to ash. Weeping, you do what's expected; head down, spread your knees as wide apart as they'll go, press your chest down into the floor, arch your back to flare up your rear. A proper presenting, showing Alpha you're ready for breeding. Like a stinking beast and worth half as much.

"Please," you cry into the floor. If dignity is cheap why does it hurt so much to lose? "Please, it hurts, it hurts so bad."

"I know baby, it's okay, I got you," instead of spreading you wider or grabbing you by the nape Dean takes your shoulders and pulls you gently upright and against his chest, the heat of his skin matching the heat under yours, "c'mere, it's gonna be okay, shh," softness pressing to your face, your head, your mouth, "can you stand? c'mon, put your feet down--" he pulls one of your limp arms over his shoulders and stands, drag-marching you the last step to your bed. By the time he's got you laid down he's shuddering almost as hard as you are.

You whine when Dean pulls away, gasping out pleas, grabbing his hand and interlacing your fingers. Whatever he was going to do gets abandoned and Dean drags himself overtop you, jeans boots and all. You wind yourself around him, soaking up the feel and the smell and the everything the way cracked skin soaks up lotion-- pain and relief all at once. His cock drags across your belly, leaving a hot trail. A hand gropes your cunt and you let out a high whistling gasp. "Hang on baby," Dean says. He tries a smile. "Left my lube in my other pants."

You smack him somewhere meaty. Dean grunts but his attention doesn't waver. Two fingers slip inside and wiggle while Dean murmurs how tight, how wet and warm, how good it's gonna feel, how good he's going to make you feel. The tip of his cock brushes you and before you can freeze he rolls his hips and oh.

There's no resistance at all. He just glides, fitting up into your body like a key in a lock. Every single muscle in your body pulls tight tight tight and you scream, Dean half-sobbing a curse against your lips. The spasm lets go just as you feel yourself starting to pass out and clarity returns to the feel of your Alpha painting your face with kisses, your bare skull held gently between his hands. Blood and sensation surges back and you moan as Dean puts an arm around your back and thrusts.

He's big inside you, and the way he's got you tipped makes every movement light sparks along your nerves. Gentleness goes by the boards as your body clutches at him, as your claws cut furrows in his back and your heels dig into his butt. The rest of reality doesn't exist, all that matters is Dean in your arms, Alpha's knot swelling, starting to catch.

The world goes upsie-daisy as Dean grabs tight and rolls the whole works over. "Wanna see," he pants, holding your hips until you get your balance. "My knot-- oh my God you're beautiful, you're so goddamn beautiful."

You don’t have words, just touch, your hand pulling Dean up for a kiss. Your bodies find their stride and you’re rocking hard together, moaning against each other’s lips. Hours on the edge has you in a place beyond, need and pain and bliss all smashed and melted together. You’re desperate for the end, you want this to never end.

“NO!” you scream in denial when Dean’s knot pops and your cunt locks him in place. His back arches as he comes and the pain in your body drains away as his cock pumps you full of seed. You start to cry, your own peak denied, release out of your reach--

Beneath you, Dean sprawls, crying out at each pulse of his cock. His hands clamp on your hips hard enough you can feel him clutching bone. Unconsciously you follow his unspoken lead, rotating your body around Alpha’s knot, making every millimeter of him stroke and drag. Jaw clenched as your pussy pulls at his overstimulated cock, Dean strokes your clit, his touch light as bird wings and intense as fireworks. His eyes lock with yours and what’s left of the world fades to nothing. All that’s real is this, Alpha and Omega, you and Dean.

Everything in you stops and flashbulbs pop behind your eyes as you finally come, crying out Alpha’s name, and the last thing you hear is Dean shouting as another load of his seed bursts into your womb. Your body folds over and everything goes black.

---

Just before dawn, when the terminator passes and everything is shades of blue, you open your eyes, flat on your back. On his side, curled up next to you, Dean sleeps. One of his arms lays across your belly.

Well. You lie still, utter peace rubbed up against utter shock. 24 hours ago you were giving your wounded friend two Oxycontin with a bourbon chaser and worrying about gas money. You take a whiff, noting the change in your mingled scents. Lord it's weird, relaxing and tensing up all at once.

Dean mumbles a little and you shut your eyes, going boneless. You don't want to see his face when he opens his eyes and realized he's not in bed with a gorgeous, well-fucked, ready-for-more Beta. He'd said he wanted you and he wasn't lying -- you give yourself at least that much credit -- but an Alpha in rut would find an Omega in heat attractive no matter what.

Dean takes a deep sniff at your neck. Is he purring? Moaning? Whatever it is, it's going right to that worried place, soothing it away. "Hey," he says, so softly. "You awake?"

"Mmm," you grumble, turning on your side and into Dean's arms. Dean doesn't turn away, doesn't grope you, doesn't mutter obscenities as he rolls you over to present. You can feel him moving around you, making his body into a safe little harbor, and you can almost believe there's nothing else in the world he'd rather be or do.

For all that he's a Hunter and one of the strongest personalities you know, for all that you'd never doubt for a minute that Dean's an Alpha, the thought of Dean being Alpha as you understand Alphas doesn't click. Alphas don't get all soft and googoo face when they're holding someone else's pup. Alphas don't turn down sex from cooperative partners even when said partner is a little short of legal or too drunk to tapdance. Unmated adult Alphas don't exist cooperatively for years on end even when they're related. Sam behaves more Alpha than Dean does and Sam's a sweetheart most of the time.

Another wave of heat swells in you but there’s no pain, just want. You nuzzle your way up Dean’s throat and meet him for a kiss.

Both of you pull away with a disgusted noise. “Ew. Dragon breath,” you say.

“Yours is worse,” Dean, no gentleman, tells you. “Least I don’t taste like an ashtray.”

“Hold your breath,” you order, reaching down and feeling him rise to attention.

Pouting-- he’s actually pouting-- Dean pushes your hand away. “Sorry baby,” he says, kissing your forehead, “but I gotta piss like a racehorse.”

“Charming. Make it fast.” You make a face as you roll out of bed. At least these aren’t the good sheets. An Alpha in rut leaves behind one fuck of a wet spot.

Dean picks up a piece of wrecked door. “Holy shit.”

“You’re paying my deductible,” you tell him, reaching around the doorframe and snatching your toothbrush.

Ten minutes later and you’ve got minty fresh breath, a protein drink in your system, and your butt squeaking a brisk one-two beat on the kitchen counter as Dean fucks you to within an inch of your life.

---

“Well this is awkward,” you say.

Dean pants out a laugh. “Ya think?”

You try to shift yourself off Dean’s knot and hiss in pain. “Um . . .” you give him a pained grin, “I like Captain Solo where he is?”

That gets you a glare. “Seriously?”

“Sorry. Pop out on three-- one, two--”

“No no no no no, you’ll tear.” Over your protests, Dean picks you up off the counter, careful of your knotted together bodies. He sits on the dining table, draping you over his lap and making your mewl as his cock shifts around inside you. Dean sighs as you get your knees on either side of his hips. “That’s better.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Why the hell not? I’m not going to just rip out of you. What kind of an asshole do you think I am?”

“An Alpha. And you’re not an asshole you’re a dipshit. There’s a difference.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” You can’t help it, your lip curls in a snarl. “Not much I could do to stop you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Oh am I offending you now?”

That’s worth a glare. “Yeah, kinda, it pisses me off that you think you gotta prove something to me.”

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, confused.

“I mean--” Dean cuts himself off, thinking, holding you still when you try that swivel trick around his knot. “Stop that.”

“Whyyyy?”

“Because I’m trying to have an adult conversation--”

“Whyyyy?”

“Because you’re starting to remind me of Sam when he was ten and it’s annoying--”

“WHYYYY?”

“Because I really do not want to be thinking of my brother right now--”

“WHYYYY?!?”

Dean’s fighting a grin and losing. “Animaniacs references will not save you--”

“WHYYYY?!?!?”

“Knock it off!”

You suck in a breath for the whine to end all whines, only to breathe crosswise into coughing as Dean starts tickling you. Swearing through your giggles, you attack his ribs.

Somewhere in there tickling’s led to stroking, caressing, kisses, soft bites. Gently you drag your lips across Dean’s collarbones, down to mouth a nipple, up to nibble over his tattoo. Just touching him feels good.

His mouth slips down the side of your neck and pauses on the mating gland. You stiffen. Hurt shines in Dean’s eyes, before he covers it in irritation. “Jeez-zus Christ I’m--”

Making a decision, you touch his lips and shush him up. “Look. When this is over we’ll talk. For real talk, I promise. Until then, can we table the deep soul-bearing heart-to-heart shit?”

