#oc reader

[cas-kingdom]

The Night Shift

A/N: First NCIS fic! Decided to keep my OC's name instead of reader as I'm pretty attached to her.

If you're alone on V Day, here's some Gibbs. <3

Title: The Night Shift

Summary: What's worse than a sick Gibbs? A sick mini Gibbs.

Words: 2568

It was two am, and Emmie Gibbs was tired.

She wrinkled her nose as something tickled at it and sat up to reach for the packet of tissues sitting dutifully by the pillow.

It was two am, and Emmie Gibbs was sick and tired.

Tony, the shit-stirrer that he was, leaned precariously back in his swivel chair to stare at her. If it weren’t for the squeak of the chair itself, she still would have noticed his sudden attention by the feeling of his eyes boring into her for perhaps the tenth time since they’d set up camp in the NCIS building about five hours ago. He was relentless.

Emmie paused. Tissue wedged in her nose, sinuses burning, she looked up and stared at him. Tony rose an eyebrow. Emmie hardened her stare. Tony, because he was Tony, purposefully leaned further back so she could see the exact moment he dramatically cupped a hand to his stupid little mouth and—

“Giiibbs!”

Emmie’s jaw tensed. Tony grinned in superfluous victory.

Another squeak, a more familiar one this time, and Gibbs’s swivel chair glided along the carpeted floor around the divider between the cubicles until he could see Emmie. She was still sitting up, looking quite the sight with a tissue halfway up her right nostril and her hair sticking at all angles. On any other day she would have responded to Tony’s pure gall by glaring him straight into the ground. But today was not that day. Today was a bad day. Today, her week-long, just-about-bearable cold had decided to manifest into sinusitis, and she’d woken with a face that felt as though tiny little men were mining for gold in her skull. Ducky had liked that metaphor.

Partly because she was absolutely awful at caring for herself when she was ill, and partly—mostly—because he knew he wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on work if she was left to fend for herself at home, Gibbs had dragged Emmie into the office with him. She’d made her rounds all day—curled up on Abby’s little couch at first, then bundled off to an empty room when Abby found working in silence too impossible. At lunchtime, a meeting had been scheduled in the room, and she’d been forced to accompany Gibbs and Tony in the car to a naval base connected to the case they were working on, sniffling and groaning in the back seat like a Victorian child on her death bed.

And here she was now, at two a bloody m, lying on an ungodly amount of blankets, wrapped in Gibbs’s jacket and Tony’s hoodie, on the floor, feeling like her body was readying to explode. Life couldn’t get worse.

Unless you were acquainted with Tony DiNozzo. In which case, life could, and most certainly would, get worse.

Gibbs dipped his head and rose an eyebrow at Emmie. Emmie couldn’t do much in her defence but sniff. Hard. A slight protest only she had the guts to attempt. It was when he pointed a finger at her and motioned with it for her to lie down again that Emmie tossed her arms up.

“Do you know—” Another sniff—“Do you even know how hard it is to lie down and feel your sinuses drain into your throat?” Her voice was so nasally she couldn’t sound stern, even if she put every ounce of effort into it.

Tony, naturally, did not try hard to cover his amusement at that. He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest, spinning from side to side absently in his chair with the tip of his tongue held between his smirking lips when Emmie turned narrowed eyes on him.

“I was getting a tissue, FYI,” she said to him and only him. “So, you can stop being a kiss ass, Anthony.”

“Emmie.” Gibbs disappeared behind the divider again. “Back to sleep.”

Tony, meanwhile, gaped. “Kiss ass who?”

Emmie ignored him and shuffled back down again. She shut her eyes and swallowed. Already the disgusting stuff had decided the place it wanted to be right now was her stomach, and was meandering slowly down her throat towards it.

“You were being a bit of a kiss ass,” she heard Gibbs agree.

“Oh, come on. You said you wanted her to sleep!”

“Yeah, and I do.”

“But you’re gonna call me a kiss ass when I tell you she’s not sleeping? Kiss my ass.”

“What was that?”

“Sorry, Boss.”

In all honesty, there was nothing more that Emmie wanted least right now than to sleep. True, she was exhausted, but the part of her brain not currently still enshrouded in said exhaustion wanted to be up and active again, helping Gibbs with the case like her internship allowed.

And yet, the man still believed she needed her head on a pillow.

The team had been working on a case all day, one she didn’t know the specifics of. It wasn’t exactly often that they stayed in the office well into the night to continue their current case, but it appeared Gibbs had a weird feeling about this one. From the snippets of conversation that she’d picked up and actually retained in her decrepit brain, a potential witness was lying unconscious in a hospital bed somewhere, and Gibbs wanted to speak to him the moment he woke up, which, according to the doctors, could be at any time. That apparently required the entire team to stay behind which, considering the fact Emmie was currently holed up on the floor of Ziva’s empty cubicle, not everyone had complied with.

The moment Tony got out of his chair to help Gibbs with something and disappeared from her line of sight, Emmie eased herself into a sitting position once more. She reached for the tissues again, rubbing at her leaking nose with the sleeve of Gibbs’s jacket and not possessing the brain power to regret that decision. She blew into a tissue, paused to catch her breath, then—

“Gibbs.”

Emmie deflated completely. Wow. The world truly hated her today.

She looked up to see McGee walking in with a bag of takeout. He barely glanced at her as he passed, choosing to instead spend that energy alerting Gibbs to the fact she was, again, not lying down.

Before either Tony or Gibbs could come into view once more, Emmie sighed, stuck two bits of tissue in both nostrils, and scooted backwards to sit against the wall.

“Can’t breathe lying down,” she said before anyone could say a single word. “And I’m tired of being tired. I don’t want to sleep anymore. Leave me alone. Don’t talk to me. Shush.”

Tony’s head appeared around the corner, and he snorted again. Then the squeak of Gibbs’s chair as he got up. A rustling. A moment later he appeared with a takeout box in his hand, walking towards her. He lifted it so she could see, and she groaned, shaking her head. A corner of Gibbs’s mouth lifted but he wasn’t about to back down on this fight. He never did.

He knelt in front of her, close enough to see the pallidness of her face and the slight sickly tremble of her small frame. Emmie visibly relaxed when he reached out a hand to press against her forehead, the coolness of his skin momentarily dowsing the heat of hers.

Gibbs checked the watch at his wrist. “Another couple hours and you can dose up again.”

“Thanks.”

“Yep. ‘Till then…” He went to withdraw his hand, but Emmie’s own hand shot up and pinned his to her forehead.

“No,” she said simply.

“No to my hand leaving, or food?”

“No.”

“You gotta eat. You know the drill. Eat or sleep.” She grumbled something and Gibbs reached with his free hand to lift the lid on the box. The smell of warm chicken soup filled the space between them, and Emmie wrinkled her nose. “Come on, kiddo. It’s only soup.”

“I feel too sick to eat.”

“Sleep it is, then.”

“Dad—”

“Hey. The cure for alll Emmie-related illness is sleep. Always has been, always will be.” It was true. Gibbs knew his daughter better than she knew herself, after all. Everyone was different, but Emmie’s medicine was sleep until she could look him in the eye and confidently tell him she felt a bit better. If years of being a single parent had taught him anything, it was that.

With a bit of reluctance, he pulled his hand from her head and leant forward on his toes. “You don’t have to lie down to sleep,” he told her. “Here—” Emmie wasn’t quite sure what he was doing with the pillows and blankets behind her, but when he sat back and she turned as much as her aching neck would allow, there was a nice little DIY upright-bed against the wall. Gibbs, seemingly proud of his work, was met with a look of absolute discontent on his daughter’s face.

He puffed his cheeks out and glanced at the soup. “Aeroplane?”

“Seriously?” Emmie deadpanned.

He reached for the spoon, a teasing smile pulling at his lips. “Worked when you were a kid.”

“There’re a few keywords in that sentence, Dad. Are you trying to give Tony more fuel to embarrass me?”

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder. Tony had returned to his desk, leaning dangerously back in his chair to gain the best vantage point. The man had absolutely zero shame.

Gibbs jerked his head. “Check with the hospital about Lupin, would you, DiNozzo?”

Tony visibly deflated. Emmie sent him a smug look and he stuck his tongue out. Reluctantly, he wheeled back to his desk and picked up the phone. “Do this, DiNozzo, do that, DiNozzo,” he grumbled to himself. “Oh, while you’re at it, why don’t you polish my boots and write a thesis on my intellectual prowess, DiNozzo? Sure, I’ll get right on it, Boss!��� He dialled the number and put the phone to his ear. “Should I get your laundry and your coffee too, Boss? Should I do—hi, there! Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS, calling for an update on a patient? Ryan Lupin. Yeah, I’ll hold. Thanks.”

“Dad.” Such an exasperated voice could only belong to the resident invalid, and after only a second’s hesitation, Tony—slowly—wheeled himself back, as far as the cord to the phone still held against his ear would allow. Emmie and Gibbs were still on the floor, the former looking most disgruntled at the spoon in the latter’s hand.

“I’m being serious,” she said then.

“So am I,” Gibbs said, “very serious. I’m being very serious right now. Soup?”

Emmie rolled her eyes, but a smile was pulling at her lips all the same. She shook her head. “Go back to your desk, old man.”

Tony’s brows shot up and he grinned. “Oohoohoo!” He was close to rubbing his hands together in sheer glee. “You gonna let her get away with that, Boss?”

“Lupin, DiNozzo.”

“I’m on hold!” The fact that Gibbs made no sign that he was going to pick his daughter up on her insult, when Tony knew that if he’d been the one to call his boss elderly he’d be getting a bit more than a slap to the back of the head, hit a sore spot. “Wait,” he said, looking hilariously appalled, “you’re actually gonna let her get away with it?”

Gibbs, defeated in this part only, dropped the spoon back in the box and put it on the desk. “I’ve been called worse,” he called back, “believe me.”

“Grandpa,” Emmie said.

“Thank you, Em, that’s very helpful.”

“Ninnyhammer, pillock, douche canoe, old man—”

“You already said that one.” Gibbs chuckled. “Douche canoe?”

Emmie shrugged. “Dunderhead.”

“Alright.”

“Ugly…nut.”

“Jemima.”

McGee, who’d since been silently working and eating at his desk, paused. Mouth open, forkful of noodles on its way, he turned confused eyes to the ground.

“Her name’s Jemima?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “How long you been here McGee?”

As soon as Emmie looked the slightest bit like she was about to resume her name-calling, Gibbs put his palm over her mouth. He rose a brow in warning. She blinked. Blinked again. Then—

“Aw, come on!” Gibbs’s face contorted into one of absolute disgust as a rush of air and wet stuff flew at his hand. He withdrew it immediately, holding it away from him, while Emmie sniffed and nonchalantly used the jacket sleeve again.

“You little crapbag.” It was the best he could come up with.

“What? You think I plan my sneezes?”

Tony, up until now quite enjoying the performance, rolled quickly back to the desk with the phone at his ear. “Hi, yeah, I’m still here.”

Gibbs stood and walked briskly to his desk so he could grab the stack of napkins the takeout had come with. “I don’t doubt anything when it comes to you.”

“Thank you.” Emmie rubbed at her red eyes with her hand and slumped against the back of the wall. Gibbs, coating his hands with sanitizer, watched with a knowing eye. He shook his hands and walked back around to Ziva’s cubicle, perching on the desk to look down at her.

“You’re sick,” he said.

“I know. And?”

“And, sick people eat soup, and they sleep. Okay? They don’t stay up at all hours of the night—nooo, no, no. I’m talking now, kiddo. I know you’ve been sleeping all day, I know you wanna get up and back to work, but that’s not happening until your fever’s gone. No point in fighting that, and you know full well. Clear?”

Any other day. Any. Other. Day. The protests were practically clawing at her throat. But a sudden wave of nausea rushed over her and she backed down immediately. Still, the thought of lying down again was awful, and the tired eyes she turned on her dad somehow translated that.

Gibbs sighed. “What’s it gonna take, huh?” Emmie didn’t need to think about her answer to that. She wasn’t even sure her expression had changed at all when Gibbs shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “No,” he said, “come on, now. I gotta work.”

This time, she did change her expression, putting it on in the way she knew worked best. Gibbs, naturally, relented.

“Fine,” he said, motioning with his hands for her to move over. She did, though admittedly it was a bit of a pitiful move with her aching body. He breathed a short laugh but came to sit in the miniscule space she’d made beside her anyway.

“Thanks, douche canoe,” Emmie whispered.

Tony put the phone down. “Still knocked out, Boss,” he said, pushing his chair backwards. When he saw Gibbs on the floor, arm wrapped around his daughter, who had her head on his shoulder, he crossed his arms over his chest and positively pouted.

“Hey, why do you get to sleep?”

Gibbs chuckled and shut his eyes. “When you’ve got a sick kid, I’ll let you sleep on the office floor with her. Wake me before Lupin does, would you?”

“How am I—Boss? Boss?” Tony threw his arms up in the air and shook his head, grabbing a notebook from his desk to doodle in. “Kiss my ass.”

“Heard that.”

“I wanted you to.”

Well, one thing was for certain. Gibbs may have won this fight, but so had Emmie.

NCIS Masterpost

[artspats]

Late Checkout / Tashi Duncan

The first time they saw each other it was… pretty normal, just the ‘oh... look she also has a daughter’. What a nice coincidence!

Your 7-year-old daughter crossed paths with the daughter of the attractive woman you saw several times by the pool. Both playing in the splash area.

Her daughter had a love for swimming, an athletic spirit. Very cute, she must have gotten it from her mother.

Your little one was more like the sunbathing type, with the heart sunglasses she wore even sleeping, almost imitating you.

You laughed when you saw her, your eyes watching from the edge of the magazine. Smiling before continuing to flip the pages through the news, fashion, sports section... let’s see... tennis?

You were too focused to realize someone had sat in the chair next to you… until your hand reached out to take your lemonade from the table.

It was her.

The pretty woman with short hair.

You smiled slightly at her and lowered the magazine a bit—not because you’ve finished reading, but because her smile is suddenly more interesting than tennis stats.

She was the brave one to bend down and stretch out her hand.

“Hey,” she was prettier up close, Jesus.

“Hi,” you smiled, taking her hand.

“Tashi, Tashi Duncan.”

“Nice to meet you…”

And her hand is warm when you shake it. You can’t help but notice the tiny scar across her knuckle and wonder for half a second how she got it. Probably something cool. You always imagine short-haired women have stories.

“Tashi,” you repeat softly, still holding her hand a second longer than necessary. “I’ve seen you around.”

You introduced yourself before shifting up in your seat. Her eyes were distracted for a second while your magazine left the top of your chest in sight.

Huh.

“I’ve seen you, too.” Her smile is slow, like she’s testing the temperature between you.

Your daughter shrieks with laughter in the splash zone, and her daughter is right there next to her, already mid-cannonball. You both glance over. An unspoken relief: they’re entertaining each other.

“She’s cute,” you say.

Tashi turns back to you. "Thanks. She's got more energy than I know what to do with. Yours?"

You glance over your glasses at your daughter who is now reclined on her towel like a pint-sized diva, sipping from her pink lemonade with a little umbrella. "She's... more into the aesthetic of pool life and summer, you know."

Tashi laughs. "She gets it from her mom?," it lands low and warm, you laugh too.

"What are you implying?" you tilt your head sipping a little of your lemonade with the same smile.

"That swimsuit? Kinda stealing the spotlight. And coming from me, that’s a compliment."

You feel that warm flush creep up again, and this time you don't bother hiding it with your magazine. "This old thing?" you tease.

Tashi leans back in her chair, arms stretched over her head. Her toned stomach glints in the sun, and you pretend not to notice-failing spectacularly.

Her partner was lucky.

"Do you live around here?" she asks.

You nod. "Just moved in. Trying to make this whole suburbia thing work."

"That makes two of us," she says, eyes on the girls now, "We should— get the girls together sometime. They seem to click."

You smile. "Yeah, I'd like that," you pick up your magazine again just to have something to do with your hands.

She notices there's something about the way you hold your magazine–not like you’re reading it, but like you’re keeping a boundary in place. A gentle one that says: Not yet, not here, but maybe.