“You’re regretting this already?” Dean asks, the hurt shining through more strongly.

“God no.” Pounding the point home with a kiss. “I just don’t want you to. If you’re right, about us I mean.” You stare into his eyes, nearly lost in shining green, one of your hands over his beating heart. “I don’t wanna fuck this up.”

Dean takes your face between his hands and kisses you, deep and sweet. You barely notice when his knot collapses and he slips out, leaving a mess of mingled come all over you both.

---

It’s getting hot, sweat making your bodies slide deliciously as you gently, softly, agonizingly move against Alpha. His cock fills you beautifully, the fat head rubbing against a spot inside that brings tears to your eyes. Slow, stoking the heat burning through your body.

Dean lifts your leg a little higher, goes a little deeper. “Hold your leg like that,” he whispers. His newly freed hand goes to your belly and presses down against the shallow curve of tummy fat. “Feel that?”

You can. Your insides fluttering as Dean pushes against them. From inside. Makes every movement more there, more immediate. Head, ridge, shaft, knot-- you moan when Dean starts gently rubbing your clit, making him answer in kind when your cunt spasms around him.

It lasts, Dean makes it last, until you can’t anymore and he flips you to your back and fucks his knot into you. You cry out as your body takes another load of seed and you lie there, bodies heaving for air, the two of you glued together with the heat.

---

“You’re a genius,” you tell Dean.

“I know, I know,” he smiles, almost too beautiful to look at in the rich sunset light. Your nose can still pick up his scent, mixed with green leaves and burning citronella. The two of you sit on your old air mattress, sharing some dried fruit and venison jerky, passing a jug of water. In the west the sun vanishes in a riot of rose and orange and purple. High up on the roof of your little home on wheels, it really does feel like a tiny slice of Heaven.

“I still do this, whenever I hit a hunt away from the cities,” you tell Dean. “Especially out in the desert country, like Lake Taos? I always freeze my ass off in the morning but the sky’s just . . .”

“Yeah,” Dean chuckles. “We were on our way across Nevada once and we got caught between towns. Dad had to stop and get a little sleep. So Sammy and me lay on the windshield and watched the stars. I was dozing and Sammy woke me up when he saw a whole buncha shootin’ stars-- we must’ve caught the tail end of a meteor shower.”

Dean’s gaze has gone inward, his voice rough and loose with that bit of Texas that comes out sometimes. When Dean reminisces, it’s usually centered on Sam, or him and Sam as a unit, the Winchester Boys, Butch and Sundance, Martin and Lewis, Heckle and Jeckle. Truly impactful memories aren’t something either of them talk about much. You know why. The truth of who people are is a treasure and it’s shockingly easy to steal. This is a gift you’re being given, and you give back silence and space.

“Sammy started poundin’ on the windshield to get Dad to wake up. I thought sure he was gonna rip me a new one for not keeping him quiet. But instead he got out of the car and climbed up on the hood with us. He put his arm around each of us and we all just watched the stars.

“We woke up at dawn half-frostbit and with this Highway Patrol cop writing a ticket for-- shit, I don’t even remember. Sammy talked him out of it by telling him about falling stars.” You can tell Dean’s disappointed in his story. The most important things are the hardest to say. “Anyway. It’s nice to be under an open sky sometimes.”

“Yeah.” Camping out with your dad, learning how to fish and build a fire and find cattails and aim a rifle. And then your body turned traitor, to you and your dad both.

“You know what?” Dean says, as though he knows the channel of your thoughts and wants to divert it, “I’m hungry.”

“You can have the rest of the jerky, man, I’m cool.”

“Nuh-uh.” He kisses you, pushes you back on the mattress. “I need something . . .” he kisses over your heart, “nice . . .” trails kisses down to your bellybutton, “sweet . . .” licks down to the patchy stubble, you haven’t shaved in a while, “mmm, juicy . . .”

“Oh real subtle Winchester,” you groan as he parts your legs and settles his head between them, “honestly that’s just--”

---

Later, under the light of the moon and stars you ride Dean’s supine body, pleasure and joy and the sense of height making you feel like you’re flying, or falling, or perfectly suspended in the moment God made the light. Nothing connecting you to the world of blood and pain except Dean, and since he’s flying with you that’s okay. His knot lodging firm in your body pulls you back, and for the first time the thought of being locked together seems . . . right, needed even. You don’t need a knot to be locked together and coming back to Earth with Dean is a Heaven in itself.

---

“Gonna rain today,” you say as Dean hands you a bottle of water.

“Yeah,” he agrees. He points to a scar on his leg. “Broken tibia. Aches a little when it rains.”

“Mmm. Prosit,” you clunk your bottles together. As you reach to drop yours in the wastepaper basket, Dean takes your arm and starts gently nibbling at your wrist, where all the lines and blood tangle together. Tingles and sparks fly along your nerves.

A phone rings and you both jump halfway to the moon. Dean picks up his latest burner and groans. “Sam.”

From the volume and Dean’s wince, Sam is not using his six-inch voice. “Calm down man, I’m fine, I’m just laying low.”

“Oh is that what the kids’re callin’ it?” you whisper.

Dean waves you off. “I don’t know, maybe a couple more days? We’ve got some weather moving in.”

Irritated at getting the brushoff you go for the soft underbelly. Well, the not-so-soft part of it anyway. Dean coughs out a “Shit!” as you sluck up his cock, feeling it jump to life in your mouth.

Through the phone’s ear speaker you can hear Sam yelling. Dean glares down into your wide and totally not innocent eyes, as you let your lips stretch obscenely up his shaft, lash at the head with your tongue. “I don’t know! Somewhere in Illinois? We had to pull over-- yes, we, as in I am not alone, as in she might be coming down for a visit--” a choked moan pops out of him as you swallow him down, down, so far down your lips can kiss his knot. You hope he appreciates this, it took a lot of popsicles for you to get this trick right.

“No! Shit Sammy-- whatever-- which one of us is acting like he’s twelve?” A surprised laugh makes you choke and you pull away from Dean, coughing like you’re gonna hack up a lung. “I’m fine, Sam. You shouldn’t even be walking. How the hell you gonna work the double-clutch on that old truck with no left leg?”

“Sam wants to come here?!?” you scream-whisper.

“--you don’t even know how to ride the damn thing,” Dean continues. “No. I am fine, there’s nothing but trees for miles-- hey! I didn’t say anything when you wanted to take a detour to see the Impressionists--”

Your patience dies and you snatch the phone out of Dean’s hand. “Sam,” you cut him off. As the oldest of five girls, you know how to give orders to baby sibs. “Dean is fine. He will be home in a few days. If there’s a hunt we will deal with it then. Unless the house is burning down, chill. You got it?” You don’t even wait for Sam’s response, flipping the phone over, picking out the battery, and throwing the whole mess into the nightstand drawer.

Dean stares at you, mouth hanging open, dick visibly throbbing. The reality of what you just did hits you and you hide your face in your hands “Oh Christ. Sam’s gonna fucking kill me isn’t he?”

Clicking his mouth closed, Dean orders, “Put some clothes on.”

Your heart breaks. “What? Why? I’m not safe to drive yet.” Goddamn it, you’ve got maybe five seconds before you start bawling like a fucking crybaby.

Ignoring you, Dean goes upfront. Your fingers numb, you reach for your keys. Jesus-- your heart’s not breaking, it’s ripping itself to pieces like a dry piston engine. Any second now it’ll crack your chest open in a shower of blood and bone.

Dean snatches your wrist, yanking you away from the keyhook. “What are you doing?” he demands.

“You want to leave, I’ll--”

“We’re not leaving. Put this on.”

Present for me Omega, whispers out of a memory and you shudder as you drape the green on black plaid fabric over your shoulders and do up the buttons. The shirt fits you like a tent and smells like Dean, leather and chocolate and all things safe and good.

“Now that you’re wearing something,” he says, in a voice like velvet and whiskey, “I’m going to rip it off of you, and fuck your brains out.”

Your voice is very small. “Oh.”

---

Cool humidity soothes the inferno under your skin, as rain patters on the RV like pebbles on a tin can. Dean has you sprawled wide over the bed, with your knotting toy in one hand and a pocket massager in the other.

“I think I like this,” Dean says to himself, tickling your clit with the vibrator and making you squeak. “Your pussy’s still hungry.” You know it is, you can feel yourself pulsing around the knotting toy. Dean can see the flexing, smell your scent and your slick. “Doesn’t wanna let go. You wanna play with your titties for me?” His gaze goes unfocused as you caress yourself, thumbs flicking at your nipples. It’s just debauched, the picture you imagine you make, shamelessly naked and lounging on a stack of pillows being pleasured by your Alpha.

Or teased. Dean puts the vibrator aside and slowly drives Doctor Knotts into and out of your cunt, just enough to be nowhere near enough. A breeze from the window brings out goosebumps and pulls your nipples to attention. Indecent, slutty, perverted, degenerate-- under Dean’s gaze the shame under those thoughts disappears. You feel alive. You feel like a fucking goddess.

From the tangle of hair at his groin Dean’s cock rises, ready for duty. An idea percolates to the surface of your lust-fried mind. When you explain it to Dean, he just smiles, sticks his bare feet into his boots, carries you out into the rain, and takes you against the side of the RV. His skin is warm and his mouth tastes like rainwater. You run your tongue up the big tendon in the side of his neck and you feel Dean freeze when your mouth touches the pheromone gland, the mating gland.

You don’t, but oh God you want to. Instead you hold him tight as you come and let the rain handle your tears. Dean’s big hand cups the nape of your neck and he holds you back just as tight. His face is wet too, from the rain.

---

Dean’s on the back end of his rut, you can tell because his coloring is getting back to normal and his knot doesn’t take long to unlock. As though you needed more proof-- you think your heat is passing too. Needs matching one another, the way a mated pairs’ should.

So when Dean reaches, you come to him and meet his kiss. And you’re the one that turns over. You shiver as he takes his place behind, kissing up your spine, lingering on the scar of a ghoul bite he and Sam had cleaned and dressed together. You turn your head and find his seeking lips, trying not to feel your heartrate double and memories stirring like angry spirits.

Dean doesn’t bark it like a trainer correcting a dog. Heel, sit, speak, take it like a bitch. It’s soft, like he cares. Because he does. Dean Winchester is a man you trust, and you’re so tired of never trusting. “Present for me.”

You shift your knees apart and spread open your well-fucked Omega pussy. Dean’s breathing is ragged, like he just took a punch in the gut. You cry out as he touches you, finding heat, slick, slippery as warm oil.

“Is all this for me?” he asks, and you can just imagine-- slick pooling in his palm, trickling down his wrist.

“Yes,” you moan, “for God’s sake don’t tease--" you look up and see your own reflection, in the mirror hung on the inside of the closet. The door must’ve come off the latch again. Sitting on his knees behind you is Dean, your Alpha, studying you with an expression so nakedly vulnerable you almost look away.

“Tell me,” he asks. Pleads. He glances up and sees the mirror, sees you watching. With that vulnerable look, Dean says, “Tell me what you need.”

It’s like you’ve been waiting to give the answer your whole life. “You. Please, Dean, you. Please.”

Lining himself up, Dean presses into you. Dying coals of heat flare and you moan in relief and joy. One of his hands curls around yours while the other helps you sit up against his chest. In the mirror-- holy fuck there you are, bracketed by Dean, supplicant and lover and protector all in one. “You,” you whisper. “Need you. Always need you.” Dean hides his face behind your shoulder and moans.

Dean brings this to the best conclusion there could be, worshipping your body with his, tenderly, gently. So much of him is hard, strength called on too early and too often and pounded into iron by years of loss and impossible choices, but his hands on you are careful, gentle, reverential. Those hands have taken on Gods and won, and they touch you like something delicate and beautiful. “Got one more for me?” Dean asks, the flirty teasing threadbare as you tremble through another orgasm.

“I-- I don’t--”

“Come on, you can do it, I believe in you.” Dean does this weird grippy thing, something that makes your clit feel like it’s got roots all the way to your knees. Every clench and flutter of you cunt muscles makes your clit twitch in Dean’s grip, making you gasp. Bliss so intense it hurts. “There it is,” Dean says as you pitch forward. You lace your fingers through the top of his hand as he braces himself; he grips back and drives into you, broken voices matching as you fall over the edge together.

---

The next day is all tension and awkward silence. You’re both sore from using muscles that don’t get used much. Normal you stands on reserve, truly engages with few, shows weakness to almost no one. For Christ’s sake you begged--

It’s an awkward crew that sets sail, the hot sun turning the moisture left from the rain into wring-out-your-clothes humidity. Dean spends most of his time in the passenger seat focused on his phone. He doesn’t try to engage in conversation beyond the strictly necessary. You don’t know if that’s a relief or just something else to piss you off. Christ, he’s not even coming near you. Pretty big turnaround from not being able to keep his hands off you for two days.

It’s that last thought that makes you clench your teeth and try to think rationally. God damn it, this’d be a lot more straightforward if it wasn’t for your fucking hormones. It adds a layer of mistrust to every intuition you normally rely on. Any judgement call is potentially tainted.

And how much right do you have to crash-land in his life anyway? Being a mated pair goes deeper than any legal or spiritual bond, it’s a physical thing. If you take that step it’ll severely curtail your freedom of motion. His too. And there’s the whole serial philanderer thing-- you know you’re monogamous and a bad experience has taught you that you can’t be in a relationship with someone who isn’t. And what about a family? Just seeing the way Dean comes alive around kids tells you he was born to be a father, and no matter how much you-- you can’t do that for him. You don’t even want kids. And there’s Sam. Where Dean is concerned, Sam is like the earth, no way around him.

Muscle memory has you reaching for your coffee cup and your hand touches Dean’s. Instead of snapping it back, you make yourself squeeze his fingers. Not much. An unscheduled bit of human contact. The strength of Dean’s return grip surprises you. You don’t want him to let go. When he does he gets up and goes in the back, avoiding you--

Dean’s leaving you your space, you realize. But you don’t want a space that doesn’t have him in it.

With that, you make a few decisions and take a turn. “You hungry?”

“Yeah,” Dean calls.

“There’s one of those Mongolian barbecue places up ahead. Wanna go and give the grillers a workout?”

---

“Six months.”

Dean’s chopsticks, heavy with beef and onion, pause on the way to his mouth. His already full mouth. Not that you’re being dainty; heats always leave you starving. He asks with his eyes.

You are not a coward. You refuse to behave like one. “If you’re willing,” please God let him be willing, “I want to give this a try.”

“What this?” Dean grunts around a swallow.

“This. Us.” Just like that Dean’s poker face slams into place. You’ve gotten so used to his unguarded, trusting affect it hurts to see his defenses go up like that.

You’re not gonna, so he doesn’t get to either. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“That’s your Cop face.” You flash yours right back at him. “Don’t do that. If we never talk straight again we have to do it now.”

Dean purses his lips and looks away. “What’s there to talk about--”

“Don’t. You. Fucking dare. Try to brush this off.”

“Look, we’re cool, okay? You don’t have to spare my feelings.”

“Huh?”

“You’re gonna make me say it,” Dean says after heaving a sigh.

“Negative copy on that Midnight Rider, say again?” You smile as you say it, it tickles you that Dean picked the Alman Brothers Band, it suits.

“I had sex with a woman when she couldn’t say no. The law calls that rape.”

You can feel the smile fall off your face. “Dean no, don’t even think that.”

“Why not?” he asks bitterly.

“Be-cause I was fucking begging?”

“You weren’t in your right mind. When I saw you on the floor-- God, I’ve never seen a woman cry like that. But I didn’t care.” His great green eyes burn with horrified shame. “I wanted you so bad, I didn’t care.” That’s the other part of Dean’s personality, the part that exists in a perpetual state of Fail. That part is incapable of internalizing any kind of praise, nitpicks every decision for flaws, and eagerly agrees with anything negative anybody says about him. Of course he’s taken your ambivalence to mean you hate him. For Dean, there’s no other conclusion possible.

That ends. Right now. You slip your fingers into his hand, pull it across the table to hold it in both of yours. It’s his gun hand, you can feel the hard spots. “Look at me, Winchester.” When you have his attention, you say, “I just had two days of the best sex of my entire life,” not a lie, that’s not even debatable, “with a man who made it his mission to not hurt me, not degrade me, made sure I enjoyed every damn minute, and was never anything but exactly who I needed. No matter where we go from here, I’ll always love you for that. And grateful. God, you have no idea how grateful. You took care of me,” you’re starting to get misty, the depth of that gratitude shocks you. You lift his hand and kiss the back. “Thank you.”