Tashi likes that.

She shifts in her chair, careful not to seem too obvious when she says, “Lily likes hotels.”

You look over at her, surprised by the non sequitur, but intrigued.

“We’re here for Art,” she explains. “My husband. He’s got a few gallery shows and a regional circuit he’s doing. The hotel 's easier. Less messy than short-term leases. And Lily thinks the hallways are made for racing.”

You smile, already picturing the little girl running barefoot down the corridor.

“How long are you here?” you ask.

Tashi shrugs. “A couple weeks, a month, maybe. Depends how the shows go.”

“We are kind of in the same boat. My husband— he writes a column, but lately he’s very into the real estate content thing, i don’t know. He found this place and decided it’d be his first experiment.”

Your sunglasses slip a little down your nose. Tashi catches a glimpse of your eyes—curious, a little guarded.

“You like it?” she asks.

You shrug. “I like the quiet moments.”

Tashi nods. “Me too.”

She has this calmness to her, even her name gives you comfort. Not smug– just settled in her own skin. The kind of woman who doesn't mind when the pool towel is too short or when the kids draw on walls.

You admire it.

Her laugh is soft and the way her eyes keep traveling down to look at your bathing suit makes your stomach tighten, not in a bad way.

There’s also that strange comfort in the way she says Lily likes hotels. It’s a statement, but also a reveal. It tells you more about her than if she had rattled off five facts about her marriage.

You offer your life in return, casually at first. Your husband’s weird freelance path, the way he refers to this as “content” like it’s a mission, not a career. You’d followed him here, not unhappily, but not exactly inspired or expecting something more than just clean white sheets, chlorine, the fact that your daughter sunbathes like she’s 27.

She's not the woman who brags about how far her husband has come, because it's clear that she also has a great career and her personality makes you think she's good at everything she does.

Tashi listens, she really does. That’s your surprise right there.

Is this what people refer to when they say that good things come when you least expect it?

You both glance at your daughters now, ankle-deep in water, heads close together like they are sharing a secret. Maybe about how maple syrup is better than marmalade for pancakes, maybe about the rules of mermaid society.

And then Tashi says, “I’m glad they found each other.”

You murmur, “Me too.”

Both girls approach their moms, Tashi slides the little robe on Lily’s shoulders, you help Hanna slide her feet on the crocs.

You stand up before you can think of something to say, “See you two around,” you smile at Lily and then look at Tashi.

She stands up too, nodding with a smile. “I suppose that means you take me on that offer I told you about.”

“It does.” You place your sunglasses on top of your head, and that warmth again—stretching across your ribs as Tashi waves at Hanna.

[aylacavebear]

Take Me Home Tonight

You kept to yourself; you had to, given what you were. It wasn’t that being a hunter meant you had to isolate yourself. It was that being a Touched, you had to keep yourself safe. There was a lot of lore about those who were “touched by the Gods,” and most of it wasn’t flattering. You’d been lucky, though, as you looked completely human. One problem: you were a lot like a cat, in too many ways, including purring. The other problem was that your blood somehow healed you.

Dean x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 10,730

Warnings: SMUT! MDNI, Angst, some Fluff, Plot - if you squint.

AN: So, this was only supposed to be a one-shot, but it will have a part 2. As soon as I have it finished, I'll post it for everyone. This is to celebrate having 300 followers. All of you are amazing. Thank you for loving my writings as much as I do. I don't write smut often, so please be gentle. I do love feedback, though. :) <3 Enjoy. This is based on the song - Take Me Home Tonight by Eddie Money.

----------------------------------------- The bar was dimly lit as you sat near the back, sipping your fifth whiskey. The hunt had been successful, but you hadn’t been able to save the young woman before the vampire had given you that evil smile and drained her before you could move. So, here you were, drinking away your guilt at not anticipating the vampire’s move.

After waiving down the waitress for a refill, you sighed and leaned back in your seat, having tuned out the sounds of the bar. The hunt had been playing on repeat in your thoughts since decapitating the vampire, trying to figure out if you could have changed anything to save her. You were always hard on yourself when you couldn’t save someone. 

You didn’t hear the bell over the door, or notice the two men who walked in and sat at the bar. No. Your focus was somewhere else entirely. You leaned forward, resting your arms on the table, one hand around your glass, your gaze at the amber liquid inside.

“I hate vampires,” you whispered to yourself.

I should head back to Bobby’s.

You knew you needed some downtime, having been on the road for months, even with staying in motels along the way. A classic rock song pulled you from your thoughts, hearing the familiar tune now playing in the background. You noticed that there were a few more customers in the bar as you tapped your foot to the familiar beat.

Typically, you would stay in your head after the hunt you’d had, but with the alcohol coursing through your system, you wanted to unwind. You downed the last of your drink before heading over to the jukebox. The whiskey didn’t even burn anymore, but you loved the flavor. Humming to yourself, you looked over the songs available. Take Me Home Tonight it is.

A relaxed smile found your lips as you slipped the quarters in the slots and made your selection. You didn’t really pay attention to the other customers. The song wasn’t really for them. It was for you, and anyone bold enough to approach you. You were a loner, being what you were. But sometimes, you needed the comfort of someone’s arms, even if it was only for one night.

You turned so you were partially leaning against the jukebox, swaying lightly to the music as the song played. With your eyes closed, enjoying how the rhythm felt through your body, you quietly sang along with the words. 

His eyes had been on you only moments after he and his brother had entered the bar. Something about you pulled at him in a way he’d never felt with another woman. It was so bad that Sam had to order their drinks before smacking Dean on the shoulder.

“Dude. What the hell?” Sam asked, his brows furrowed in confusion and mild frustration, wondering what the hell had completely distracted him.

Dean took a deep breath, barely unable to look away from you. “Sorry, distracted.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Sam chuckled, taking a sip of the beer the bartender had just set down. “So, what’s captivated your attention so intently that I had to order our drinks?” 

Dean wasn’t the type to get swept away by a woman’s appearance. He was the confident one, suave, and all the charm in the world. But something about you, beyond your looks, had his complete attention. “Chick over at the jukebox,” Dean finally answered his brother, motioning with a nod in your direction.

Sam’s gaze went to where Dean had motioned, taking note of the woman swaying to the music: you. Your long hair was down, some over your shoulders, framing your face beautifully. The way your lips occasionally mouthed a few words of the song as it played. Sam shook his head, finding his brother’s appetite for women utterly amusing. He definitely knew how to pick them.

Before Sam could say anything, though, Dean had downed his whiskey and was walking toward you. Sam chuckled and shook his head again, picking up his beer to watch how things unfolded. Dean was typically the confident one, all charm and a cocky attitude to boot. Most women practically fell at his feet if he smirked just right. Something about you just felt different, and he hadn’t even spoken to you yet.

You smelled his scent before he even got close. The whiskey he’d just drank, the leather of a jacket he probably wore often, a hint of mint that made you wonder if it was toothpaste or gum, and a musk that was all him, intoxicating. Quietly singing along with the song, you opened your eyes, wanting to locate the source of that delectable scent. 

Now, you were used to men being interested in you; their looks ranged across the board, but never in your life had a man who looked like some Greek God ever noticed you. His green eyes were piercing as they blatantly roamed over your body as it swayed to the rhythm of the song you’d put on. The closer he got, the heavier your breathing became. “So, was that an invitation, or do you just like this song?” he asked, his voice like a seductive melody to your ears.

But your confidence didn’t waiver, a smirk playing at your lips. “Both,” you replied, leaning against the jukebox, looking up at the handsome stranger now standing less than a foot from you. You rested your hands on the jukebox, mainly to help keep them to yourself, itching to trace every inch of this man before you.

Dean licked his lips, sucking his bottom one between his teeth as his eyes roamed over your body, taking note of every curve before his eyes met yours again. You were gorgeous. But there was a mystery to you, a look in your eyes that had him wanting more than just to get his hands on you.

“Well, Sweetheart. We can have a few drinks or just get out of here. Up to you,” The words rolled off his tongue like silk, smooth and deep, shooting warmth directly to your core. 

You tilted your head a bit, looking up at him; that smirk that had been playing at your lips had finally claimed them. I must have done something right in a prior lifetime. The thought almost made you chuckle. You tried to keep your eyes on his, beautiful emerald-green orbs that were devouring you where you stood, but when he licked his lips again, the movement pulled your attention. The moment your lips parted, letting out a breath, Dean made his move. He’d been reading people most of his life, and it was clear you wanted him as badly as he wanted you. He had to taste you, and god, did you taste good. Your lips were soft, inviting, and moved against his in a way he wasn’t used to. You hooked your fingers in his belt loops and pulled his hips against yours, making him groan quietly into the kiss.

His lips were plump, succulent, and felt like pillows as they moved against your own. You teased his with your tongue, a quick movement, testing the waters, but you knew you’d be leaving with him. You felt his hands on your hips tighten when you teased his lips, causing you to smirk against his lips.

“Oh, Sweetheart, I think we should take this somewhere a little more private,” he whispered against your lips, his body pressed against yours, his need only growing when you didn’t get shy.

You chuckled, pulling only back far enough to look into his eyes. “My place or yours?” you asked, a mischievous smirk on your lips, but you let your hands roam across his chest. God, those muscles. It practically made you purr, and you knew you had to keep that in check, no matter what this man did to you. 

“Mine,” Dean told you in a low, almost commanding tone, making you chuckle a little. This is going to be fun.

“Alright,” you replied nonchalantly, but the smirk on your lips told Dean he was in for a world of surprises with you. And he was looking forward to it. He’d only come across a handful of women, if that, who were confident like you and didn’t get shy around him. “After you,” he gestured, even almost bowing his head a little as his other hand found the small of your back. 

From the bar, Sam laughed before turning away and focusing on his beer. He knew he should have gotten his own room but figured after a couple of hours, the two of you should be asleep. Then, he could sneak inside and get some much-needed shut-eye. For now, he’d hang out at the bar, nursing beer until then.

The motel where both of you were staying was only a couple of blocks away, so he walked you there. You hadn’t told him where you were staying, and now, you’d keep it that way once you saw where he was leading you. You didn’t even know his name and hadn’t given him yours. Dean’s hand was on your lower back most of the walk, drifting down occasionally to grab your ass, feeling the slight plumpness of it in his hand. 

He wanted to feel every inch of you, but he wasn’t going to rush this. No. You were different. He was going to take his time with you, savor every second, memorize every curve, and taste every piece of your flesh you’d let him. The thought of it alone made his cock twitch in the confines of his jeans.

Your anticipation was building with each step, each breath, and every heartbeat. He didn’t even fumble with the key to his door, like he’d done this numerous times before. You loved his confidence, but you were going to have him at your mercy soon. He gestured for you to enter before he followed you inside, closing the door behind him. The room looked similar to yours, only slightly larger, with two beds. You wondered briefly who he might be bunking with, although you knew it wasn’t a woman, being able to taste the scents with each breath you took. It also looked as though he and whoever else was with him weren’t staying long, as only two small duffle bags were in the room, unopened.

Dean came up behind you, one hand on your hip, the other gently moving your hair to expose your neck. He leaned down as his hand slid tantalizingly slow down your side, resting on your hip. “I’m Dean, so you know what name to yell when I make you come undone,” he whispered before placing those deliciously plump lips on your neck.

You groaned a little, leaning your head back as your hands rested over his. His lips left a trail of hot, slow kisses along your exposed skin. The man knew what he was doing, and that only fueled the fire growing within you. For a bit, you let him tease you, but the moment his fingers went to slip under your shirt, you stopped him and turned in his arms. With a mischievous smirk, you looked up at him before biting your bottom lip, taking a step back, and taking all of him in. Even in the dim lighting of the motel room, he looked intimidating, or at least would have to someone who was normal. You slipped off your shoes with your feet before moving closer to him, standing on your tiptoes and pressing your lips to his. Before he could put his arms around you, you began slipping off his flannel, effectively stopping him. Hearing his annoyed groan made you smirk against his lips.

He tried to discard the flannel quickly, but you had begun kissing down his jawline and then along his neck, sending shivers down his body. “I’m Y/N, so you know what name to moan when I make you come undone,” you whispered seductively before nibbling on his earlobe, pulling a guttural growl from him.

When you spoke, his cock twitched in his pants again, and he wasn’t sure how much patience he’d have at this rate. You did things to his body he wasn’t used to, and he wanted more, needed more. Just as you stood flat on your feet again, he managed to get his flannel off, pulling an amused chuckle out of you. Although, you weren’t going to give him a moment to catch his breath, slipping your hands under the hem of his shirt.

Your hands moved slowly over every muscle, every curve, as his hands balled into fists at his sides, trying to keep himself from throwing you down on the bed. God, your touch was intense, both soft but calculated. He leaned down, catching your lips in a quick kiss, his tongue darting out to tease you. Your eyes never left his, which only fueled the fire within both of you further.

Dean loved how you had leaned into the kiss, and had leaned closer when he pulled away. He smirked before cupping your face with both his hands and kissing you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours as your hands sent shivers and heat through his body as they explored his chest and sides. Your body instinctively pressed closer to his, needing to feel so much more of him.

The sounds of the outside world faded as you slowly lifted his shirt without breaking the kiss until he had no choice but to move and remove it. That teasing smirk found your lips again before you bit your bottom one, taking in his muscular form. God, he could probably hold me up like I weighed nothing at all. The thought sent warmth through you, and a small groan slipped past your lips. But you also knew that whatever he did for a living is what had sculpted him into the man that stood before you.

When you saw his tattoo, you paused for only half a second, wondering if he was a hunter. That could be bad in the long run, but you quickly pushed the worry aside. Tonight wasn’t about worrying about that. You’d be gone before he woke, and all he had was your first name. Plus, you had enough alcohol in your system that you didn’t really care at the moment. You’d never see him after this, right?

“My turn,” he smirked, his tone low, husky, almost commanding.

You just gave him that teasing smirk, and before he could even reach for your shirt, your lips were on his chest, leaving a trail of fire along his skin. Dean bit his bottom lip as his hands found your hips, gripping them tightly. He wasn’t used to not being able to control himself, and you were pushing him far past any level of restraint he was used to with a woman. Dean would have been lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying every second of it.

He sucked in a breath, feeling your hands tease his skin again in a feather-light dance along his sides as his hands quickly found yours, stopping them in their tracks. “Careful, Sweetheart. I’m ticklish.” he breathed out. Even if you hadn’t tickled him, you’d touched him in a way he wasn’t used to. There was a tenderness in your touch that made his breath hitch in his chest, and it scared the shit out of him.

“I’ll remember that,” you replied softly, leaning closer to leave a trail of eclectic kisses along his chest. 

It took everything in Dean to ignore the strain in his jeans or how your lips felt on his skin. Then there was your hands as they traced every muscle, every curve of his exposed body. All of it was making it nearly impossible to think straight. God and the way your hot breath sent goosebumps down his body was enough to drive him almost mad.

Dean finally managed to slip his hands under your shirt, your skin smooth under his calloused hands, and he felt you moan against his chest. It brought that pleased smirk to his lips when he felt your fingernails press against the middle of his back. Slowly, he slipped your shirt up, causing you to move your hands off of him, giving him the moment he needed to catch his breath as he slipped your shirt off.

You made a mental note of where it landed, even in your passion-induced state. The way his eyes raked over your exposed torso made your breath ragged. It was almost as if you could feel his gaze literally devouring you as you looked into his eyes. 

“Beautiful…” he breathed out before capturing your lips in another searing kiss, which you reciprocated as your fingers fiddled with his belt. Luckily, it was a simple leather belt that was easy to get undone.

His hands found your hips, but only briefly before one of his hands made quick work of the button just as you had gotten his belt loose. It was almost a race to see who could be faster, and so far, you were winning. You didn’t even break the kiss as you popped the button on his jeans open, cupping his already hard cock through the denim as your other hand found his zipper.

You smirked into the kiss as he groaned, his hips moving into your touch, needing far more than you were giving him. All he could do was pull you flush against him as you moaned quietly. Just as you felt his hands attempt to tighten on your sides, you slipped down as you slid his jeans to his ankles, looking up at him as you knelt at his feet through your lashes.