Dean clears his throat. “I don’t want to be one of those Alphas that made you treat any Alpha like the enemy,” he says.

“That would be most of them,” you say. He deserves a better answer than that, though. “My dad always wanted a son, but all Mom could ever give him were girls. I was the oldest, so after Mom had the twins I guess he decided God made me a tomboy for a reason.”

“Oh God he didn’t--”

“No,” you cut that thought right off. “My parents are Betas. So are my sisters. When I Presented, dad just refused to believe it. Said God wouldn’t do something so heartless, make his tough little girl into a breeder. He kept on saying that right up until my first day of eighth grade.”

“Your first heat.”

“Yep. It was . . .” fuck, two decades later and certain things -- girlish cackles of laughter, the smell of floor polish, pressure on a certain spot on your back -- still send you into an irrational panic. “I wasn’t prepared. The story came with me when I got into high school. Small town, the really humiliating crap never dies.

“But anyway. Dad stopped acting like dad after that. A couple weeks later I asked him about going to deer camp-- it was supposed to be my first year there. He beat the shit out of me.”

“Jesus!”

You wave that aside. “Not the first time, dad had a heavy hand with us kids. But he kept calling me things. That’s the first time I ever heard most of the bad names Omegas get called. From my fucking father. Who I worshipped. You get it?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Absolutely.”

“So when the inevitable started happening--”

“You said your history teacher?”

You nod. “And my sister’s softball coach. And my first boyfriend.” You shudder. “And my cousin. His wife told me that’s what Omegas are for and the sooner I got that the better. Doesn’t help that the law agrees, pretty much.

“I met Peg when she was pretensing as an agent for the DNR.” Dean nods, he knows the story of how Peg Dmitriev popped your hunting cherry. “She came and got me the night I graduated. Dad was prepping his big throwing me out of the house speech when Peg pulled up, told dad to go fuck himself, sat me in her car with a bottle of vodka, and next thing I know it’s tomorrow and we’re halfway to Atlanta.

“Anyway,” you pull yourself back to Now, Dean’s hand warm in yours. “Me being an Omega’s been nothing but a source of pain and bullshit, all my life. Until two days ago.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me to claim you? Because--” Dean hesitates, then plunges on ahead, “I mean, it hurt to hold back from doing that.”

“Because I didn’t want to do anything permanent. I still don’t.” Dean flinches, as though you’d slapped him. You hurry to explain yourself, ease the hurt. “I-I mean, I’m a bitch to live with, I drink too much, I’m a loudmouth schnook, I can’t cook for shit--”

“Untrue,” Dean cuts in. “Your campfire stew is awesome.”

“I can’t give you pups,” you tie the whole thing off with one big one.

“I know,” Dean says. At your look he clarifies, “It was on the paperwork in your bag.”

You nod. “It’s not just-- the lab guys aren’t totally sure what the hormone blockers did to my eggs. If kids are something you’re gonna want, they can’t come from me.”

“You’re talking like kids are even an option.”

You think a moment. “Did you ever hit a point, where one day you wonder if maybe you’re not gonna die young’n’pretty? One of the reasons I agreed to do the study was I thought for sure I wasn’t gonna live ten more years.”

You’re not sure if that thought has occurred to Dean. The Winchesters’ relationship to mortality is . . . complicated. How many times they’ve for-real died is a topic of debate in some dark and smoky bars. Some even say the stories are all bull, that old man John was just dinky-dau and his boys aren’t any better. You’re not one of them. You’ve met Castiel.

“Yeah,” Dean admits. He looks like he wants to say more, but doesn’t. “I can live with kids being off the table, but-- look. Every time I’ve tried for anything good, someone gets hurt. I damn near got Ben and Lisa killed.”

“I’m not a civilian Dean. I’ve been Hunting solo for almost twelve years now. Still here, still sane, still a better shot than you.”

“With a rifle, anyway.”

“Whatever. The point is, you don’t have to stash me in a safehouse in Assfuck, Kansas and hope I remember not to wash the graffiti off the walls.”

“Well what about me?” Dean asked. “I kind of like having a permanent address. I’m not going to throw a ruck in your RV and just hit the road.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” you say, bringing up the biggest thing of big things. “For one thing, I’m not going to ask you to pick between me and your brother.”

“What?”

“Sam comes first, I get that.” You’ve been around them long enough to know that’s true. The Winchesters are a package deal. Anybody with eyes can see it, and anybody who challenges it loses. For Christ’s sake, the Devil bet the farm that he could break that, and lost. “That’s the other reason I don’t want to bond right now. If Sam can’t stand having me around--”

“What do you mean? Sam loves having you around.”

“I did just tell him to fuck off.”

“He deserved it. Cockblocker. Look,” he says, turning his hand over so he can hold yours, “if it were up to me, we’d be mated already.” Dean’s doing that thing he does, when there’s no bullshit nowhere. Focused, direct. Part of you wants to run, but another part just wants to wrap yourself up in it, soak it in, exist within that intensity. “But I totally get why you want to take it slow.”

“Yeah. But,” you put the words together, “I don’t want to stand in front of St. Peter yanking claws outta my ass and admit that I left a chance at being happy with you on the table.” You’re not ready to say the words yet, but neither is he and you can live with that for now.

Dean lifts his beer. “Six months.”

You lift your glass of pop. “Six months.”

Clink.

---

One Year Later

“You’re Red’s kid aren’t’cha?”

You nod at the bartender as you pull an ashtray close. Because if there was ever a day you needed a cigarette--

The bartender passes you a pack if matches. “Just get back from the wedding?”

You nod. “Stuck around long enough to get told we weren’t needed for pictures.”

She pulls a bottle of Scotch off the wall and pours. “On the house. You guys look like you could use it.”

“Oh bless you,” Dean sighs.

“No problem. Been listening to Red’s bullshit for years.” You notice a slight flaring of her nostrils and your hand meets Dean’s halfway. You have to remind yourself to take it easy; you’re both off the market. Sam on the other hand . . . the bartender sidles over to get a better sniff at Sam’s Alpha scent, eucalyptus and ice tea and fog, fresh cut green apples. Cool scents, total contrast to his brother’s warm ones.

The original plan -- you and Dean get drunk as skunks and Sam stays sober enough to pour you two back in your motel room bed around 0230 -- gets tossed in the wastepaper basket. “C’mon Dean, we gotta go do the thing.”

“Right, the thing.” You finish your drinks and leave Sam and the bartender to their dance of mutual interest. “Ten says we don’t see him again until Tuesday,” Dean says as he slides behind the Impala’s steering wheel.

“Sucker’s bet,” you reply. Spending as much time in the bunker as you do, you know Sam’s due for a rut. The Omega bartender’s about to have an interesting weekend. “Anyone watching?” At Dean’s negative you get in the back and change out of your for-nice dress. It feels like taking pressure off an infected wound.

“You okay?” Dean asks as you climb into the front seat.

You check the urge to cover with a token I’m Fine-- you and Dean sailed past that a while ago. “It’s nothing I haven’t heard from him before. I’m sorry you and Sam had to hear it.” Your father’s got some fucked-up ideas, but the notion that you’re playing breedslut to a pair of siblings-- that’s low even for him.

“Like we were going to let you deal with this shit alone,” Dean snorts. “Besides, it’s not the first time somebody got the wrong idea about me’n’Sam.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. There was this guy once-- he offered us a grand if we let him film us double-teaming his wife. Two grand if he could put the camera on a tripod and join in.”

“Shit dude. Did he even know you’re brothers?”

Dean shoots you a grin. “Twenty-five hundred. Each.”

“Oof.”

At your direction Dean swings by the party store up the road for a couple six-packs, to the Guiseppe’s for a pizza, and to the park by the lake full of old-fashioned playground equipment rusting away next to the newer, safer, less fun plastic crap. After polishing off the pizza you stretch out next to Dean on Baby’s front end, the windshield hard against your back. The sun going down over the water makes the place pretty as a postcard. You wonder a moment if the view is as nice from the VFW reception hall, as your sister and brand new brother in law take their first dance.

“I think,” Dean says, pulling you from your thoughts, “I owe you an apology.”

“What for? You didn’t treat anybody like a red-headed stepchild.”

“For ever saying anything about how hostile you are to Alphas. Because that--” he tics his head at the road back to town, “explains a lot.”