Dean let out a ragged breath, wondering just how much longer he’d be able to take his time with you. You had him on the verge of picking you up and pinning you against the wall, an almost desperate need to be buried deep inside you. When that teasing smirk found your lips again, he bit his lower lip as he made quick work of his boots, then kicked off his jeans.

You reached for his boxers, but he was quicker, grabbing both your hands and pinning them behind your back. Then, as he smirked against your lips, he slipped both your wrists into one of his hands, giving him a free hand to tease you with. He chuckled, seeing the glare in your eyes. It wasn’t fair, and he knew it, but he needed you to stop touching him so he could taste you the way he wanted to.

Now that he had you, his lips moved from yours, along your jawline and down your neck as your head tilted back, giving him more access. Electricity ran along your nerves everywhere his lips ventured while his hand slid inside the front of your jeans, causing you to inhale deeply out of surprise and how good it felt. Dean moaned against your pulse point, feeling just how wet you were while his fingers slid along your folds before he removed them from your jeans.

“So wet already, Sweetheart?” he whispered in a low, teasing tone before he sucked your juices from his fingers. “Delicious.”

Your plans sort of flew out the window the moment he had your hands pinned, but the way he teased your body was worth it. Electricity shot through all your nerves with every touch of his hands. His movements weren’t rushed, like he was memorizing every curve of your body, even if your jeans were getting in the way. 

With a ragged breath, his lips made their way along your collarbone before dipping even lower, teasing the area just above your breasts. The quiet moans that left your lips were like music to his ears. The way he held you arched your back toward him, making it almost impossible to move, but it was delectable instead of confining. 

As his hand cupped your breast, his mouth found your nipple, pulling the most sinful sounds from you, and it was nearly impossible to be quiet. The way his tongue moved over and around your nipple, finding the most sensitive spots, then teasing them as he sucked harder. Your breathing became heavy, your body now craving his touch, needing to feel his skin on yours, but you needed to feel him tense under your touch, not the other way around, no matter how good it felt.

You took a deep breath the moment his mouth left your nipple, now getting hard due to the dampness from his mouth and the slight chill in his motel room. In one swift, quick motion before his lips could claim yours again, you turned, causing him to release your wrists. Before he could even get his hands on you again, you slipped behind him, making him turn.

The tension in the room was palpable. Electricity crackled in the air between the two of you. A teasing smirk toyed with your lips as you looked into his eyes. Those wonderful emerald eyes you would always remember. Placing your hand on his chest, you gently pushed against his chest, and he complied. Dean’s mind was racing at how your confidence and need to be in control never completely waivered, even when he had you at his mercy. The way you’d gotten out of his grip would have made him question you in an entirely different way if circumstances were different and he didn’t need to feel your body under his.

As his legs bumped into the edge of one of the beds, he sat down, not even caring if it was his or Sam’s, but his eyes never left yours. He let you lay him back, your movements slow, teasingly slow, as you ran your hands over his chest, leaving almost featherlight kisses in their wake. Your fingers teased the waistband of his boxers, his head snapping up to watch you as he propped himself up on his elbows, somewhat amused. 

It wasn’t often a woman took control with the confidence you showed. He wanted to watch you, but your hand brushed over the bulge in his boxers. His head fell back as a low, almost growl bubbled up from his chest. The warmth of your hand made his cock twitch, slightly painfully in the confines of his boxers.

The way his muscles flexed under your touch quickened your breath, but you were going to take your time, memorize every curve, every muscle, every sound he made. Feeling the size of him, even through the fabric, made you lick your lips, slowly slipping his boxers down, leaving him naked before you. For a moment, you just stood there, staring down at him with your lips parted. He looked up at you when you hadn’t returned to touching him, that cocky smirk on his lips again, making you want to kiss it off of him.

“Like what you see, Sweetheart,” his honeyed words with his cocky attitude made your body quiver with need. The man was gorgeous, and he knew it. So, you just smirked before slipping your jeans off, wearing nothing underneath, now naked as well. 

“I could ask you the same thing,” you sassed teasingly, seeing the hunger intensify in his eyes as his cock twitched.

Before he could say a word, you knelt between his legs. The way your hand felt soft around his shaft had him clenching the blankets of the bed. He still had most of his control at the moment, though, keeping himself from just taking over and pinning you to the mattress so he could taste every inch of you. However, he couldn’t stop the moan that came out when he felt your warm breath on the head of his cock.

The sound that came from him went straight to your core, your walls clenching around nothing. You wondered how much of him you’d be able to take in your mouth, but you were up for the challenge, having figured out how not to gag. For a moment, you let your warm breath fan over the tip of his cock before placing soft, slow kisses along his shaft, holding the base firmly but gently with your hand. His entire body was tense as the pleasure coursed through every part of him at your ministrations. Your lips were soft, your grip firm but gentle, and your confidence in what you were doing was nearly too much for him to keep from taking over. The moment you took him into your mouth, though, his hand went to your hair, gripping it with practiced ease.

You hummed, sending a shiver down his body as he twitched in your mouth, indicating you were both enjoying every moment. Slowly, you began moving your mouth on him, up, then down, sucking him like a straw in a milkshake and letting your tongue conform to his shape, sliding along his shaft. Dean did his best to keep himself from getting lost in the feeling, but the skill of your mouth was fogging his mind. His grip in your hair tightened, and when your lips reached the tip, he encouraged you to move faster by pressing a little against your head. The way he tasted on your tongue had your body on fire, needing to feel him inside you, but you were enjoying him being at your mercy.

“Y/N…” he moaned quietly, and you could hear the plea in his undertone, almost begging for you to speed up.

You smirked internally, focusing on his body, his moans, his hand in your hair, and his cock in your mouth. Since his request had been so nice, you did speed up, teasing the tip with a couple motions before sliding back down, almost to the base. His hips instinctively thrust gently upward, pressing the tip of his cock down your throat. You didn’t gag but stopped your movements, then hummed again.

Dean had no choice, he had to pull your mouth off of him, or he was going to cum right then and there. He was breathing heavily as he sat up, still holding onto your hair. When he saw a smirk on your lips, though, he almost growled, looking down at you between his legs. No woman had gotten him that close, that fast before.

“My turn,” he told you with a look that said you were in for more than you had prepared yourself for. He still hadn’t let go of your hair, and you wondered just how much you could push him before he pinned you and fucked you into the mattress.

“What? Too much?” you asked, feigned coyness lacing your words. You knew exactly what you’d done and how close you had him.

He just groaned, his gaze nothing but lust as he gently lifted you closer to his face. “Sweetheart, don’t make me cuff you to the bed,” he warned in a low, seductive tone, but you had a feeling he’d actually do it. That only made your legs quiver slightly as another wave of heat washed through you.

Dean truly debated cuffing you to the bed. Your boldness and feigned coyness reminding him not to underestimate you. A devilish smirk found his lips as his grip loosened in your hair. “My turn,” he told you again, and you didn’t miss the glint of excitement in his eyes as he gently helped you stand with him.

His cock pressed against your lower abdomen, and you wanted so badly to purr at the feeling and the thoughts that played through your mind. God, I can’t. He’ll ask too many questions. So, you focused on his eyes, taking in the lust and desire in his expression. Your hands reached out to touch his chest, but he quickly stopped you, grabbing your wrists before they could make contact with his skin. 

So, you gave him a pout, hoping it’d work and he’d let you continue enjoying his body. “I will cuff you,” he warned in a low growl. Damnit! “But, how is that fair?” you asked, still pouting.

In one swift motion, Dean had you on the bed on your back, making you squeal in surprise. However, as you giggled and attempted to sit up, he had already found his jeans and the cuffs in his back pocket. Your eyes went wide when he climbed on top of you, only able to pay attention to how he felt over you as he cuffed your wrists to the headboard.

With a smirk, his eyes never left yours. God, you looked delicious under him, and he was going to take his time. “I warned you, Sweetheart,” he whispered before letting his fingers move slowly down your arms, feeling the softness of your skin.

You glared at him, tugging against the cuffs as you looked up at them. You heard him chuckle, a deep sound rumbling from his chest at your predicament. When your eyes met his again, he’d moved off of you, licking his lips and debating where he wanted to start first. In all honesty, you hadn’t exactly given him another option. If he hadn’t cuffed you, he wouldn’t be able to take his time, and he desperately wanted to hear and see you come completely undone, by him.

Dean hadn’t decided yet if he’d uncuff you. Seeing the glare in your eyes only fueled the fire you’d lit within him back at the bar. He leaned down, only a sliver of space between your lips, that pleased smirk on his face again. You could feel his warm breath mixing with yours as your heart rate picked up again. Most of the men you’d been with couldn’t please you, not the way you needed.

He didn’t kiss you, no. Instead, his hands began slowly exploring your curves as his lips trailed along your jaw, then slowly down your neck. You held back your moans at his touch. It felt like your skin was on fire. “Tease,” you mumbled grumpily, but it was only to annoy him, make him touch you where you needed him to.

All he did was chuckle darkly against your pulse point, sucking softly at first, then harder as one of his hands slid up your side, cupping your breast. You bit your bottom lip, trying not to move into his touch. Part of you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing what he was doing to you, but when his fingers tweaked your nipple just the right way, a moan slipped past your lips.

“That’s what I thought,” he stated, his tone low, gruff, and almost smug.

You took a deep inhale of breath when you felt his lips leaving a hot trail over your collarbone, along your throat, and then down your chest as you tried not to squirm beneath him. For a brief moment, you wondered how many women he had been with, as he clearly knew what he was doing to get the sounds he was after. Or, perhaps, he was just more perceptive than most men. Either way, you lost your train of thought when his mouth latched onto your nipple, teasing it just right with his tongue.

There was no keeping the moan from coming out, and you felt him smirk against your skin as your back arched, needing more. Dean took one breast in each hand, kneading them while his fingers teased the nipple his mouth wasn’t enjoying. God, you felt amazing under him, and the sounds you made had his cock throbbing with need. All he wanted to do was bury himself deep inside you, but not before he tasted your sweetness. You struggled against the cuffs restraining you, wanting to dig your nails into his skin, feel the strength of his muscles under your touch. It was infuriating and intoxicating, all at the same time being unable to touch him as he touched and teased you in ways no man had before. When he felt he’d tasted your nipple enough, he moved to the other one, getting lost in the sounds you tried not to make.

That coil began tightening, your walls clenching around nothing. You needed more. God, you needed more. You tried rubbing your thighs together, since he was straddling you, holding you in place beneath him, but it wasn’t enough. 

Dean chuckled, feeling your movements, then released your nipple with a pop while his fingers teased both your nipples, making you gasp. Just the right amount of pressure in all the right places. He was observant; hunting had taught him that, and right now, he was reading you like an open book. He knew what you wanted, needed. However, he was enjoying the feel of you, the taste of you, and the sounds he could pull from you. When he finally began sliding his hands down your sides, you attempted to steady your breathing, his lips leaving searing kisses along your skin. Whenever he found one of your spots, he gave it more attention, sucking hickeys into your skin. He wanted you to remember tonight for days to come, longer if possible.

He didn’t go straight to where you wanted him. Instead, he trailed kisses to just above your mound, then slowly down your thigh, lifting your leg so that your foot was over his shoulder. The little whimpers that left your lips the further down your leg he got only made his cock twitch more. The sounds you made were like a sweet melody, and he could listen to it for hours.

It was like he had known how close he had gotten you, just from teasing your nipples, choosing to keep you needy. You were seriously considering using your retractable claws to get out of the cuffs but knew better; no matter how badly you needed to fuck him, you couldn’t do that. As your breathing was slowly evening out, he was already making his way up your other leg, keeping the first over his shoulder. Dean left kisses along your inner thigh, sucking in places that made you squirm again. He found it interesting that you hadn’t had a spot near your ankle, like most women did, but it didn’t deter him. He’d just find others, and that was precisely what he was doing. Carefully, he nestled himself between your legs but chose to slide his right arm over your thigh, effectively pinning your lower half. You looked down at him, those emerald orbs filled with lust as they devoured you, and goosebumps danced down your body. For a moment, neither of you moved, the moment frozen as your lips parted at the sight. He was intoxicating, but there was something more there, and it scared you. So you quickly pushed that feeling away as his head dipped down, trailing his tongue over your slick folds. 

Instinctively, your hips tried to move into the sensation, needing more, but he held you firmly in place. He hummed in pleasure. You tasted divine. Dean could have stayed there for hours, just tasting you. Something about you was different, in the most delicious ways. The moment his tongue found your clit, your mind no longer worked. A jolt of pleasure shot through your body as your walls clenched around nothing.

“Dean...” you moaned out quietly, almost pleading for more.

His other hand left featherlight touches along your inner thigh, moving slowly toward where you needed him. Your body shifted and moved against his hold, but you were unable to make him go any faster than he wanted to. Dean felt like he was in heaven as he sucked your clit between his lips, slowly teasing the bundle of nerves with his tongue, noting what made you try to move, what made you try to keep quiet, and what made your body tremble under his hold. His fingers found your entrance, slipping two inside. You couldn’t stop the low growl of pleasure that rumbled up from deep in your chest. God, please don’t let him notice, you mentally prayed, knowing it was far more animalistic than you had wanted it to come out.

In any other circumstance, Dean would have questioned you, but the sound made his cock not only twitch but throb as precum dripped from the tip. The sound had sent a rush through his body, which he wasn’t prepared for, and he thought he might come right then and there. That coil had quickly tightened within your abdomen; your muscles tensed as your walls squeezed his fingers. The heat that pulsed through your body had you almost panting. Dean reached his other hand up, his fingers tweaking your nipple as he moved his fingers in and out of you, making sure to tease that spot deep inside with every thrust. He sucked your clit a little harder, finding just the right spot with his tongue.

You’d never screamed any man’s name before, but at that moment, when your orgasm pulsed through your body in waves, Dean’s name reverberated off the walls of his motel room. Hell, you swore that you saw stars when it hit you, but you didn’t have time to think as he continued, helping you ride out every second of the pleasure. What neither of you expected was the moment you almost completely came down, you began building towards another one.

It surprised him. Most women he had to coax more out of. If Dean had been thinking clearly, he probably could have formulated questions, but you were delicious. He sped up his movements with his tongue as he thrust his fingers faster, harder, teasing the sensitive spot inside you. You were nothing more than a panting, moaning mess when he didn’t stop, pulling against the cuffs that kept your upper half in place while his arm kept your lower half in place.

No man had ever played your body like he was. You typically had to take care of yourself after you would sneak out and back to your motel room. Dean didn’t give you much time to think about that as your second orgasm crashed through you. He chuckled when you couldn’t make a single coherent word as he rode you through the pleasure. You were groaning with need as your body tried to move when he slowly pulled his fingers from your fluttering walls and his mouth from your clit. He sucked his fingers clean, not letting his mind wander to things it shouldn’t. Dean used the corner of the bedding to wipe your juices from his chin and mouth before climbing on top of you, caging you in.

All you could do was meet his eyes, your hips moving seductively against his, needing him to fuck you. “I’m going to uncuff you. Behave yourself,” he told you with a look that sent a tantalizing shiver down your body.

You watched him retrieve the keys, then climb over you again, his gaze never leaving yours, even as he unlocked the cuffs. Slowly, you pulled yours down, letting them rest on his shoulders, almost purring at his muscular frame. Dear God, don’t let me purr. He had the cuffs and keys on the nightstand in seconds before his lips were on yours again, needy, desperate, but also almost intimate.

Every time your hips moved against his, rubbing his cock along your wet folds and clit, he groaned, his hips instinctively moving with you. He reached between your bodies, lining himself up with your entrance, never breaking the kiss. Dean had planned to go slowly, give you time to adjust to his size, but you were having none of that.

You wrapped your legs around the backs of his thighs, bucked your hips, and pulled him into you, making the both of you moan with how good it felt. Dean bit down on your shoulder when you rolled your hips, pushing him even deeper into the warmth of your fluttering walls.

“If you don’t fuck me, I’m going to fuck you,” you whispered before nibbling on his earlobe, pulling another groan from him as he snapped his hips hard.

Dean shifted so that he was more on his knees, your legs around his waist, and now, his hands found your hips. The smirk on your lips had him committing the moment to memory. “I’ll fuck you, but it’ll be the way I want to,” he told you in that same commanding tone.

With that, he slowly withdrew till only the head of his cock was inside you, pausing for a brief moment as the pout began forming on your lips. Then, he slammed into you, making your back arch off the bed. Dean’s smirk turned devilish as he did it again, watching your face contort from an almost pout to sheer pleasure.

The way he held your hips kept you from moving with him, and it was driving you insane. His slow withdrawal was an utter tease. Then the way he slammed back into you and hit that spot inside while also hitting your clit was keeping you close without pushing you further. It was delightfully infuriating and had you attempting to squirm for more.

However, the moment he leaned down to capture your lips in a kiss, you used the moment to roll the two of you so you were on top. If the action hadn’t sent a thrill through his body, he would have questioned it. Were your walls not fluttering around his cock as it twitched inside you, he would have questioned you.

“I said if you didn’t fuck me, I was going to fuck you,” you told him, grabbing the headboard as you ground against him, rolling your hips.

Dean’s head went back into the pillow while his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. Then, when you began moving, rolling your hips like you were, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. However, he also knew you were close and bucked his hips, keeping in sync with your movements.

You leaned down, getting a better angle, but the moment you did, his mouth found your nipple, latching on as the most sinful sounds left your lips. He moved your hips, grinding you against him as your walls gripped his cock just before your orgasm crashed through your body. When you didn’t stop moving, riding out the waves of pleasure and screaming his name, your name left his lips as he came, buried deep inside you.

Your hands slipped from the headboard, resting on the pillows beside his head, your hair a mess, your breathing ragged, but all Dean could do was smile a little. You were beautiful. His hands moved to your back, pulling you flush against his chest while you both enjoyed the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

Neither of you moved for a while, enjoying the comfort of each other’s arms. Not even after his cock had softened and slipped out of you. Being hunters, neither of you got close to people. For you, though, you had another reason. Slowly, you moved so that you were lying beside him, not quite ready to leave.

Dean, though, got out of bed and headed toward the bathroom. Heen returned with a warm, damp washcloth. You watched him with curiosity as he cleaned you and then himself before he tossed the washcloth back into the bathroom, landing it in the sink. Then, he climbed back into the bed and pulled you close.

So, you let yourself enjoy him and the comfort you felt in his arms. He had treated you like no other man had, like you were more than just a means to his end. Dean just wasn’t ready to let you go, but at the same time, knew he had to. For him, he’d pretend, even if just for the night, that you were his and that he wouldn’t leave before you woke in the morning. 

You listened to his breathing and his heartbeat while pretending to fall asleep yourself. With you in his arms, he'd completely forgotten to text Sam, but right now, he couldn't care less.

He didn't want to think about how perfectly you fit against him or how holding you close eased the tension in his muscles. It wasn't long before he slipped off to sleep, and that was your cue.

Carefully, you slipped out of his bed, making sure not to disturb him. With silent footsteps, you gathered your clothes, dressed, and then snuck out of his motel room. 

You didn't see the man across the street watching you as you walked a few doors down to your own room. Moving quickly, you packed the few things you had out, then went back outside and to your car.

After tossing your bag into the backseat, you drove away. Sam made a mental note of the license plate number, then headed into his and Dean's shared room. 

Sam deadpanned, seeing his brother passed out in his bed and Dean's clothes tossed haphazardly around the room. With a frustrated sigh, he wrote down the plate number before hitting the sack in the unused bed.

—---------------

As the sun rose, casting away the shadows of the night, you were singing along to a random song on a random station. Maybe I should have called Bobby first. It'd been a few months since you'd seen the man who had cared for you after you had lost your parents.

Just a few more hours. The thought made you smile, and you always told yourself you would make a better effort to stop by and see him. And, every time, you ended up getting caught up in hunting. At least you remembered to call him, often.

When you pulled into his driveway, you let out a relieved sigh, killing the engine. Then, you grabbed your bag and headed to the door but never got the chance to knock.

“You had better not have even thought about knocking,” Bobby scolded you.

You looked down, about to apologize, when he laughed and pulled you into a hug. As you wrapped your arms around him, laughing with him. “I missed you too, old man,” you replied teasingly.

“Now come inside and get something to eat. I know you didn't sleep last night either,” he told you as the two of you went inside.

For the next several hours, the two of you talked, catching up on the things both of you had been up to. You made the both of you some lunch, eating together in the living room. It was the purr of a beautiful engine that pulled your attention to the window in the living room.

“You expecting company?” you asked Bobby as you tried to make out what kind of car it was. For a moment, Bobby wasn't sure what you were talking about, but then remembered how good your hearing was. “No, but sometimes people drop in an say hi, like you,” he chuckled.

—---------------------------

When Dean woke, the other side of the bed was empty. He found it slightly amusing since he was typically the one to do the leaving. The part that scared him was that he found himself missing you. He let the events of the night replay in his mind as a sigh slipped past his lips.

“You planning on sleeping the day away?” Sam asked from the table, having been up for over an hour already.

Dean sat up with a slight groan. His muscles hurt in all the right ways, and he couldn’t help but smile a little. Man, she was something else. Sam kept his eyes on his laptop as Dean got out of bed, that smile still on his lips as he attempted to find his clothes from the night before and got dressed.

As Dean sat down across from Sam, a cup of coffee in his hands, Sam finally looked up at him, chuckling slightly at his bedhead. “Aren’t you normally the one to leave before the chick wakes up?” Sam teased him.

“Normally,” Dean chuckled, taking a sip of his coffee. “She was something else, though,” he added with a sigh.

Sam raised an eyebrow, “I got her plate number after she left last night.”

Dean’s head snapped up, “She left that soon?” “Yeah. I watched her from across the street a couple hours after you left the bar with her. I never got a text from you, but figured that a couple hours was plenty of time,” Sam replied nonchalantly.

“Shit. Sorry about that,” Dean apologized sheepishly, taking a sip of his coffee. That was when the other thing Sam had said finally sunk in as a smirk toyed with his lips. “Did you run her plate number?” He asked quizzically.

Sam chuckled with amusement, shaking his head slightly. “Yeah. I did that when I got up. Why?” He was going to have some fun with this one, having quickly figured out that his brother was far more into you than he typically was with any woman he’d had a one-night stand with.

Dean gave his brother an instant bitch face, not having had enough coffee for Sam’s antics. “And?” His annoyed tone only fueled his brother's amusement further.

“And, I’m pretty sure she’s a hunter, given the information I found online. She’s got at least four aliases, and has helped out on a lot of cases. Her names are on tons of police reports across the country,” Sam explained as he focused on his laptop screen again, clicking around. “Oh, and her actual name is Y/N Y/L/N.” 

“Wait, I’ve heard that before,” Dean stated quickly, now attempting to wrack his brain as to where he’d heard your name before. It was on the tip of his tongue and driving him crazy that it wouldn’t come to him.

It was Sam’s turn to raise an eyebrow as he looked over at his brother. “If she’s a hunter, it would make sense you heard her name before.” Dean’s brow furrowed. “No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, I know that name, Y/L/N. I just can’t remember where I heard it.”

Sam chuckled, “Finish your coffee. Then we’ll pack up, get some breakfast, and finish the drive to Bobbys.”

Dean’s thoughts were on your last name, trying desperately to remember where he’d heard it. It was like this while he finished his coffee, packed up his things, had breakfast with his brother at the diner, and then while he drove. He only half heard anything Sam said as the day progressed, and he never once turned on any music. 

His mind had gone over past cases, other hunters he had spoken with, even the things written in his dad’s journal, but nothing was coming to mind. “You gonna spend the whole drive thinking about her?” Sam chuckled from the passenger seat. You were probably the only woman that had ever gotten to Dean like this.

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, his grip on the steering wheel tightening some while Sam tried to stifle his amusement. “I’m telling you, I’ve heard that last name before.” 

“Is that all it is?” Sam teased him, earning him another bitch face. “It was that good, huh?” he chuckled before deciding to shut up before he pushed his brother too far. Sam loved picking on his brother, but he knew when to drop a topic.

When Dean pulled into Bobby’s driveway, he was a little surprised to see another vehicle parked in his spot. Sam, on the other hand, sat forward a little, instantly recognizing the car. She knows Bobby? He glanced over at Dean, who only looked annoyed that his spot was taken up by some stranger. That’s when he realized that Dean didn’t know the car belonged to you and was going to enjoy the surprise on his face.

“Bobby’s got company,” Dean grumbled, killing the engine.

“He helps a lot of hunters,” Sam shrugged as he got out of the Impala.

They headed up the steps and Dean knocked on the door, being respectful, even if Bobby was like an adopted father to the two of them. 

—---------------------------

The moment the door opened and he saw you, he was speechless. Sam was doing his best not to bust out in laughter at not only Dean’s shock and surprise, but also yours. You thought you’d never see him again after you’d snuck out of his motel room, and he thought the same. 

“Who is it, Y/N?” Bobby hollered from the living room, pulling you and Dean from your thoughts.

“Not sure. Looks like a couple of hooligans,” you replied with a smirk as Dean gave you his bitch face, not amused.

Bobby had a feeling he knew who it was, but went to the door anyway, just to make sure. Seeing who it was, Bobby chuckled at what you had called him, shaking his head. “It’s just the Winchesters. Let 'em in, Y/N.” 

You opened the door the rest of the way before heading into the living room, not entirely sure how to react. This was the first time you’d run into a one-night stand after the fact. After returning to your seat, you grabbed your beer and finished it off, just as the three of them entered the living room.

“Sam, Dean, this is Y/N. She’s practically my daughter, so behave yourselves, or I’ll let her kick your ass for being disrespectful,” Bobby stated sternly, and Dean froze as his eyes met yours.

Shit, I’m a deadman, Dean thought to himself as the realization finally hit him as to where he had heard your last name before, but it had been years ago. It wasn’t helping that you were acting as though the two of you hadn’t had the most amazing sex of his life the night before. He watched as you stood, extending your hand to each of them.

“Nice to meet the two of you. Bobby’s mentioned you two idjits a few times,” you told them both teasingly and playfully.

God, the mouth on her. Those lips… Dean shook his head before shaking your hand, his eyes never leaving yours. That was when Bobby’s hand came up and smacked the back of his head. “Owe! What was that for?!” Dean grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head. You just chuckled before sitting down, noticing that Sam had done the same. 

“If she doesn’t kick your ass, I might,” Bobby warned him. “She doesn’t need you leadin’ her on.” And with that, he sat back behind his desk, sipping his whiskey and keeping an eye on Dean and where his eyes wandered.

Dean gave you a questioning glare but chose to sit down and not look directly at you after that one. Sam had a hard time not laughing at the entire situation. It was clear you hadn’t said a word to Bobby about your night before or that you at least knew Dean’s name. He wasn’t about to be the one to say a word. The last thing he wanted to do was be the one to spill the beans. Plus, this was far more amusing.

You played it cool, pretending as though last night hadn’t been the most amazing night of your life. Hell, you had to after what Bobby said. It wasn’t like you needed your practical father knowing you had one-night stands from time to time. Then there was what he said about Dean, and it made you wonder if he was like other typical hunters, leaving behind a trail of women from every case he took. 

For the next several hours, they caught up on each other’s lives. You mostly listened. At least now you remembered where you had heard Dean’s name before. Thanks to the alcohol and the way he had made your body feel, you hadn’t even thought twice about it the night before. When you went to go cook something for dinner, Dean glanced over, but only slightly, watching the gentle sway of your hips.

Bobby wasn’t stupid. He’d practically raised you. He just wasn’t going to pry into things that were none of his business. You were an adult, after all. However, he wasn’t about to let anything happen in his house with his daughter, well, adopted daughter, technically. Bobby leaned back in his chair, sipping his whiskey, watching Dean. The old man didn’t miss much.

“Go help Y/N with dinner,” Bobby told Dean, his tone stern. “And keep your hands to yourself.”

Dean didn’t say a word but quickly got up and joined you, leaning against the counter. At first, he wasn’t sure what to even help with, so he focused on doing the few dishes that were in the sink. You watched him from the corner of your eye as you set things up on the counter and stove. Neither of you spoke for a while, the tension in the kitchen building as each silent second passed.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Dean whispered, not wanting Bobby to hear.

“When?” you whispered, focusing on cooking instead of looking over at him. You weren’t sure if he meant the night before or when he and his brother showed up at Bobby’s.

“Last night? Today? Pick one,” he grumbled quietly.

You glanced over at him, then back at the food. “Would it have mattered?”

He knew you had a point. It wasn’t like the two of you were anything to each other, but he couldn’t shake the way you’d make him feel when he had held you afterward. He just couldn’t bring himself to say it. “No,” he sighed. “Guess not.” And with that, he began setting the table.

You felt a pang in your chest but reminded yourself that it had only been a one-night stand, no matter how it had felt being in his arms afterward. So, you focused on finishing dinner, keeping up that mask to hide the things you didn’t want to deal with. Being a Touched was lonely and for a little bit, Dean had made all those feelings go away. You just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him that now.

Bobby knew something was up, but he wouldn’t broach the topic, not in front of the brothers. He silently watched you, Dean, and Sam while interacting with the conversation over dinner. The boys were planning on heading out in the morning for another case. You were going to hang around for a few days, which he appreciated, even if he couldn’t always say it. 

After dinner, when you went to do the dishes, Bobby stopped you and then told the brothers to take care of the cleanup. So, you went to shower, pushing your thoughts aside. Pajamas were a pair of sweats and a slightly baggy, comfy shirt. You took a moment to listen to what was being said before standing in the entryway of the living room.

“I’m heading to bed. It was nice to meet the two of you. Be safe out there,” you told the brothers before giving Bobby a hug.

“It was nice to meet you, too, Y/N,” Sam replied, but Dean said nothing, terrified of the emotions you evoked in him.

You kept that hunter's mask up as you went to your room. It was just a one-night stand. Get it together already, you mentally berated yourself as you stared at the ceiling from your bed. Even though you hadn’t slept since the night before last, you didn’t want to sleep, almost afraid you’d dream of him. 

Over the course of the day, you had learned that you and Dean had a lot in common but had kept your mouth shut. Luckily, Bobby hadn’t said anything either. “God, this is stupid,” you mumbled as you finally got yourself comfortable under the covers for the night. Your mind wasn’t quite ready to drop the topic of Dean, and it took you another hour before you could fall asleep.

Morning came, like it always did, and you just looked at the light trying to penetrate the drawn curtains. You didn’t get out of bed, though. Your dreams were still playing on repeat in your head. All of them of Dean. Hunting with him and his brother. Being with him. The part that scared the hell out of you was that in the dreams, it all felt so… right, like it was meant to be, just like how it had felt when he held you close that night.

It was hearing the Impala’s engine that made you finally get out of bed and go to your window. Gingerly, you reached out and moved the curtains so you could see. Dean was behind the wheel, and Sam was saying something to Bobby. However, when you looked back at Dean, he was looking up at you. There was something in his eyes that made your heart skip a beat while at the same time, took your breath away.

I’m glad I got to feel that with someone, even if it was only for one night, and I’ll never see you again.

—--------------------------

Dean couldn’t get you out of his head. You’d acted like it was only sex that night, but something kept nagging at his chest. It was both driving him insane and scaring the hell out of him. He had only half interacted with Bobby and Sam the night before after you’d gone to bed. You were a puzzle to him, a mystery, and no matter how badly he didn’t want to admit it to himself, he wanted to figure you out and learn everything he could about you.

God, what’s wrong with me? It was the one main thought that kept circling his mind as he had tried to find sleep on Bobby’s couch while staring at the ceiling. His gaze kept drifting to the hallway that led to where your room was. He wanted to ask you about so many things, but he was both terrified of the emotions you brought out in him and of Bobby kicking his ass for having already touched you.

When you hadn’t come out of your room that morning, he felt his heart sink. He wanted to see you, even if you didn’t feel a thing for him. He knew he felt something for you. Sam tried a few times to engage him in conversation, but Dean’s focus was on his coffee, and thoughts of you. 