“You didn’t know.” People you’d gone to school with sniggering behind their hands, gossip exchanged just loud enough for you to hear every word. Your dad, a five-foot-six human bull, regaling Dean and Sam with humiliating stories about your early heats. Your cousin’s angling for God knows, constantly bumping into the guys as they stuck with you like white on rice. Bless them.

Worst of all, your baby sister glowing in white, her eyes fixed on your feet, asking you to please leave. A promise to call later, that she’ll never keep. Rosie never could lie for shit.

Unconsciously your hand goes up, touching the scimitar-shaped bits of raised scar tissue bracketing the mating gland. Dean’s hand slips under yours, gently stroking over his mark. A light touch, like a warm hug or a quick kiss. If he rubs a little harder, you know, it turns your blood to fire, makes you wet, makes you hungry. You remember vividly, you and the guys damn near dying from an ambush of vampires, Dean tossing his car keys to Sam and taking you on the ground outside. He’d begged for your bite first, and your ears had rung with his howl as your fangs tore into his skin.

“I love my sisters,” you say, “but if they’re going to keep being dad’s partisans, I can’t be around them.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Leaving hadn’t been a hard choice. The three of you stunk up the place, literally, and your sisters’ protests that you should just give dad a chance, he wasn’t cruel just old-fashioned, et cetera et cetera et cetera . . . it was bullshit when you left home and it’s bullshit now.

You look at Dean, remembering another sunset. A year’s put one or two more lines around his eyes; other than that, he’s still almost too beautiful to look at. Moved by a wave of tenderness, you pull him close and kiss him, soft and slow.

Later you lie next to him in your motel room bed as he drifts off, lazy in the afterglow. Life isn’t perfect, but with your mate it’s a helluva lot more fun. Unconsciously Dean shifts towards you, his mouth curved in a slight smile.

For your entire life you’ve been coached to feel worthless, a hole for an Alpha’s pleasure and a sack for an Alpha’s pups. You’ve done terrible things to yourself, living your life otherwise. But then Dean fell into your bed and you took a chance that’s paid off every day since. Every smile that’s just for you, every weapon tossed into your waiting hand, every stitch in a bleeding wound, every gripe about how the fuck do you even do that when you take some rifle practice-- you can’t be worthless and have someone like Dean Winchester feel that way about you. And if your kinfolk won’t see that, it’s not your duty to feel bad about it.

With that logical leap, it feels like something broken inside you sets back together. Dean wakes up when he feels you crying. “Hurgh?” he grunts.

You wipe your face as both your phones chime. “Sam,” you say, scanning the text. “Looks like he and the bartender are staying in.”

“That’s my boy,” Dean grins. “What’s wrong?”

“Permission to get girly?”

“Go for it babe.”

“Just realized mating with you’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. That’s all.”

Dean mulls that over a minute. “I feel exactly the same way,” he tells you quietly. “I love you.”

You laugh as Dean kisses you. “We gotta knock this shit off. We’re supposed to be the badasses here.”

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” Dean promises. “Any plans for tomorrow?”

“Not really. You?”

“Well,” he grins, that impish smile that makes him look fourteen and up to no good, “I did kind of want to see that equipment shed--"

You groan. “Shouldn’t have told you that story.”

“Nope, probably not. And isn’t the World’s Largest Pie Pan around here somewhere?”

Only Dean. “Four-five hour drive. Then I say we swing by the Thrifty Acres, pick up a couple of bathing suits, and hit the beach.”

“I love it when a plan comes together.”

---

AN2: "Jesus died in vain and legally changed his middle name to Fucking."

-The Angry Video Game Nerd

The World's Largest Pie Pan is in Traverse City, Michigan.

Feedback and constructive criticism welcome. Subscriptions to Author yearned for with deep and desperate longing:

[email protected]

#supernatural #fanfiction #ao3 #dean winchester #reader character #ABO #alpha/beta/omega dynamics #omegaverse #alpha dean winchester #omega you #omega reader #bj's fic library #AU #holler me home series

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your-local-baguette · 8 months

Text

Relationship alphabet ( fluff, dates, just not nsfw) with itoshi Sae

Warnings: not proofread, maybe spoilers idk?? Proceed at your own risks

Aa..

Aquarium date

I feel like you'd have to push a bit but, if it made you happy, he'd find some time to go. He'd do anything to see you smile, but to be honest, when you both would be there, he would actually really enjoy it. Would definitely come back with you.

Beach day

Not that you haven't seen him like that before but, Sae shirtless is a beautiful view. I think he would actually tease you for it a bit, honestly you wouldn't go in the water that much but i'd definitely see you both play beach volley or soccer together. You for sure fell a few times.

C c

Cuddling

May not seem like it but the slightest bit of free time he has is spent with you, i think he loves cuddling with you on the couch. He's a sucker for laying on your lap or you leaning on his shoulder. Make him weak in the knees

Dancing

Just like the aquarium date, you'd have to push but, i have a feeling he's actually a pretty good slow dancer. Mostly loves to feel you pressed against his chest, holding your hand and the kiss he gets at the end.

Evening stroll/ drive

Late night droves and strolls are definitely something you and sae do fairly often. He finds something about going late at night to have an intimate significance. He also loves to just drive around with no peculiar destination. It feels very relaxing...

F f

Facials

I guess he loves having comfortable on his lap, applying a facial on his already smooth skin. He usually has his arms around your waist, enjoying the feeling of the cold products on his face and of you sitting on him.

Game night

Sae doesn't game, but he watches you play games tho. He really loves them because you're usually all cuddled up into him while trying to beat a game. He also loves to see your pouty face when you lose.

So yea he loves game nights, even if he plays once in a blue moon.

Hot springs

It's usually a very intimate moment between you two, having you between his legs, leaning on his chest. He loves it more than you think! You both go pretty often because Sae gets tired pretty quickly, his muscles are alway aching.

I i

I love you

How often does he say it? Sae isn't that good with words and express his love with gift giving and physical affection. But he does say it once in a while, but if you say it, he won't hesitate to say "i love you too"

Jacket

He even sees the slightest hint that you're cold, he won't hesitate to give you his jacket. He hates seeing you uncomfortable, it's with actions like this he feels is the best at expressing his love. He also loves sering you wear his clothes

Kissing

Sae kisses can be unexpected but most of the time very romantic. He's a sucker for long romantic kisses, usually holds you very tight to him, he need to feels all of you.

Language

Sae often calls you nicknames in other languages but mostly spanish bc we all know why, so expect some mi amòr or senõrita, cõrazon and all that yea. Idek if i spelled them right people who speak spanish forgive me pls

Massage

To be honest, sae would never refuse a massage from you and neither would you. He loves the feeling of your hands on hid back when he accidentally complained about back pain...

Nicknames

Sae to you

Mi amòr

Senõrita

Cõrazon

Love

Pretty

You to him

Handsome

Love

Darling

Babe

Mon amour

Origami

You usually give him origami flowers and stuff like that. He has them all shown off in his room. He pretends not to like them at first but honestly he find it absolutely adorable.

Painting night

If you're an artist, i have a feeling Sae loves to watch you paint, watching your gentle movement, making sure not to ruin anything. You often tried to teach him but it alway turned into a mess. But when he starts watching you paint, he just can't takes his eyes off of you, like they're stuck on you.

Quiet evening

Quiet evenings with Sae are just pure heaven, you both are doing your own things but it feels like you're doing it together even if it's silence you know ? But yea it usually is just you laying on his lap or opposite and spend the evening doing your own stuff while still being close to eachother.

Restaurants

Sae loves taking you to fancy restaurants, dates like these in dim lights of a restaurant. Booked the entire place for just the two of you, it's selfish but for you, anything, even if you didn't ask. He takes you out on restaurants dates at least once every two weeks.

Stargazing

With the city lights, there are some stars visible, he absolutely loves the look on your face when you look up at the midnight sky, he has to agree the sky is very pretty, yet you outshine any day to him. Stargazing dates are a little rare but he enjoys them a lot.

Teasing

There is quite a bit of teasing, but not that much, he loves to see your flustered face whenever he makes a comment. If it was an embarrassing nicknames or just about something you said. He loves your completely red face.

Uber

Does he order ubers ? Not really, Sae doesn't drink, or at least, in very limited quantity. So he usually drives you both around but if it's cold and you both walked somewhere maybe he will, but he prefers driving.

Vacations

Don't happen often because of his work but when it does, it's it own thing. He won't let you be bored for even one second, but honestly, i think he's the kind to go on a resting kind of vacations you know ?

Wedding

He has thoughts of it but he's not completely sure, it might be too early and he really wants to, but he doesn't know if it's a good idea with his career, but maybe a fake marriage. He'd be up for that for sure.