Now, sitting behind the wheel of his Baby, he dared to look up at Bobby’s house, not sure which window was yours. He tried to just focus on the purr of the engine, but the moment he saw you at your window, he couldn’t look away. The way the sun hit you just right, dancing off your features through the window. Your hair still messy from sleep. To him, you looked like an angel for a moment, and the look in your eyes caught him off guard. There was something there. Something that made his heart skip a beat and butterflies dance in his gut.

“Earth to Dean,” Sam’s voice pulled his gaze for a brief moment before he looked back at your window, but you were gone. “Are we going or just sitting here?”

“We’re going,” Dean grumbled, and with that, he drove away, trying not to wonder if he’d ever see you again, or that pull in his chest to go back, to you.

—---------------------------------

You hadn’t even bothered changing out of your pajamas when you joined Bobby in the living room after getting some coffee. There was no hiding that you were dealing with something, and he could instantly see it, letting out a quiet sigh as he leaned back in his seat. Bobby had done a lot of research on Touched, especially those from Bastet. “You found it, didn’t you,” he asked with both sincerity and concern.

Without looking up from your cup, you answered him. “Yeah,” you whispered, as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, mainly because Dean hadn’t seemed to feel it, the pull you did, or the pain of walking away. You didn’t want to admit that he was your soulmate, and now, you were a little worried about possibly being pregnant.

----------------------------------------- Can't Fight This Feeling Speaking Through Songs Mini-Series Touched Master List Main Master List

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[brokenpieces-72]

Echo

Note: I have been working on this oc for a while, and there's a lot I wanted to do with them. This story is oc reader insert, so I leave the name open but the hero name is already established.

CW: Foster system (abuse of it), injured reader, financial abuse, car crash, let me know if I missed anything.

You know that feeling when everything seems to be falling apart? You’ve had it before, when you lost your parents and separated from your sibling in the foster system. You feel it now too along with plenty of soreness from your injuries.

You lay in the hospital bed, with your cracked phone screen. Foster parents hadn’t seen any of your texts and no phone calls had been answered. You messaged your sibling but they wouldn’t be able to make it to you. Your friends were either stuck at work or asleep right now. The nurses and doctor suggested calling a lawyer for yourself, since the other driver is a lawyer and his family wants to press charges. Insurance company has you covered for any other surgery or treatment they need to do so no need to contact them.

Still, you stare at your phone screen staring at the small text message history you have. You could try. He might be busy, but you could try. While your boss wasn’t the softest or kindest person, he still cared. Many not a lot, but at least a little. Then again, maybe it would be a chance for him to stop mentoring you, and go solo again. The pros and cons fight over what to say in the text. Regardless you wouldn't be out of hospital for a while so he needed to know that.

E: Hey boss, sorry but I can’t come in to work for the next couple days.

You shut your phone off after sending it. Then you turn it back on again, debating whether to delete it, edit it, or leave it. Honestly with the drugs in your system, it’s a little hard to make proper decisions. You know he’ll ask, you know he’ll be hard on you for reckless driving, but he’s all you’ve got right now. Right now you just need another person with you, even if they’re somewhat of a stranger.

Your phone rings. Holy crap it can still do calls? Whatever not the point. You answer the call without paying attention to the screen, though you briefly see the name. This would not be pleasant.

“Hello?” You answered, before coughing. Maybe you could cover up your sore voice as a sick one.

“What's going on?” Your boss asked.

“Uhh… can I…” you pause a lot, the war still going on, and fighting over your vocal cords. To your boss's credit he’s patient right now. Finally, you get something out. “Are you on patrol?”

You rub your head, praying you don’t have a headache coming on. Your boss takes a moment to answer.

“Yes why?” He asked. He sounds irritated. You don’t want a lecture when he gets here.

“Nevermind. Forget it.” You say quickly.

“Outlaw, answer the question.” He said.

“… I…” you swallowed. “I’m in hospital. No one can make it, and… was wondering if you could come see me?”

There’s silence again and you shut your eyes. This was a bad idea. You hear a sigh over the phone, and regret sinks in.

“Forget it, I’ll be fi-“

“On my way, give me a few minutes. Do you need anything?” Your boss asked.

“Maybe a change of clothes.” You suggest. “That’s kind of it.”

He hangs up, and you sigh. He was gonna lecture you, but at least he was coming. Especially if they needed to do more surgery. God knows your fosters wouldn’t come anytime soon.

Jason Todd arrived at the hospital, jacket on, hood up, and a small backpack with a change of clothes for you. Trying to see you as your boss likely wouldn’t work very well, but seeing you as your brother could pass. He approaches the desk where a nurse is typing away. The nurse looked up, seeing him almost towering over her.

“Here to see Y/N L/N.” he asked.

“Down that hall, room 168.” The nurse instructed. Jason made his way down the hall, keeping an eye out for the room. He stopped himself just outside your door, ensuring the face mask he brought covered his face. His eyes were uncovered, but the hood shielded them enough. Then he overheard you on the phone.

“It was an accident, I swear I did-no it wasn’t for attention. I was just-“ you tried to get a word in as your foster parents demanded to know why they were getting medical bills. Jason steps in, quietly as you continued to plead innocent. “I just went out to meet a friend, I wasn't even drinking. Insurance money will cover it, I checked. I'm not asking you to cover it, I'm just telling y-...Okay. I'll transfer the mon-I'll take it out when I get the chance.”

You’re on the phone getting yelled at until they finally hang up. Your head is down, and you're holding back tears. When you looked up you nearly jumped out of bed, seeing the large figure that had come into your room. The red hoodie was a dead giveaway. Jason stepped in and set the bag down nearby.

“What happened?” He asked, not bothering with a greeting.

“Car accident… don’t quite remember. I swear I was driving on the right side, and I tried to move out of the way, but…” you trailed off.

“At least you’re alive.” He pointed out.

“Yeah so I can get medical bills, foster parents barking at me, no car for the next who knows how long, and now I even have to get a lawyer because the family of the other driver says it was all my fault, and I won’t be able to go to work or go on patrol or even train.” You say, trying to keep the lump in your throat down. The last thing you wanted was to start sobbing.

Jason sits in a nearby chair. “You’ll need more than a couple days.”

“The couple days is just for me to get out of hospital, the rest I can do easily enough.” You say, shrugging. As if shrugging really got rid of the weight of everything. Red Hood needed Echo, they were close to a breakthrough in a fighting and drug ring.

“You need rest.” Jason told you.

“For a couple days, then I’ll be back on my feet. The next load is coming Thursday, I'll be fine by then.” You said firmly, but there was a crack in your voice from emotion. Sidelining is the last thing you want. You’ve worked too hard for him to take you out of the game. Jason is quiet in the chair. It looks like he staring at the floor or the bed but you know he’s looking at you under his hood. You refuse to break.

Jason knows you are though. You’re tired, you’re injured, you have morphine in your blood stream, and financially you’re fucked. When he sighs, you think it’s pointed towards you and your stubbornness. It’s not. He realizes that you’ve been carrying a lot more than he thought. Now he has to call for a favour, one he didn’t want to ask for.

“Kid, right now, you are unfit to fight-don’t interrupt.” He said, holding his hand up, before you could argue. “You’re injured, you’re stressed, and you’ll be distracted. The last thing I want is your death on my conscious because I let you get yourself killed.”

“I don’t need to be sidelined.” You said, your voice breaking.

“You’re being benched for your own good. When you’re ready to get back into the game, I’ll pull you in. Don’t rush it but don’t waste time.” Red Hood ordered. You nodded. It’s a bit of a relief, since you haven’t had much time for regular life, let alone time for yourself.

“How long do I have?” You asked. Of course you wanted to be on a time limit. Jason did it to you for a lot of your training, whether it was posting up or reaching a checkpoint.

“Knowing shit like this, it will take maybe a week or so until you’re out of here.” Jason thought out loud.

“Then I have to get a lawyer which is a week or so, I have enough money… I should. I can do that while I’m recovering, and then I have work, and my side job. Chores, extra because I’ll be away. Then getting my vehicle repaired which will take a while…” your voice broke again thinking about the work you had after you leave the hospital.

“Hey.” Jason said. You looked up at him and it’s the first time you’ve seen his eyes. They were more natural than you thought. For some reason you thought they’d be red or maybe yellow. “This isn’t a fight, focus on what’s in front of you. I’ll give you a month.”

“I won’t need a month.” You said, take a deep breath to calm yourself.

“You’re getting one. Consider it mandatory vacation or something.” Jason said.

You want to thank him, and hug him but you’re a little incapable. The relief is massive wave, almost drowning you. You look down at your broken phone, feeling it vibrate.

“Thank you.” You said, the tears finally breaking free from your eyes. You sniffle and wipe at them. “Sorry.”

“Just fucking cry kid. Your life is falling apart it’s a normal response.” Jason said.

You let out a small noise that he thinks is you laughing. You nod, wiping your eyes, and a small smile on your face. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you. You wouldn’t happen to know any lawyers would you?” You asked. Your phone vibrated and you checked it, seeing your friend had replied, saying he was close by.

“Recover for the first while, then worry about a lawyer.” Red Hood said. Jason notices you smile at your phone, and takes it as his cue to leave. “Rest. I’ll be in touch.”

Jason gets up, leaving the backpack. Once he steps into the hallway he sighs. He doesn’t want to make this call, he really doesn’t. But you’re his partner, his apprentice. Hell, you’re basically his Robin. Jason had a rough life. You might have what he didn’t, but that didn’t make your life perfect. He’d been pulled out of that struggle and sure it wasn’t perfect, but it was at the very least decent.

Once he’s out of the hospital, he dials on his phone. He didn’t want to but with the bs justice system Gotham has, you would need some help.

“Alfred?” Jason said, hearing a familiar older voice on the other end. “Is Bruce there? I need to talk to him.”

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends @thriving-n-jiving

[sturniolo04]

Tooth Upgrade M.S.

Bf!Matt x Gf!Fem!Reader

A/N: If you don't like the preadded name in my stories, you can either add your own name or not read it; it's up to you :)

It was a well-known fact that Nessa and Matt were known to be the most attractive couple on the internet, so says your guy's fanbase from being on social media and having a consistent social media presence. You for your music career you were trying the build and Matt having Youtube with his triplet brothers Nick and Chris.

The one thing that not only your fans found attractive about you both but also quite frankly you two were obsessed with on each other, was your teeth and Matt really was down bad for your teeth to the point where Nessa questioned if he was even listening to her during a serious conversation or rant.

Nessa for the longest time wanted to get tooth gems and finally had made the decision to do so not telling matt because she wanted it to be a pure surprise knowing he is in love with the form and shape of your smile and teeth.

Time Skip

Nessa finally made it out of the appointment absolutely adoring them considering the number of times she not only ran her tongue across the curved alignment of her top teeth but also the continuous amount of times she glanced into the rearview mirror of her car at every stop light to flash her pearly whites decorated with shiny sliver gems.

Nessa finally pulled into the driveway of the Sturniolo household overflowing with excitement, just knowing how surprised her boyfriend was going to be when she finally shows him what she did today without him knowing, for very obvious reasons that she wanted it to remain a surprise.

"hey chris hey nick"

Nessa greets the pair walking in the house finally as the both look up to be met with your cheerful spirit.

"hey where did you go and matts in his room if want to go in there"

nick simply states as Nessa nods her head.

"i had an dental appointment nothing new"

you shrug nonchalantly, hoping the pair would notice it soon enough.

"we love dental appointments"

nick jokes as you giggle. You and nick had started engaging a conversation about editing youtube videos and unbeknownst Nessa Chris was trying his hardest not to stare but he couldn't help but notice something glimmering in your mouth.

"im so sorry nessa open your mouth for a second"

chris asks confused as ever thinking his mind was playing tricks on him.

"why"

nessa giggles really knowing why as nick looks over at his brother with a 'serious' expression painted on his face.

"just please i want to see if I am crazy about something"

he huffs out as you comply and open your mouth because that is what he asked her to do.

"see anything"

nick jokes with Chris rolling his eyes.

"nick shut up show me your teeth"

chris states to his older brother and rolls his eyes redirecting his attention to nessa once again. Nessa nods at his second request taking a deep breath out and showing them your pearly whites and low and behold the big reveal.

"holy shit"

nick breathes out

" oh my god nessa that looks so good"

chris exclaims looking at nick sharing that same surprised expression.

"thanks"

you giggle out.

"so that was the dental appointment"

"yes nicolas that was the dental appointment"

you giggle out the response.

"matt is going to lose his mind when he notices that"

chris chuckles out.

Time Skip

"matt"

you hum out walking into his room finally after talking with Chris and Nick for about an hour.

"Hey my love"

he hums out replying to you shifting his attention away from his computer screen when you walk in, as you made your way over to him straddling his lap to cuddle and hug him in his chair at his desk his hands finding a place on your ass as you do so.

"how long have you been here"

matt asks simply as you have face nuzzled into his neck.

"about an hour i was talking to nick about some editing stuff.

you simply respond finally sitting up and wrapping your arms around his neck looking at him.

"oh okay well i am glad you are here I missed you"

he jokes out knowing what you are going to say.

"matt you saw me yesterday"

you giggle out as he softly runs his palms along the curve of your ass comfortingly.

"yeah but you were at the studio all day yesterday so I only saw you last night"

he chuckles as you playfully roll your eyes placing a sweet kiss on his supple and cherry-bitten lips.

"so what did you do today"

he asks finally as the moment of comfortable silence passes.

"um i went to the studio and record some stuff with my manager and I -"

you trail off in your response as you look as matt looking at you like something was wrong when all reality he was noticing your new accessory.

"what why are you looking at me like that"

you cutely giggle out leaning your forehead against his.

"n-nothing im just looking at your face and teeth continue"

he replies mumbling that last part mainly to himself.

"um okay so i also went to starbucks with madison"

Nessa continues as matt nods his head to everything you are saying but still is truly focused on your teeth and you knew that.

"i also had a dental appointment"

you huffs out as matt raises his eyebrows

"oh you did"

he chuckles out as he readjusts his grip underneath your ass to pick you up as he stands from his chair headed to the bathroom connected to his room.

"matthew where are we going"

you giggle out as he walks into the bathroom setting you on the counter in there.

"i had to pee and i knew you weren't going to get up without a fight"

he replies as you playfully rolls your eyes.

"what did you get done at the dentist"

he ask you as his made his way over to the sink to wash his hands as you climbed off of the counter to stand next to him admiring him In the clean mirror.

"just a basic like cleaning nothing special"

you reply as he notices the piece of jewelry on your teeth.

"okay thats good did you eat already"

he asks squinting his eyes to look into the mirror to see if you saw what he that he saw at first.

" yeah but it time for dinner so we can-"

"hold on ness smile for me"

matt chuckles out as he turns back to the mirror you two were standing in front of after drying his hands.

"why"

you giggle out knowing he noticed it finally.

"please for me"

he pouts as you giggle and appease him by doing so.

"no fucking way"

he exclaims seeing the sliver jewelry in your mouth

"you like it it"

you giggle turning to him.

"like it i fucking love it wait smile again"

he rambles out as you show him your pearly whites again as he groans at the sight.

" your so fucking hot"

he grunts out placing a hungry kiss on your lips as you smile into the kiss. The kiss quickly turned into a heated makeout with Matt reach his palms out to grip onto your ass pulling you towards him and lifting you onto the bathroom counter. You gasp at the quick actions as you quickly connect you and matts lips together again. As you two continued your heavy makeout you slowly lost your clothes to the marble tiled bathroom floor.

"turn around"

matt huskily breathes out as he helps you shifts your hips and body off of the counter turning you away from his naked body. You teasing sway your ass out of impatience.

"fuck"

matt groans out dragging the 'k' as his eyes trail your every curve. He reaches his hand out to caress the plush skin of your bare ass, totally captivated by it not even noticing you slightly bite your lip and showing off your new upgrade on your teeth admiring him through the glass mirror you were facing in his bathroom.

Matt finally starts teasing your slick walls with his pink tip as you let subtle gasps fall from your lips as you gain matts attention in the mirror. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror as he continues to only give you the tip knowing you were eventually going to get frustrated.

"fuck matt"

you moan out as you lower your head onto the counter you were leaning on. Matt snakes his tattoo arm to place a loving and dominant grasp on your neck tilting your head back to meet his eyes. This angle awards him the precious sight of your perfect teeth gripping your bottom lip tight underneath your teeth perfect alignment.

"is this what you wanted"

matt teasingly asks you as he allows himself to slowly bottom out inside your slick walls as your jaw goes slack nodding your head within his grasp on your neck, agreeing with the movement.

Matt begins to rock his hips to meet yours as he trails his hand up towards your mouth, slipping his point finger in between your teeth. You catching on quick lightly secure his finger between your teeth.

"god you're such a good girl"

matt groans out still admiring how well you are taking him each time his tip kisses your cervix. Matt picks up the pace of his strokes inside of your as you whine subtly letting him know you were getting close.

"fuck im g'nna c'm"

you whine out to him as he removes his finger from your mouth placing it back around your neck, craning it back to meet his gaze once again.

"y'h you g'nna c'm f'me"

he teasingly questions you already knowing the answer from how tight your walls were squeezing his dick. You slowly blink your eyes trying to maintain focus on your boyfriend feeling your orgasm getting ready to crash over your senses.

"im cumming"

you squeal out fluttering you eyes close as matt groans as your orgasm triggers his, painting your walls white. Matt releases the loving grip on your neck, pulling out of you.

"fuck"

you sigh out as you slowly turn around to face him looking at the mess you two made.

"look at the mess you made Matthew"

you giggle out looking at the floor and the counter.

"the mess i made that was all you love"

he chuckles out as he loving pats your bare ass a couple of times.

Taglist

@dirtylittleheart333 @mintsturniolo @wh0resstuff @spicymuffins03 @aaliyahsturn @stayingstromboli @emely9274

[nnovus]

𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ━━ S.TODOROKI X READER

SYNOPSIS… In which, Shoto Todoroki youngest son of pro hero Endeavour is forced into an arranged marriage with the daughter of Pro hero/ clan leader, Tajima Uchiha.

INFO… Todorokixreader , ShotoTodoroki x sasuke/madarareader, mhaxnaruto, crossover, OC!!reader, OP!Reader, arranged marriage, slightly angst, character development, uchihaclan, readers looks and personality are based off madara/sasuke uchiha.

OTHER…likes and reblogs are appreciated

MASTERLIST

THE SPORTS FESTIVAL WAS GETTING CLOSER BY THE SECOND ━━━ As the class 1A students now had their bags packed to go home it seemed they ran into trouble.

At Class 1-A. Uraraka, Midoriya, and Iida stood near the door to their classroom wanting to leave but it seemed their way was blocked by many other students from different home rooms.

“Wh-What’s going on?!” Uraraka asked, unsure of why so much students were blocking their classes exit door. It was quite threatening actually.

“Do you students have some type of business with our class?” Iida questioned. He sounded rather mature and calm.

The crowd only kept getting larger. Causing the students of class 1A to be left unsure of how to deal with this. It was definitely not what they expected after a long day of school.

“Why are you blocking our doorway?? I won’t let you hold us hostage!!!” Mineta ran from behind and stood next to Midoriya. The short make then lifting his fist and yelling at the much taller students. To be honest, Not many even were able to see him due to his height.

“They’re scouting out the competition, idiot. We’re the class that survived a real villain attack. They wanna see us with their own eyes.” Bakugou explained walking directly towards where the crowd was despite the disagreements and worries of his classmates.

They knew his hot-tempered personality would only drag their class down in being liked. In fact they were now stressing and panicking about what he was going to say now.

“Atleast now you know what a future pro looks like. Now move it extras.” Bakugou scrawled, not caring about the gasps that came from his classmates and the scolding that came from Iida.

“So this is class 1A, I heard you guys were impressive. But, you just sound like an ass.” A tall male with messy, spiked up indigo hair said walking from the back of crowd to pause his movement directly in front of Bakugou.”

“Is everyone in the hero course delusional or is it just you?” He sarcastically asked making Bakugou even more irritated.

“How sad to come here and find a bunch of ego maniacs. I wanted to be in the hero course but like many others hero I was forced to chose a different path, such as life.” The indigo hair coloured male only continued not bothered by the fact Bakugou looked like he was about to explode any second now.

“I didn’t cut it the first time around, but I have another chance.” He added, feeling the confused stares from everyone around him.

“If any one of us do well in the sports festival, they teachers can decide to transfer us to the hero course, and of course they’ll have to transfer people out to make room.” When the male had said that a shift of pressure had been put on most of the hero courses students. Could that really happen to them?

“Scouting the competition?? Maybe some of my peers are. But I’m here to let you know that if you don’t bring your very best I’ll steal your spot from right under you.” He paused for a second, breaking heavy eye contact with Bakugou, turning his eyes to the left of the classroom.

Only then did he see her…She was facing his way though due to the bandage that covered her face it was hard to see the exact place she was looking.

She wasn’t even moving yet she had such an elegant and formidable presence. Her appearance matched her presence quite well as it was striking and intimidating.

Her hair and face was quite unique as well. Her hair was long, spiky, dark with a tint of dark blue. Typically falling just past her waist with a significant amount of volume mainly due to the spikes. The spikes and layers only made her silhouette instantly recognisable.

Her face was relatively pale, which contrasts sharply with her dark hair and eyes. Enhancing the dramatic quality of her appearance.

He soon snapped himself back to reality after realising he dozed off while staring at the girl. Speaking of the girl it finally came to him. Who she was.

Y/N of the Uchiha clan. A honourable, talented genius first child of the main family. He had heard about her on school grounds. Not that rumours about her were big but he had definitely heard them.

He then turned his head away from her realising he had been looking for too long. Putting his focus back on Bakugou and the rest of class 1A.

“Consider this a declaration of war.” He said. Watching the students in the hero course freak out wondering who the hell is this guy who had just threatened them.

“Hey, hey, hey!!I’m from Class B next door!I heard you fought against villains, so I came to hear about it! Don’t get full of yourself!!” Another bold person shouted from the crowd.

He had with chin-length, messy gray hair, and black eyes that are tilted dramatically inwards, each lined with a very thick, jagged, tan-colored substance, presumably his eyelashes.

He doesn’t appear to have any notable eyebrows, and, like Eijiro Kirishima, he has rows of sharp, pointed teeth.

“If you bark too much, it’ll be embarrassing for you during the real fight!” He angrily yelled. It was clear that many students have started to hate class 1A due to Bakugou.

Y/N who watched from afar only sighed. She then silently made her way to the crowd stopping in front of it. Specifically right next to Bakugou as their whispers only grew louder.

‘Wow Uchiha, really has a presence’ Midoriya thought while watching that no one even dared to speak ill to her. She definitely shushed the crowd. They now only stood in front of their doorway blushing and too intimidated to speak.

Y/N not bothering to say anything only began to walk away. Making her way through the gap of the crowd.

“I presume your Y/N Uchiha??” The same Indigo haired boy who had threatened the hero course students said earning the attention of the dark haired girl.

He turned his head to the right seeing the Uchiha’s back was facing at him. Only turning her head to give him a view of face’s side profile.

“Your genes are quite strong, I knew you were an Uchiha when I first saw you.” He added. Then rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

“Your name?” Y/N asked,eyebrows raising.The attention of the crowd was drawn onto her and the indigo haired male.

“Hitoshi Shinso.” He smirked. Although to everyone’s surprise she didn’t care to say anything back, only turning her head back and continuing to walk away.

It didn’t take long for Bakugou to do the same as he made his way through the crowd.

“You ignoring me, bastard?!” The grey haired male called out shouting at Bakugou. Hating the fact he spoke so highly of himself and his strength.

“Wait a minute, Bakugou!What are you gonna do about all this? It’s your fault that everyone is hating on us!” Kirishima called out

“It doesn’t matter…the only thing that’s important is beating them.” He said. It was clear he was pushing himself. The way he showed no emotions and kept his serious expression proved he was going to do anything just to win.

“I hate that, that was such a manly exit.” Kirishima cried clenching his fist not wanting to cheer on Bakugou’s behaviour but still not denying that he what he said was infact true.

“You said it.” Satou agreed. Watching Bakugou confidently walk away despite the complaints of a few other hero course students.

“To beat them, huh? There is truth in that.” Tokoyami nodded. He also did find Bakugou’s exit quite cool.

“Huh!? Hang on, don’t be tricked! He just made more pointless enemies!” Kaminari panicked. He only sweated at the angry blonde now knowing everyone in class 1A would be put at a disadvantage.

After Bakugou and Uchiha’s exit it seemed other of their classmates seemed to follow behind them not finding a need to stay in any longer despite the crowd.

The UA sports festival was now officially coming up in two weeks time. The whole thing being recorded live on TV for everyone.

There’s no doubt that whoever impresses the audience, will have a much better chance at becoming a pro hero one day.

No one but the teachers and directors of the event will know what the challenges will be until the day of the festival. So they indeed have to prepare for all possibilities.

Days then past. Their training seemed to be harder than expected, with all the training they have done it had indeed made time go by quickly. Before they knew it, it was the morning of the festival.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Y/N was now found herself walking to school. Before hearing voices of another crowd that seemed to be surrounding UA’s gates. From the sounds of it, they were all definitely media reporters.

“The security line is huge what’s the deal??” A reporter sighed. She was now while being at the back of the line complaining to her partner who carried the camera.

“A bunch of villains did just break in, of course the school is being cautious this year. Some people think there shouldn’t even be a festival.” He replied making the reporters eyes beam.

“Perfect!! Nothing brings ratings up like a little controversy. Plus everyone will tune in to see class 1A!!” She smiled as a manically laugh left her mouth.

Although their conversation was the first one that Y/N had heard it definitely wasn’t the last. Her curiosity raised while heard none other than her fiancée’s name as well as hers being mentioned.

“Hey, did you hear endeavours son is one of the first year students. Tajima Uchiha’s daughter too!!” A different woman gossiped. Clearly having no care in the world about who heard her.

“No way!! Endeavour’s son and An Uchiha seriously. Man, the stance for the first years are gonna be packed!!” The man beside her only gave in to her gossip causing more annoyance to reach Y/N’s mind.

‘Tch’ She muttered. Then only ignoring the crowd and making her way to the participant waiting room where the rest of her class most likely was.

She was currently dressed in her sports uniform like instructed. It was to make sure the was kept game fair as no one would be put at a disadvantage.

Although for class 1A their disadvantage was definitely Bakugou’s speech from two weeks ago. Many other students refused to forget about that.

Exactly why their class was not only being targeted by the crowd but as well as other students.

Now finally making it to the waiting room she opened the door to see her class just like expected as everyone was stretching or just mentally preparing themselves.

“Aw man!! I was totally hoping I could wear my costume— Oh UCHIHA!!” Ashido called out her mind and tone of voice completely changing when seeing her the dark haired girl enter the room.

Y/N walked towards the girl with pink hair and skin. Taking a seat on one of the chairs that were assigned in front of the waiting tables.

“Atleast everyone will be in uniforms. That’ll keep things fair right?” Ojiro replied to Ashido before turning and waving to the sitting girl behind them.

Although he soon faceplamed himself realising the fact she wasn’t even able to see him. Due to the bandages that still covered her eyes.

“Oh Uchiha, your bandages still aren’t off…” He muttered due to the fact he wasn’t that close to Y/N. Indeed they’ve spoken many times before but it was never an exact conversation.

It was usually him just adding in a few words in other peoples conversations. But forgetting although her eyesight was restricted. They all had no doubt she would do well.

There last two weeks of training made them certain of it. They’ve seen that although she was injured she still a crazy strong opponent to have.

“I wonder what they have in store for us in the first round.” Satou smiled trying to hide his panic. Wondering if he would make a good impression on the scouters.

“No matter what they prepared, we must persevere.” Tokoyami reassured. Although from the looks of it, it wasn’t that much of a help.

“Everyone get your game faces on. We’re entering the arena soon.” Iida opened the door and shouted. Making sure everyone was prepared for their upcoming entrance.

“Midoriya..” Todoroki called out Midoriya’s name earning everyone’s attention including his fiancé. All attention was now drawn onto the two.

It was said that Todoroki was walking towards Midoriya, while the green haired male only stood in a hidden panic.

“Oh, hey Todoroki.. what’s up?” He asked staring at his taller figure. He seemed more serious than usual which made Midoriya concerned of what he needed.

“From an objective standpoint, I think it’s fairly clear that I’m stronger than you.” Todoroki said as Midoriya only confusingly agreed.

“However you have All Might in your corner helping you out. I’m not here to pry about what’s going on between you too. But know that I will beat you.” Todoroki finished not failing to notice the sudden shift In Midoriya’s nature when both him and All Might were mentioned in the same sentence.

So Todoroki had realised it too. Y/N only kept staring at Todoroki’s through her bandages. It seemed her and Todoroki were on the same page after all.

“You aswell, Uchiha. I hope you know I plan on beating you.” He said Turning to Y/N. Her eyes widened upon hearing Todoroki’s words.

Although to everyone’s surprise a confident smirk was seen on her lips. Her head rested on her fist as her elbow pressed against the table. One of her legs over the other.

“Well let’s hope it’s not hand to hand combat, I’m sure both us know who will win with that..” Y/N replied to him. Her words confused others in the room but to Todoroki, he understood it too well.

“Wow, what’s with all these declarations of war lately.” Kaminari sweated seeing the weird Tension between Todoroki and Y/N. Not to mention her cunning smirk made him feel kinda small.

“Yeah what’s the big deal why you picking a fight all of a sudden. And right before we even started.” Kirishima added getting up from his seat and walking towards Todoroki.

Kirishima placed one of his hands on Todoroki’s shoulder, trying to calm him down. In return Todoroki only pushed Kirishima’s hand off him.

“We’re not here to play at being friends.” Todoroki said to Kirishima leaving the red haired boy confused as Todoroki walks off before pausing once again when hearing Midoriya’s voice.

“Todoroki, I don’t know what you’re thinking when you say you’ll beat me, but of course you’re better than me.” The green haired boy said though it was hard to tell what he meant by his words.

“Infact you probably have way more potential than anyone in the hero course, that’s why you got so easily.” He added though it was clear that Todoroki was way too eager on beating him to actually care what he had to say.

“Midoriya, you probably shouldn’t be so hard on yourself, or us..” Kirishima gave him an awkward smile trying to assure him that it’s best not to be so negative on himself.

“No, his right… all the other courses are coming for us with everything they’ve got! We all have to fight to stand out..” Although his words were confusing to make much sense of, they did differently come from the heart.

“So, I’ll be aiming to the top too.” He finished. Midoriya seemed to have stood his ground, his heart pounding with unwavering resolve.

Todoroki then turns to face Midoriya. He didn’t seem impressed. He knew many others were desperate and determined to win, either for personal glory or recognition.

But for Todoroki, he didn’t seem to care. All that mattered to him was proving himself and finally breaking free from his father’s expectations. Which meant winning the festival would validate his abilities and allow him to step out of endeavours influence.

“Fine.” Todoroki replied to Midoriya. He didn’t have anything else to say and didn’t need anything more. Not to mention it was officially time for the students to enter the arena.

Meanwhile In the sports arena loud cheers were heard coming from the crowd that surrounded the stadium. As Present Mic appears on the screen. He seemed to be the one commentating this year’s sports festival.

“Hey! Make some noise, audience! Get those camera’s ready, mass media!” Present Mic started. He showed excellent enthusiasm meanwhile Mr Aizawa who sat next to him only seemed to be tired of his shenanigans.

“This year’s high school rodeo of adolescence that you all love, the U.A. sports festival, is about to begin! I’ve only got one question before we start this show, are you ready?!” He asked the crowd, as more cheers were given.

“Let me hear you scream, As the students finally enter the first-year stage!” He said, while all eleven first year classes walked out, onto the field. The first year classes which were involved included the hero course, general studies, support and business.

Although all students were spread around the field it wasn’t hard to tell, that everyone was not a fan of the hero course students.