I'm sorry i have no ideaaa

Yoga

Like his brother rin, sae loves to do some yoga, i think he likes to show you some stuff. You'd definitely be ecstatic to do some with him. He just likes to the smile on your face or laugh when you mess something up.

Zzz

Actually really likes to have asleep on him and to sleep with you. He just can't go to sleep without you close to him, he just needs you with him. Your presence suppress his anxiety and he absolutely loves waking up to your light snoring and messy hair, the completely unfiltered version of yourself.

This was fun but took me soooo long. Hope you guys enjoyed lol. I am glad i am able to write for blue lock again, it brings me so much nostalgia lol. Well it's late and i gotta sleep, cya guys!

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frenziedslashers · 1 year

Note

Hey! I was wondering if you had your writing requests open and if so if I could request a Timothy Lawrence x Male reader who was hired to be his body guard. If you only do head canon lists thats alright! But if you write one shots it could be something along the lines of the reader gets injured taking a hit for Tim and gets rather confused when Timothy gets concerned for his safety despite just doing his job. This may be incoherent I am very tired but thank you in advance!

The Body Guard;;

A/N: Yes, I can definitely write this for you, thank you for the ask!! Glad to see another Timothy enjoyer on my blog :)) Sorry if this isn't the best. I am trying to get back into the groove of writing!

Pairing: Timothy Lawrence x Reader

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, gun shot wound, male reader

He had no reason for a body guard, whatsoever. Sure, he was Jack's doppelgänger, but that's just it. He was nothing but a doppelgänger. In Jack's eyes, hell, in everyones eyes. He was replaceable. If he got shot that was on him and Jack could make a new body double. Yet, he was assigned you.

Timothy of course wasn't complaining when he met you. He didn't do a lot of talking when he met you. You intimidated him, to say the least. From your personality that Lawrence grew to love. To your appearance that he just couldn't get enough of. Everything about you was perfect, amazing.

You were handsome, and he was starstruck.

Weeks went by, even months and you were there with him everyday. Soon enough Timothy was an open book to you. Telling him everything that he could. Without risking getting in trouble by Hyperion, of course.

"I used to have freckles, you know?" He'd tell you, and his face would flush red under his mask when you revealed that he was probably adorable. He wasn't one hundred percent sure if you were being serious, or if you were being sarcastic. He took it as a flirtatious compliment, either way.

Nothing special ever happened at the Casino, so of course Timothy grew bored. He'd seek you for amusement. Some days you wondered why when there wasn't much for you to do besides protect him from the threats that ran around the casino. Such as the psycho's and bandits that ran to and fro.

"One day, if I ever get out of here, that is. I want us to go somewhere far away. Maybe to a moon on the outskirts of the system, where we can visit." Timothy day dreamt aloud, and you smiled. "Are you saying you want to run away with me?" You asked, and you broke into a smile at how flustered he grew. His gaze diverting from yours. The way he curled in on himself in the chair that he sat on.

"What? No! I mean, would you want to?" You smiled, pondering his nervous question. "I'd like to, if I don't get hired to watch anyone else." Timothy only nodded, reaching up to run his hand through his hair. "Right, right. Wouldn't want to take you from your job," you only nodded. You wished there was a way to help him escape this hell of his.

A few weeks later is when the accident happened. The two of you were running through the halls of the casino from a group of bandits that decided they wanted to pick a fight with you both. Typically they minded their own business, but today was not one of those days.

"What did we do?" Timothy asked in a panic, racing ahead of you as you turned to fire a shot at the psycho that neared the both of you. Timothy turning his head in time to watch the bandit go flying back with the force of the bullet in his chest. Blood splattering on the floor and wall beside it. It was truly horrific, but he was sadly used to it. Nearly as much as you were.

"I'd say we look too much like a meal to them," you shouted back, grabbing Timothy by the arms while tossing him to the side. Throwing the man behind a slot machine before you took a hit from the bullet that nearly hit him.

Timothy heard your shout no matter how hard you tried to suppress the noise. His eyes wide in terror.

"You're hit!" No shit.

You didn't say anything back. You only held your arm while taking cover beside the worrying male. Reaching for a grenade in your pocket before deploying it. "Cover your ears!" You yelled while shielding him yet again with your body.

The grand took out most of the bandits. Leaving you and Timothy with only a few more to wipe out - which wasn't too difficult. Once they were gone, Timothy was tugging you back towards his hide out.

"Tim, I'm fine," you snarled, but he was stubborn. Just as stubborn as you were. "You're not fine, you're bleeding and can hardly move your arm!" He snarled back, and you only rolled your eyes in defeat as he drug you to his bed. Grabbing some bandages on the way over.

"I've been shot before, you know? You think this is my first rodeo?" You asked, and he snorted. "Yeah, and I've been shot too. So I know that leaving it to fester isn't a good idea, bucko." He shot back with a chuckle. You only sighed with a nod in response. He was right, he always was it seemed like.

"So," He started in when it felt silent between the both of you. Helping you out of your shirt so he could get to the wound better. He never did seem to like the silence. He always got anxious, and nervous when it fell quiet. Especially when he was in predicaments that made him rather nervous anyways, like the one right now. Where he was so close to you that he could feel your body heat. The fact that you were just in the bullet proof vest under your shirt and jacket now was just the icing on the cake. A part of him wished you were shot in the chest just so he could see you without it. His eyes lingering while his hands held your arm.

"So?" You repeated when all he did was stare. IF anything, catching him staring at you like that fed your confidence that he might have some sort of attraction for you as well. "So uhm" he cleared his throat, "Where else have you been shot before?" He asked, chewing on his bottom lip as he wiped the blood from your arm. Taking note of the exit wound on the back. Doing his best not to hurt you in the process. Though you still winced and hissed when he touched your arm just right.

"A lot of places," you huffed out while he dabbed at the agitated skin. "I've got a nasty scar on my stomach, been shot in the back, my legs, been cut up by knives and shrapnel." You uttered, and he nodded. "Jeez, and I thought I had bad luck," he chuckled, and you nodded. "Thought you said you got shot before?" You questioned, and he sighed. "I did, but only twice, and I have the threat of my face or hand exploding." He chuckled, and you nodded.

"I'm sorry," He spoke, and you furrowed you brows, but quickly understood when he drenched your wound in alcohol with gauze. "Shit!" You hissed, and he pursed his lips with a worried brow. "I'm sorry, I know it hurts," he stammered, his hand growing a little shaky as he worked. Finally able to inject you with health serum after the wound was properly cleaned. Placing a bandage over top of it in order to help it heal properly. The serum only speeding up the process.

"Guess I need a better shield," you tried to joke, but Timothy hardly laughed at that. Only staring at where the bandage was placed now.

"I'm real sorry," he muttered, and you tilted your head. A little confused why he was repeating his apologies. "What for?" "For getting you into this mess! I don't deserve a body guard. Hell, I don't deserve having someone look out for me! I should have been the one who got shot," he spoke with distress. You only frowned at his words. You hated when he thought this way.

"Timothy, it's my job. If it wasn't you, it'd be someone else I was protecting. You do deserve having someone look after you. You don't deserve to be alone," you spoke, doing your best to get through to him, but it only seemed to make him more upset. "I just don't want to lose you," he muttered. Looking up at you with glossy eyes. "I can't be alone. Not again, not ever. Having you here is the only thing that keeps me sane. I was terrified when you got shot, I thought," he sighed, "I thought I was going to have to live here alone, with nothing but my thoughts and the idiots that run around here!" He snapped, and you smiled faintly at his ramble. Though you understood his worry, it was quite endearing hearing him say such things.

"Well, you won't lose me," he looked back over at you. "We're running away together, remember?" You asked, and he felt his face flush. thankful the masks as there to hide it. "I was hoping you forgot about that..." You snickered, reaching out to place a hand on his thigh. "How could I?"

#Timothy lawrence #Timothy Lawrence x reader #borderlands 3 #tales from the borderlands #x reader #borderlands x reader

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siriannatan · 1 year

Text

Poking a Dragon - ScfWhimmy

Just a random idea I got. Hope it's as cute as I think it is :D

fWhip could absolutely not focus on his paperwork. He was frankly tempted to close his curtains. And he'd have a good excuse, being a vampire (and half-dragon) to sit in the dark. But he liked to have some semblance of normalcy in his life. Especially when the sun was not beaming at his office window, and would often open it. Mostly out of habit but it felt nice even if he was technically dead. Made him feel like he was never changed. So why?