Many general study and business students were talking about how they were supposedly only there ‘to make the hero course look better’.

There whispers only got louder when all students were now lined up in the field waiting for the players pledge to be announced.

“Now, the introductory speech!!” This year’s chief umpire for the first-years called out, it seemed to be none other than the R-Rated Hero, Midnight?

Many of the crowd only blushed at her inappropriate hero costume while shifting their weight from side to side.

“uh, someone should talk to Ms. Midnight about what’s she’s wearing..” Kirishima muttered starching the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed into a blossom pink. Not wanting to look at the R-rated hero to make sure he stayed respectful.

“Yeah that costume should come with a warning” Kaminari agreed with the sharp teethed boy beside him.

“Is that really appropriate apparel for a high school game??” Tokoyami asked, watching Mineta’s reaction as he confidently cheered at the women’s costume.

“Quiet, everyone! Representing the students is Katsuki Bakugou from Class 1-A!!” She introduced. Many seemed to be shocked to find out that ‘Bakugou Katsuki’ out of all people was the first year representative.

They all watched him walk to the front, heavily interested on what he was about to say. Many of his classmates hoped he wouldn’t say anything that might cause more hatred towards them. But knowing Bakugou, that was unlikely.

“What? He is the first year rep?!” Midoriya gulped. It was obvious that out of everyone, Either Bakugou or Mineta was least suitable for this.

“Guess that hothead did finish first in the entrance test.” Sero said. It was true that without counting recommendations students such as Shoto Todoroki, Y/N Uchiha , Momo Yaoyorozu, Juzo Honenuki and Setsuna Tokage. Bakugou was then indeed the top scorer.

“Haah… In the hero course exams.” A brown haired girl from general studies corrected them. She rolled her eyes at them before turning back to Shinso and another male who stood by her.

“It’s obvious she hates us.” Sero whispered to Midoriya and Kaminari as the both of them nodded while still putting their attention on Bakugou.

“And we got Bakugou to blame, for them not liking our class.” Kaminari angrily added. Watching the hot tempered male walk up to the microphone. Midoriya and others could only swallow nervously. Unsure of what someone like him might say.

“I just wanna say…that I’m gonna win.” He declared. It barely took seconds before loud ‘boos’ and insults were heard coming from the other classes.

Class 1-A students only sighed they knew he would’ve said something like that. But still a small piece of them hoped that the blonde wouldn’t and that he would actually say something cheer-worthy instead.

“Why are you doing something so disrespectful!! You’re representing us all.” Iida scolded trying to ignore the fact that he didn’t seem to care about all the hate he was getting.

“Not my fault the rest of you are just stepping stones to my victory.” Bakugou rolled his eyes before slowly walking off the stage with his hands in his pocket.

“How overconfident can you get?! I’ll crush you!” The same male with grey hair from class 1B yelled out. He seemed to be the one from two weeks ago in that big crowd that covered 1A’s classroom door.

Many failed to missed it but it was clear Bakugou wasn’t being overconfident. The old Bakugou would’ve laughed while saying that making it a joke. Instead this was him pushing himself. And making everyone else into targets at the same time.

As soon as Bakugou walked off the stage the top screen’s that surrounded the arena changed images. Now showing a sentence that said ‘first game’ It was most likely that the first round would be a qualifier.

“Without further ado, it’s time for us to get started.” Midnight exclaimed. Not allowing anyone to catch a breath after the chaos that had just happened.

“This is where you begin feeling the pain. The first fateful game of the festival.” She added lifting her hand up to see a floating 3D display behind her.

The screen was large as it also showed multiple first challenges options that were rolled in order to pick what game will be chosen in the first round.

An even amount of relief and disappointment was seen coming from the students as the first game that was picked was ‘obstacle course.’

To be fair an obstacle course was a fair and easy challenge for most students for it didn’t exactly require a specific set of skills.

“All eleven classes will participate in this treacherous contest. The track is about four kilometres around the outside of the stadium.” Midnight explained as the 3D display showed image examples of what she spoke of.

“I don’t want to restrain anyone, at least in this game..so as long as you don’t leave the course you’re free to do whatever your heart desires!!” She licked her lips making the crowd cheer.

“Now then, take your places contestants.” She said watching the students line up at the starting gate, many pushing ahead to the start of the line hoping to get a lead on everyone.

A countdown was held as many were prepared to run ahead, feeling the need to get noticed by pro hero’s.

“And begin!!” Midnight shouted as students rushed ahead pushing and shoving each other.

“And we’re off to a racing start, Are you ready to do the commentary, Mummy Man?” Present Mic laughed referring to Aizawa who sat next to him still covered in bandages head to toe.

“How did you talk me into this?” He sighed already hating everything about this while the loud hero beside him only showed more and more enthusiasm with each second that went by.

“Let’s get started right away, Mummy Man! What should we pay attention to in the early stages?” Present Mic asked spinning around in his chair while the crowd cheered him on.

“The doorway.” Aizawa replied rolling his eyes. On the screen it’s shown that a bunch of students are packed into the tunnel.

Although a large amount of movement was stopped by Todoroki activating his Quirk, freezing a bunch of students in place as he runs ahead.

It’s shown that Uchiha, Aoyama, Kirishima, Yaoyorozu, and Bakugou use their Quirks to get out of the crowd. Getting ahead of other people and catching up to Todoroki.

It seemed that Todoroki had taken the lead with Y/N only inches behind him as Bakugou yelled out to the two catching up to them by using his explosions.

“More people outside Class A were able to dodge that than I expected…” Todoroki muttered seeing a few others carefully dodge the ice.

Y/N and Todoroki were caught by surprise to see a bunch of familiar purple balls be thrown in front of them.

They turned their head in sync to see Mineta throws a bunch of his hair balls on the ice, allowing him to hop across. putting him in third place surprisingly ahead of Bakugou.

“I’ve outwitted you, Todoroki! How pathetic!” He shouted. He ignored saying anything negative to the girl who was only inches behind Todoroki.

Not that he didn’t care about her. But he wasn’t idiot enough to say something rude to a woman so beautiful and strong. Even though she was definitely way out of his league.

“Take this! My special attack! Gra—” He was interrupted. Before Mineta was even able throw his hair ball, he’s whacked by a large robot.

“The faux villains from the entrance exam?” Midoriya asked not expecting to see them again.

“Obstacles have shown up suddenly! Starting with… the first barrier! Robo Inferno!” Present Mic commented from the speakers as the students only looked at the robots surprised.

“Aren’t those the zero-point villains from the entrance exam?” Kaminari cautioned. He stopped in his tracks to pause unsure of how to get through the robots that seemed to be meters tall.

“So this is what they used in the general entrance exam..” Y/N said. The crowd in the stadium seemed to be in awe as lightning energy seemed to be channeling around her hand.

She got in a stance ready to attack if necessary. Although she was unable to see, her senses were still extremely strong.

Meaning she understood and was able to notice everything around her body without needing to see them.

“I wonder where they got the money for it?” She asked seeing as there was about 17 Giant robots and 26 smaller ones that were still quite large.

The robots prepare to attack. Y/N’s eyebrows raised seeing Todoroki prepares to activate his Quirk. Surprisingly being faster than the Uchiha.

“If they went through all this trouble, I wish they would’ve prepared something better.Since my stupid old man is watching.” Todoroki stated, then using his Quirk make ice sheets and immobilise the robot solid. Before continuing to run forward.

It was true Y/N could’ve ran and continued but she was much smarter that. She realised something other students were too stupid to see.

“Between their legs! We can get through!” A male from another home room cheered from behind unable to notice the trap he had put out on purpose.

“Idiots.” Y/N muttered as she stood there gathering and focusing more lighting, into her hand. Since it was crucial for generating the justu’s powerful effects.

“I wouldn’t if I were you.I froze them when they were unbalanced. On purpose.” He said watching the unsteady robots collapse. Only looking back to focus Y/N who unsurprising knew all about his little trick.

He watched Y/N showcased exceptional reflexes and agility as she dodged parts of the falling robots that she had cut through using her Chidori.

Preparing for a potential counter while simultaneously dodging, using agile manoeuvres, such as rolls and quick lateral movements.

“Todoroki from Class 1-A! He attacked and defended in one hit!” Present Mic stood up from his seat praising Todoroki while the crowd chanted.

“And look Y/N Uchiha from class 1A aswell!! She dodged perfectly. And what!! She did it without being able to see!!” He added, watching the girl now move on to running forward to catch up with Todoroki.

“Amazing! They’re the ones we should watch! It’s you know, practically unfair!” He laughed. The screen was now focused on the two students allowing the crowd to get a good look at their faces and power.

“Their actions are both logical and strategic.” Eraser Head yawned. Present Mic only face palmed seeing how the long haired teacher showed no enthusiasm or energy.

“As expected from them as they both got in through recommendations! They have never fought them before, but those Robo Infernos couldn’t get past their elite moves!” Present Mic shouted into the microphone trying to save the crowd from Aizawa’s boring words.

[poisonlove]

Lust +18 | Jenna Ortega

Martina Smith, a university student passionate about soccer and casual encounters, follows an inflexible rule: no emotional commitments. Meanwhile, Jenna Ortega, a writer married to a successful but distant entrepreneur, seeks to revive her creativity by accepting a job as an English literature teacher.

In an intertwining of worlds, both women face the challenge of staying true to their principles, exploring the trials of life, love, and authenticity. On this journey, forbidden feelings might challenge their self-imposed rules, leading them to question the barriers they've set in their hearts.

This is a fanfiction and will have many parts.

"Alright… when do we make things official?"

I look at Jessica with a raised eyebrow, tired of her constant requests. I sigh and light a cigarette, closing my eyes to savor each puff.

"What are you talking about?" I mutter distractedly, letting the smoke slowly escape through my nostrils.

Jessica smiles with a touch of challenge, placing her hand on my abdomen and tracing her finger along my skin to my jaw. Her blue eyes meet mine, and her delicate gestures elicit sighs of pleasure.

"You know…" she whispers, leaning towards me to gently kiss my neck, "we've been seeing each other for a while."

"Jess…" I start with irritation.

Jessica is trying to elevate our casual encounters to a more official level. I don't want to hurt her, but my heart doesn't flutter when I see her, and I don't feel the classic butterflies in my stomach. Jessica only offers me shivers of excitement for her beauty and the extraordinary sex we share.

I extinguish the cigarette on the ashtray on the nightstand.

"Come on, Marty… the sex is fantastic." Jessica interrupts, smiling broadly. The head cheerleader of our school in Miami frees herself from the sheets to straddle my legs.

My eyes burn as I watch her slender figure, biting my lower lip at the perfection of her breasts. Jessica's touch on the rose tattoo on my right arm distracts my attention from her body.

"You said it right…" I begin, smiling slightly. "Sex is fantastic, why ruin it with a relationship?" I ask curiously, biting my lower lip with mischief.

"Because you know I want to be with you…" Jessica looks at me through her long lashes. "Be your girlfriend," she concludes, emphasizing the last word.

I scoff and lean my head against the pillow.

"I love you, okay?" She confesses, and my body tenses hearing these words. Instinctively, I make Jessica slide off my body, her eyes showing a mix of pain and confusion.

I grab my jeans from the floor and put them on quickly, buttoning them before pulling up the zipper. "Jessica, we need to be clear. I don't want anything serious."

"But… I thought there was something more between us." Jessica looked at me with teary eyes. The sheets wrap around her body as she gets off the bed.

"You misunderstood everything. Sex is what I'm looking for, nothing else." I say seriously, putting on the jacket around my shoulders.

"You can't treat people like this, Martina." Jessica looks at me with glassy eyes and trembling lips, her voice broken by my words.

"Sorry if I can't fulfill your romantic dream." I reply with a bitter smile.

Jessica, visibly angry, walks towards me. "Don't talk like that! I love you, and you're just a… a selfish jerk!" My eyes curiously observe her face, and then my face turns to the other side due to the slap I received.

"Screw you," she adds with a broken tone, and I just stay still, sighing loudly for her psychotic crisis.

"Enough," I take her hands and move them away from my body. "My idea won't change," I mutter distractedly.

Jessica lifts her face and looks at me with confusion, blue eyes reddened from crying. My hands rest on the sides of her cheeks, my thumb playing with the entrance of her mouth.

I lean slowly, and my lips brush against her ear, a moan unconsciously escaping from the depth of her throat. "If you can't continue fucking without seeing me as a girlfriend… maybe it's better if you find someone else," I smile against her skin and move away from her body.

Jessica looks at me with fury.

I quickly bend down, seeing a brush flying towards me. "GET OUT," Jessica breathes loudly through her nose, flushed with anger. "Damn daughter of…AHHH" the girl takes a notebook from the desk and throws it at me, but fortunately, it hits the wall.

I pick up the backpack from the floor and open the door.

"So… see you tomorrow?" I say playfully. Jessica opens her mouth in disbelief and grabs the lamp from the desk.

"I think that's a no," I quickly say, closing the door behind me, later hearing the sound of the lamp shattering against it.

"She's crazy," I say, smiling in disbelief. "But she'll change her mind," I say smiling maliciously, walking down the stairs.

I take out my phone and call Jackson, my best friend.

"Hey, sweetheart! How did it go?" Jackson's voice sounds excited, and I smile pleased. "Actually, I got slapped… but it was worth it," I say tilting to the side to let an elderly woman with groceries pass and walk out of the building.

"I called you…" I start hesitantly, "to ask for a ride, I know," Jackson concludes, laughing.

My eyes look at the surrounding environment, the cars passing peacefully on the streets, and the sounds of passersby exploring the city, increasing the lively atmosphere. A smile paints on my lips seeing a child walking hand in hand with his mom.

"Exactly…" I clear my throat and close my eyes, trying to push away the thoughts that were going through my head. "Did you also take the bag? I have practice in a bit," I bite my lower lip nervously.

"Of course, sweetheart," Jackson chuckles, and I roll my eyes at his comment.

"It's a shame you don't like football," I mutter, walking absentmindedly on the sidewalk, occasionally kicking a small pebble that was in the way. "I couldn't play anyway, I'm a man," Jackson laughs. "You have nothing of a man, at most, you like them," I comment, and Jackson sighs slightly.

"Come on! Move it," I smile hearing Jackson curse at someone honking incessantly.

While I walk absentmindedly on the sidewalk, lost in my thoughts, someone bumps into me, making me lose balance.

"Watch where you're going!" I exclaim a bit irritated, clutching the phone tightly. "Sorry, I'm really in a hurry. I hope you're okay," says the woman with a conciliatory tone, her gaze expressing a mix of apologies and concern.

"Okay, no problem," I reply, trying to hide my irritation. The woman quickly moves away. "Bitch," I whisper to myself, shaking my head as I continue my way. The city's frenzy continues around me, and my phone vibrates again, a sign that Jackson might be around the corner for the ride to practice.

After the collision, I sigh lightly, and as I walk away, I notice something on the side of the road, near a small tree.

I squint my eyes, curious, and approach. I bend down to get a better look and discover a bracelet with a heart. "How cute…" I whisper, selfishly thinking it might be a perfect way to make amends with Jessica. Maybe the owner despairs, but in the end, who cares? Life is full of opportunities, and this could be mine.

I casually tuck the bracelet into my hoodie. A car honks, and I smile seeing Jackson's perfectly restored 1976 Ford Torino.

I get into the car, and we start a conversation as we drive through the city streets.

"Do you have any idea how magnificent this Torino is?" I ask, admiring Jackson's car.

"It's a true beauty, I know," he responds proudly. "So, spill… what happened? You have a nasty mark on your cheek." Jackson absentmindedly points his hand towards me, and I nonchalantly fasten my seatbelt.

"I had a little incident with Jessica." I shrug. "She can't accept that I just want sex from her," I confess, and Jackson opens his mouth in surprise. "Well… can't blame her," he comments, raising his eyebrows, starting the car.

"But look what I found along the way." I quickly change the subject and show the bracelet. "Free! Not bad as compensation, huh?" I chuckle. "A girl bumped into me, and she lost it… but who cares," I comment timidly.