Because Jimmy and Scott apparently had nothing better to do as rulers than spar in fWhip's gardens. Right where he could see that they decided to, due to nice weather, do it shirtless... Why must the sun literally burn fWhip? Why can't it let him watch his unfairly tall and handsome boyfriends practice with their oversized (for fWhip but what did he know, he preferred the range offered by his crossbow) weapons? Both Scott's rune blade and Jimmy's tide caller trident were as long as their owners were tall.

The view was so tempting that his tail was long out of his control. Everything around his desk long smacked away as fWhip spend more time staring out his window than at his work. And growling when any of his staff offered them drinks and snacks. But what could he do? He couldn't forbid his staff from stopping his boyfriends from getting a heatstroke. And he couldn't go and... He had no idea what he'd do. Stand and stare there. Drooling or something.

He could send someone to tell them he wants to talk. And paperwork could wait...

So he did. Purposely ignoring Scott looking out his window and waving. Trying to process as many papers as he could before Jimmy and Scott were in his office. He got through a respectable amount before they walked in.

No weapons in sight - good for fWhip's heart, shirts barely buttoned. Snacks in hand. "I thought you didn't like tropical fruits," he hummed as Scott bit on a banana.

"You don't have many sweets out," the elf pouted. Adorable.

"Staff's in charge since I no longer need food," fWhip grinned, baring his fangs. Jimmy chuckled as Scott took another, aggressive bite. "Why must you two spar in my gardens? Don't you have better places to do that? Where my roses aren't endangered?" he changed the subject.

"We tried but got interrupted every five minutes," Jimmy sighed, flopping to the couch. "And we weren't anywhere near your flower."

fWhip just sighed. Of course, that's why. "So you're just avoiding work?" he hummed as he got his papers in order for tomorrow. Today his dragon brain was more interested in cuddles. "Please let me know you're over next time, so I can prepare the correct snacks at least," he sighed as the two grumbled and complained.

"We didn't want to interrupt, your helpers said you're busy..." Jimmy tried reasoning.

"They said they could ask but we thought you wouldn't mind..." Scott interjected with his most charming smile.

fWhip just sighed. His morons were just so cute. "Next time tell me. I'm not going to look like a bad host if anyone happens to see you two," he shook his head. "And you owe me cuddles, now," he added, hands on hips.

They did not mind after-exercise cuddles. Even if fWhip chased them into a bath first, graciously joining them since he was a good host after asking his staff to bring some cake for Scott. Jimmy would eat literally anything fWhip offered him, in astounding amounts. They even surprised him by almost forcing him into biting them. 'It's only fair since you put so much effort into feeding us,' Scott said over his cake, just before complaining that it had sour cherry jam in it. fWhip happened to like it while he was alive so Scott would have to leave with sweet and sour cake.

#my stuff #my stories #empires smp #fanfiction #empiresshipping #empires fwhip #empires scott #empires jimmy #scfwhimmy

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 years

Text

Copycat: Cryptomnesia —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: this one has plot but if you wanna skip it you can I’ll give you a brief summary of whatever happens in the next chapter -Danny

Words: 2,661

Warnings: SMUT, bit of choking, bit of edging, biting and hair pulling?? it’s not hardcore but it is explicit so read at your own risk

Phase Five Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Reckless Lover’ -by Handsome Ghost

iv: A Distraction

Cat decided to enter Matthew's apartment through the front door instead of using her superpowers. It felt good after a week of being a genderswapping, multitasking secret agent.

She dropped her bag on the hall and didn't announce herself, believing Matt was at work, but then she saw movement out of the corner of her eye and stared at the figure, unable to say a word.

"I'm not late this time," he smiled.

"You're early."

"I had a hunch," he leaned on the counter. "And Harley called me saying you were back."

"Harley has your number? How did that happen?" Cat frowned.

"He was looking for you one day, so I gave him my number in case of emergencies."

So that's how he'd known Cat didn't spend all her time with Matthew. Harley was a sneaky guy, Tony would be proud.

"You made all this in just an hour?" She pointed at the food on the table.

He laughed. "No, I stopped by your favorite restaurant and got you dinner."

"Did I forget something?" Cat tried to remember if that day was anything special.

Matt took off his glasses and approached her. "I just wanted to do something nice."

"Oh. Wow. Thank you." The young woman tried to add a bit more to her. "I'm not shocked in an excessive manner like— you've done this before—"

"It's been a while," he agreed without having to hear it. "I figured you'd want to rest after being away for so long."

"I like it," she said, cupping his cheek. "This is so sweet..."

He shook his head a little. "Don't mention it."

"I'll take a shower first if that's okay with you?"

"I'll put the food in the oven."

"I'll be right back."

"I'll be right here," Matt replied, looking pleased with himself.

"I cut my hair thinking it would dry faster..." Cat placed the towel on the back of a chair and ruffled her curls. "That was a mistake."

Matthew lifted his face, a smile adorning his expression. "I thought you'd cut it because it kept getting in the way?"

"Curls get fluffier the shorter you cut them, I didn't know that. I used to keep it at waist-length so my hair was only kinda wavy, when I was in space I cut it all because it wouldn't dry, so I didn't know my hair could be like this. It's just— it's a mess."

Matt sat at the table and pulled back the chair next to him. "I'm sure it looks fine."

"I look great. It's hot. It's my whole personality," she responded. "It's a nuisance."

He grinned. "How come?"

She dragged her chair closer to him and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Can we pretend we're a couple of New Yorkers that complain about work every night, and on their date night they do anything but?"

He took a swig of his beer. "Got any ideas?"

"Happy's moving out," she shifted on her seat, sitting straight. "I'll visit his place next week."

"I suppose I'm not invited?" He teased.

"You can come but you won't be the guest start," she retorted playfully.

"This is weird. Usually, parents love me."

"You've had lots of experience meeting the parents?"

The man chuckled. "Foggy's parents."

She laughed. "Well, if it's any consolation, it's not that he thinks you're bad... Happy believes you're taking his place."

"I don't wanna be your father," Matthew snorted. "That'd be wildly inappropriate considering the things we've done."

"I told him I can't promise I'll visit him often, but I was clear when I said you had nothing to do with it."

"Hopefully that'll stop him from calling me 'Mike' every time we run into each other."

Cat smirked. "That's kind of funny, though."

"Did you see Felix?"

"I wasn't there enough time for him to notice... I'm so curious to know what is it about me that makes cats follow me. I was at a gas station the other day..."

Cat and Matthew talked for what felt like hours, but it was two at most, just enough for them to finish eating, wash their dishes, and put the leftovers in the fridge. Matthew went to change his clothes and Cat sat on a living room chair. The lights were off, as usual, and the billboard illuminated the area just enough to be comfortable.

"How was L.A?" Matt asked from the bedroom.

"You want the truth or a pretty lie?"

"Which one are you willing to give me?"

"It was so much fun!" She replied, thinking of the musty men. "I think I saw Tom Cruise buying Starbucks one time."

"Anyone caught your eye?"

"There was this beautiful redhead— she liked to jog every morning. One night she stopped in the middle of the street. She was driving a Camaro—"

"Ooh, a Camaro..." Matt said teasingly.

"She stops and tells me 'I know you have a man in New York but you should leave the country with me.'"

"That was quite an offer," he walked in wearing a pair of sweatpants and a white shirt. "What did you tell her?"

"That I needed my passport and sunglasses, I had to come back to get them."

"The sunglasses I gave you?"

"The very same."

"You're going to dump me and take the gift I gave to you when we got together?"

"I'm a sentimental woman, that is my only flaw."

Matthew yanked her up in a swift movement, he sat down and then sat her on his lap. Cat erupted into laughter, she liked how it dissolved some of the weight on her shoulders, and the colors in the room seemed brighter too.

"I should enjoy all of you while you're still here," he joked.

"Well, we have until tomorrow, she's picking me up in her private jet."

He raised a brow. "I guess she's won."

"You're not gonna fight for me?" Cat placed a hand on her chest. "Offer me all you've got?"

"I have less than you do," he laughed.

"Excuse me, Mr. Silk sheets? I beg to differ."

"If you want them, they're yours."

"How about your coffee machine?"

"I don't drink coffee, five times a day at most. I don't need it."

Cat wanted to ask something but in her mind, it sounded cheesy and intense, and she didn't want to sound like that. "You know what, hot-shot," she said at last. "I'll settle for a kiss."

Matthew obliged without saying anything. Cat tried to wrap her arms around his neck but he move her until her back was pressed against his chest.

"Is this your way of telling me to get off of you?" She asked, confused as to why he'd moved her.

"This is my way of getting you off."

Cat giggled as she would usually do whenever Matthew said something mildly dirty. Her voice, however, went quiet when she felt his hand slipping under her blouse.

"You're wearing the right size," he pointed out. "What happened to my shirts?"

"If I keep wearing them over and over they won't last."

"I like this one..." Matt hummed. "But I like what's underneath more," he massaged one of her breasts. Cat sighed, tilting her head to kiss him, but Matthew moved away. "Stay still. I wanna take my time with you tonight."

"Because I'm leaving you tomorrow?" She smirked.

The man kissed her temple and spoke against her ear. "I think I can convince you to stay..."

Both hands were on her chest now, Cat's breathing was deep and steady, and she was between falling asleep and asking him to tear off her clothes. When Matthew heard her heart slowing down, he started to leave feather-like kisses on her neck and shoulder, when he got to the soft patch of skin at the curve he bit down lightly.

"Matt..." she moved on his lap hoping to get a reaction, but the man kept going, no harsh breaths, no gulping, or erratic movements were made behind her. Cat held onto the armrests.

"I know you're eager, but you're not wet enough," Matthew mumbled.

"How do you know?"

One of his hands moved but only so he could take off her blouse. Once that was out of the way Matthew's hand wrapped around her throat. "I want to feel you pulsing against me..."

She wasn't easy to break, but after so many nights of push-and-pull and playful fighting trying to dominate each other, Matt discovered that the fastest way to get a hold of her was to make her sleepy.

He didn't do it often, but tonight all he longed for was to hear her little noises. She'd been in a strange mood for quite a while and wanted to fuck her out of it. "Keep your hands still," he instructed. "Don't rush me."

Cat's fingers dug into the armrests and she growled. She hated not being able to touch him. Matt tightened his grip around her throat, feeling her pulse racing against his digits. The hand that was still on her chest moved down, he caressed the skin of her belly, then continued further, moving toward her thigh. He inched closer and closer to her center, his thumb slipped under the hem of her shorts and froze in place.

"You're not wearing underwear."

"I was going to end the night naked anyway."

Matthew moved his hand away. "You were taking me for granted? That's not right."

"I don't see any other solution than to fuck the brat out of me."

He chuckled. "Nice try, but I think I'll stick to my method."

"Which is?"

"Tease you to the point of tears."

Cat's laughter sounded disdainful, but she choked thanks to Matthew's hand. "I'm afraid you're aiming too high."

"Fine," his voice dropped an octave. "If you wanna be naked, I'll get you naked."

Cat lifted her butt when he took off her shorts, leaving her bare on top of him. He still had his white t-shirt and sweatpants, though.

"What about you?"

"I'm okay, thank you," Matthew dismissed her. "Spread your legs."

"But I want to feel you," she complained.

"No."

"I'm cold..."

Her puppy eyes didn't work on Matthew for obvious reasons, but she could still do wonders with her voice. It twisted the man's heart and wrapped it around her pinky, with an annoyed sigh he took his shirt off.

"I know what you're doing..."

"If you know then why do you comply?" She responded, no longer using her little voice.

He parted her legs and snuck one hand between them. At first, he just cupped her center, Cat pushed against his palm to get a bit of friction and Matthew let her, he didn't move a muscle.

"Someone's desperate," he taunted. "Get off like this, then."

"What? No!" She huffed. "You do it."

"You're sounding like a kid."

"So what?" Cat replied, the blood racing up, now she was trying all to make him snap. "You gonna spank me, daddy?"

Matthew's hand moved from her throat and yanked her head back, she felt the tug pulling a few muscles on her neck. "What did you say?" She closed her mouth firmly. "Atta girl."

He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them in a way that made her hips jolt. Matthew's hand abandoned her curls to push her down, then he wrapped his arm around her to keep her in place.

"You'll feel better after this," he kissed her cheek. She gripped the chair harshly, moving her hips back and forth. "Exactly what you needed, right?" Matt said lowly against her ear. "Answer me. You couldn't shut up five minutes ago, what happened?"

"More."

"More what?"

Her hand slipped down and pushed his fingers deeper. "Please..."

Matthew decided to ignore the disobeyed order and added a third finger, kissing the curve of her neck. "Like this?"

Her head fell on his shoulder. "Oh, God, feels so good..."

"Not good enough to cry..." he hummed.

She whined, knowing where this was going. "No..."

"I have a confession to make," he stopped fingering her and snuck his hand between their bodies, pushing his sweatpants down. "I'm also not wearing underwear."

"Slut," Cat blurted out.

Matthew lined up with her entrance. "You wanna be careful with that mouth..."

"Make me," she pushed her body down.

Her boyfriend pulled her back up with both hands.

"Say please."

"Please."

"Say it like you mean it."

"Matthew..." she whined.

"You used to beg me to take you," he continued. "I remember you saying you'd let me have my way with you... was that a lie?"

"What do you think?" She snapped.

"I think that you keep trying to boss me around even though you're not in charge."

She moved her butt, his tip brushing against her. "Fine! Fine... please, Matthew."

"Turn around."

Cat did as told and lowered her body tentatively, when Matthew didn't stop her she kept going. Once inside, he grabbed her hips.

"Good girl," he sighed. "Now beg me to fuck you."

She glared at him. "Are you kidding—"

Matt pushed deeper, then he stopped as abruptly as he'd started.

"Shit!" Cat gasped. "Alright! Please, Matthew!"

"Please what?"

"Please, fuck me."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm a little confused," he frowned, sliding out of her almost completely. "Are you talking to me? Who are you talking to?"

Cat tried to keep him in, but she wasn't succeeding. "Please, please, I want it..."

"Now I don't know what you're asking for," he taunted, a shit-eating grin on his face.

Cat was done being annoying. "Matthew, please, please just fuck me!"

He grabbed the base of her throat gently. "That wasn't so hard, was it?" Matthew moved at an even pace, whispering words of encouragement with each thrust. "Such a good girl..."

"Faster, please..."

He kept a tight grip on her. "Come closer..." she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his neck, Matthew moaned. "You're so warm..."

Her clit rubbed against him, making her whine. "I can't fucking stand you..." she growled against his skin.

"You love me," Matthew replied without thinking.

She pushed herself away from his chest and looked at him, the scars spread across his chest, the way his eyes were clouded with lust. Cat blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

"I might."

He pulled her back and kissed her deeply. Cat started to move again, he was drowning her moans, and she could feel the vibration of his own against her lips. She dug her nails into his shoulders to let him know what was about to happen. That, and the way her noises were getting louder, were enough indication.

"Let go," he panted, "good kitty..."

Cat had to hide her face against his neck so the moans didn't wake the neighbors, though at this point it was very likely that the people living in the building were wide awake.

Matthew hadn't cum, so she dropped to her knees and grabbed him. "You don't have—"

"It's your turn to be quiet, Matty."

She licked from the base to the tip and then took him until she was gagging, she didn't stop until she felt him squirm under her. Matthew's hips jerked up, his grip tightened on her hair. "Fuck!"

Cat moved away and cleaned the edge of her mouth with her thumb, then she stood.

"You'll like this..." she grabbed his hand, brushing his finger against the corner of her eye. "You made me cry."

"Not what I had in mind, but that's all I'll ever get from you," he said with a breathless smile. "You're tough."

Cat walked toward the bedroom. "You can try again in a minute..." Matthew stayed in place, she looked back at him in confusion. "What?"

He tilted his face down. "Did you mean it?"

She stared at him harshly, deep down she couldn't blame him for not being sure. No one had made her feel that way before. It was easy to doubt her.

"Don't overthink it," she replied. "You know what you want, right?"

"I want you."

"That's good enough," Cat approached, tilting his face up with one hand. "Falling in love it's not such a big deal, okay? It doesn't have to be. Just means I enjoy the take-out dinners and amazing sex. It's easy."

She didn't know why she was so sure of this, in her mind, the statement felt like someone had said that to her years ago. Was love really so easy? How could she know if she'd never dated anybody?

The man held her hands, stroking the back of them with his thumbs. "It's a nice way to put it."

Cat felt weird. He'd let her get close, and now that she'd opened up a little, he seemed worried, though she didn't know if it was for himself or for her. The woman tried to ignore it, but the breaking point had arrived.

Next Chapter—>

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