Jackson laughs. "Maybe it could be useful to patch things up with Jessica," I add with a smile. "Maybe," he comments absentmindedly, shifting his attention to the car window, admiring the external landscape.

We almost immediately arrive at our university's sports field after the short journey. The 1976 Ford Torino roars to a powerful stop, and I get out of the car thanking Jackson for the ride.

"Good luck with the training," Jackson wishes me with an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, I'll need it," I reply, closing the door. I walk quickly towards the locker rooms, hoping not to attract the coach's attention.

But just when I thought I had gone unnoticed, the coach catches me red-handed. "Smith… you're late," he says with a serious voice, staring at me with a stern look.

"Traffic mystery, coach," I try to joke, but his look clearly indicates that he's not amused. "For this, you'll do 5 extra laps around the field," he decrees, and my smile fades. I start running towards the locker rooms, trying to make up for lost time and prepare for training, now with an extra load of fatigue to face.

A message arrives on my phone, and I smile seeing that it's from Jessica.

"Hey… sorry for earlier…"

The only thing I think is that maybe this whole affair is resolving itself more easily than expected.

JENNA'S POV

My breath is short, recovering after the frantic run to make it to the interview. Anxiety tightens my chest, but there's a particular reason amplifying the tension: I've lost the bracelet my husband gave me for our fifth anniversary.

Harry, though not the most present husband, is a good person. His executive career keeps him away from home most of the time, and this distance reflects on our marital life. His professional commitments often make him an occasional guest in our home.

My mind is torn between interview anxiety and the regret of misplacing such a special gift. Additionally, my shoulder hurts from the encounter with a grumpy girl. As I try to catch my breath, I realize this day didn't start in the best way, but perhaps it will hold unexpected surprises that will change the course of things.

I take a deep breath before knocking on the door labeled "Principal West."

"Come in," the male voice inside calmly calls for me to enter the office.

I step in and look around, noticing the photos and trophies on the shelves. I quickly observe that the man is surprisingly well-dressed.

"Mrs. Robinson!" The man opens his arms with enthusiasm, smiling with all 32 teeth. "Please, have a seat." He gestures towards the empty chair in front of his desk.

I sit down, and the interview begins. "So, Mrs. Robinson…" Principal West starts, picking up my resume.

"I prefer you to call me by my maiden name, Ortega," I correct gently. Principal West nods strangely. "Why is the wife of a prestigious businessman in my school?" he asks with genuine interest.

The issue is that I'm recognized for my status as a wife, not for my skills as a good writer with a master's in literature. I don't bring up this fact, of course. "I desire this job," I murmur distractedly, playing with my fingers.

In reality, writing makes me feel stuck, and I need a break.

Principal West, with a polite smile, looks over my resume. "I must admit, Mrs. Ortega, that your resume is impressive, perhaps even overqualified for the position of English literature teacher at our school."

I genuinely smile, but with a hint of embarrassment. "I appreciate the compliment, Principal West. I'm aware of my academic experience, but I strongly believe in the importance of contributing to students' growth, regardless of my background."

The principal seems to reflect on those words, then changes the subject, asking about my previous experiences in the field of education. The conversation continues, and I try to convey the passion I have for literature and teaching, hoping that it can overcome any doubts about my excessive qualification for the position.

"Alright, you've convinced me," the principal stands up and reaches out his hand to shake mine.

I blink in surprise and reciprocate the handshake. "Does this mean…" I begin, and the principal smiles.

"Yes, you got the job. You can start tomorrow," he announces, and I genuinely smile, happy for the news. A mix of excitement and gratitude fills my heart as I realize that a new chapter of my life is about to begin.

As he's about to leave the office, the principal stops me. "And give my regards to your husband… I'm sure he'll be proud of you," he says with eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "I will, thank you so much, Principal West." With light steps, I leave the office, carrying with me the enthusiasm for the new opportunity and the awareness that even my husband might appreciate this achievement.

I walk through the hallways, looking at various lockers, and sigh for the nostalgic memories those places evoke. I check my phone and decide to inform my husband of the news as I make my way through the corridors.

"Hey, Harry!" I smile hearing that he accepts my call. "Hi, Jen," he responds calmly, his voice distant as if immersed in something.

"I need to tell you something." I bite my lower lip, hiding the excitement. "Is it important? I have a meeting," Harry whispers weakly.

I sigh audibly. "I got the job," I say suddenly, feeling discouraged. "Ah, good," he responds absentmindedly.

My eyes lift from the floor, and I see our car parked at the entrance of the institute. "Did you come to pick me up?" I ask with enthusiasm.

"No, I sent Tom to get you," he answers calmly. "Now I have to go," he mutters weakly.

"I love you," I say with a soft voice and hold back tears as I hear Harry hang up without responding to my statement.

I walk towards the car and sigh audibly, my heart heavy with sadness. "How did it go, Mrs. Ortega?" the driver asks kindly, sensing my melancholy.

"Yeah, good. I got the job," I reply with a faint voice, trying to mask the disappointed tone I feel inside.

The brief conversation with the driver is just background noise as I settle into the seat. I look out of the window, trying to hold back emotions. The landscape passes in front of me, but my mind is lost in thoughts. A single tear wets my face, and I can't help but feel vulnerable. The joy for the new opportunity is overshadowed by the realization of how distant my marriage is.

[rorynn]

Stanford gets too exited when showing love to his gf

[sakinabrain]

guys, i saw this post, and i had to write it down.

sorry for the tears.

"After the storm" - Tommy Miller

warnings: absolute angst, kinda lemon, sfw, oc!reader, fem!reader, heartbreaking, tragedy, violence

The snow was finally settling, like dust after a storm, quiet and pale and heartless. The air in Jackson still carried the bitter sting of gunpowder and blood, a cruel reminder of the infected horde that had nearly breached their gates. People moved about like shadows, eyes wide, some still shaking, but it was over—for now. Tommy stood just outside the main watch gate, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his hand trembling just enough that he kept it tucked into his pocket.

He was breathing again. For the first time in hours, he let himself believe they had made it through. We’re alive. We’re okay.

Then he saw them.

A group approached across the snow-laden field, walking slow. Too slow. Among them was Jesse, face pale beneath streaks of blood and soot, pulling a body wrapped in thick canvas. Dina walked with them too, stumbling, leaning on Jesse, her eyes dazed. And Ellie—

Tommy’s heart dropped at the sight of her. Her face was raw, red, soaked with tears, her mouth slack like she’d been screaming so hard her voice gave out.

Just imagine how relieved Tommy must be that the attack is finally over, only to watch in horror as the patrol returns with Joel's lifeless body.

He did not have to imagine it. He was living it.

Tommy's breath caught in his throat. His legs, which had carried him through fire, blood, and chaos minutes before, suddenly felt like they belonged to someone else. Like they weren’t strong enough to hold him anymore.

“No…” It was barely a whisper, his voice hollow. “No. No, no…”

Naomi was nearby, brushing snow from her coat, her dark wavy hair sticking slightly to the side of her cheek. She looked up at him, saw the shift in his face, and followed his gaze to the approaching figures.

And then she saw the body.

She almost gasped, her eyes tearing up lightly and her expression changing whole.

Tommy was already moving, staggering forward, heart clenching in his chest like it was being crushed in a vice. Naomi was at his side in seconds, her hand on his arm. He didn’t even feel it.

“Tommy— Tommy wait, what—”

But he was already breaking.

Jesse met him halfway, and when their eyes locked, Jesse didn’t have to say a word. His mouth trembled like he wanted to. But there was nothing to be said.

“Please,” Tommy rasped. “Tell me it ain’t him, tell me is not my brother...”

He looked down. The canvas was soaked through in one spot. Dark. Crimson. Heavy. Jesse knelt slowly, as though offering the weight of a planet, and unwrapped just enough.

Tommy’s knees hit the ground before he even understood he was falling.

He barely recognized the face beneath the blood and bruises, the way the jaw sat slightly ajar, the eye swollen shut, a deep wound in his neck so vicious, so personal, it screamed of hatred. A golf club had done this. He didn’t even know yet how he knew—but he knew.

It was Joel.

His brother.

His damn brother.

The same man he’d fought with, grown with, bled with, argued with—and forgiven, always forgiven—because Joel was his anchor. His constant. His stupid, stubborn, reckless, loving big brother.

“No…” Tommy’s voice cracked, as if the wind itself was trying to choke him. “God, no, please—Joel, my brother—come on, no, don’t…”

His fingers gripped the canvas as if he could pull him back from the brink just by holding on. His forehead rested against the edge of Joel’s shoulder. His breath was shallow, shivering. His chest heaved, but no sob came. He wouldn’t let it. He couldn’t.

“Tommy,” Naomi murmured, kneeling beside him, her hand finding his back, steady, warm, grounding. Her eyes were already brimming. “Dear…”

“He’s gone.” Tommy’s voice was numb. “They killed him like he was nothin’. Like he was no one. They just… Left him like this.”

He clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, his body rocking slightly as he tried to keep it all in. The pain wasn’t just emotional—it was physical. His ribs hurt. His spine felt like it was splintering. He couldn't breathe without tasting blood in the air. Joel had been part of him, and now—now that part was dead. Hollowed out.

Naomi reached for his face, turned him gently toward her. “Look at me, Tommy.”

He did. And as soon as his eyes met hers—hazel green, tearing up—his face crumbled. He didn't sob, not yet. But something inside him broke loud enough that she could feel it.

She pulled him into her arms, his body heavy, almost limp, like he was collapsing in on himself. Her fingers held the back of his head, rocking him softly, and he buried his face in her shoulder.

“I should’ve gone with him,” he choked out. “I should’ve been there—why didn’t I go?”

“Don’t do that,” Naomi whispered. “Don’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have known.”

“But it’s Joel,” he whispered back, as if the name alone could explain the weight of the loss. “It’s Joel, Naomi… what the hell am I supposed to do without him? I.. I can't live without my brother.”

Naomi didn’t have an answer. She just held him tighter.

Behind them, in the soft echo of grief, Ellie dropped to her knees again near Joel’s body. She was shaking, silent, lips moving in prayer or plea or promise—no one knew. Jesse stood close by, his hand on her shoulder, too shell-shocked to offer anything else.

Andy would ask where Joel was later. Tommy would have to find words to explain to a four-year-old what happened to the uncle who always brought him little wood-carved animals.

But for now, Tommy stayed there on the ground, cradled in Naomi’s arms, eyes burning, throat raw, as the snow kept falling over Joel’s broken body—like a veil trying to cover the unspeakable.

And the world, for Tommy, had never felt colder.

.........

A Few Hours Later

The fire in the hearth cracked quietly, but its warmth felt distant—pointless, like a flame trying to comfort a storm. Tommy sat on the edge of the couch, his hands clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. His eyes were empty, fixed on the woodgrain beneath his boots, jaw twitching with barely-contained fury.

Naomi stood across from him in the kitchen, her arms crossed tight over her chest, but it wasn’t in anger. It was in fear. In ache. In love she didn’t know how to protect anymore.

"You can't go," she said softly, but firmly.

His eyes finally lifted to meet hers, and they were different now—dark, burning. “I have to.”

“No, Tommy,” she stepped forward, voice still calm but rising, trembling. “You want to. You want revenge. But you don’t have to go chasing death to get it.”

Tommy stood abruptly, the chair scraping behind him. “They killed him, Naomi. You didn’t see what they did to him. You didn’t see his face—” his voice cracked, like something ripping in half. “He wasn’t even Joel anymore. They tore him apart like he was nothing. And I can’t—I won’t just sit here and let them breathe while he’s in the goddamn ground.” Naomi flinched at the rawness in his voice, the grief masked in rage.

“And what about me?” she asked, tears pricking her eyes. “What about Andy? Are we just… supposed to keep going without you too?”

He froze.

“I know you’re hurting. I am too.” Her voice wavered. “But I won’t lose you, Tommy. Not to them. Not to this. You walk out that door with nothing but a gun and your pain, you’re not coming back. You know it.”

He turned his back to her, his breath ragged. “They need to pay, Naomi,” he muttered. “I need to make them pay.”

Naomi stepped closer, her hand gently pressing against his back. “I know, baby. I know. But you’ve already paid enough. Joel’s death is eating you alive. Don’t let it take everything else too.”

Silence settled heavy between them. The room dimmed, the fire fading to embers.

Then, a small voice broke through the quiet.

“Mommy?”

They both turned.

Andy stood at the archway, his curls tousled from a nap, pajamas wrinkled. He clutched a carved wooden dog—one of Joel’s last gifts—in his tiny hand. His eyes, hazel green like Naomi’s, were round and questioning.

“Where’s Uncle Joel?” he asked. “Why didn’t he come back?”

Naomi’s breath caught. Her hands trembled at her sides as she slowly knelt to meet her son’s gaze. Tommy stayed rooted, afraid he’d shatter completely if he moved.

Naomi tried to speak, but the words lodged in her throat like glass. She swallowed hard.

“Uncle Joel…” her voice cracked, just a whisper. “He’s not coming back, sweetheart.”

Andy blinked. “Why not?”

She reached out, pulling him into a soft embrace, his small arms wrapping around her neck.

“Because… because something very bad happened. Some people hurt him,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks as she pressed her face to his hair. “And he went to heaven.”

Andy was quiet for a moment. “Is he with the stars now?” Naomi nodded, trembling. “Yes, baby. With the stars.”

Tommy turned his face away, jaw tight, biting back the scream that built in his chest. The sight of his wife holding their child, trying not to break, trying to make sense of the senseless—that was the cost. That was what Abby and her people had destroyed.

Not just Joel.

Not just the man.

Everything he was to everyone.

Andy pulled back just enough to look at his mom’s face, saw her tears, and wiped them clumsily with his sleeve. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” he whispered. “Uncle Joel wouldn’t want you to cry.” That was it.

Naomi broke then, curling into her son, a muffled sob escaping her lips.

And Tommy stood there, watching them—the two people he loved more than life, the two people who needed him to stay.

But inside, vengeance was still clawing at him like a wild animal, whispering promises of justice, of blood. Of peace that would only come with a bullet.

He didn’t know yet which voice he would listen to.

But for now, he walked over slowly, dropped to his knees, and wrapped his arms around them both.

And in that fragile silence, Tommy felt what it meant to be torn clean in half.

......

The moon hung heavy over Jackson, veiled in soft mist, casting long shadows through the frost-glazed windows. Inside their quiet home, the fire had burned down to embers, the soft hum of the wind the only sound left in the silence.

Tommy couldn’t sleep.

He hadn’t even tried.

His body lay beside Naomi, still and stiff, but his mind had never left that clearing—never left Joel. Over and over again, he saw it. The canvas. The wound. Ellie’s broken voice. The blood. The hatred.

He turned slowly, careful not to wake her. Naomi’s face, half-lit by the moonlight seeping through the curtains, was peaceful. Tired, but peaceful. Her lips slightly parted, her arm loosely draped over his chest, her fingers twitching every so often like she was dreaming.

God, he loved her.

He didn’t deserve her.

And he couldn’t stay.

With the quietest breath, Tommy slipped out from under the blanket. His heart thudded like a war drum as he moved. He gathered the bag he’d packed hours before—ration bars, spare ammo, a medkit, map, compass, canteen. His pistol tucked into the back of his jeans. The rifle strapped over his shoulder.

He glanced back toward the bed.

Just before he turned, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to Naomi’s forehead—then her lips, soft, lingering. She stirred faintly, brow furrowing, lips parting in a barely audible murmur.

“Tommy…?”

He froze for half a second. His breath caught.

“Shh,” he whispered, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

He pulled away before she could fully open her eyes, before she could realize the weight of what that kiss meant.

He crept down the hallway to the room at the end. The door creaked slightly as he opened it, and for a moment, he just stood there—frozen.

Andy was tucked into a mountain of blankets, one arm thrown over his stuffed bear, the carved wooden dog Joel had given him lying beside his cheek. His chest rose and fell in soft little hiccups of breath, the sound of dreams and safety.

Tommy stepped inside, slowly, like if he walked too loudly he’d shatter the moment. He knelt beside the bed and just… looked.

His boy had Naomi’s eyes. Her freckles. But there was no mistaking who that little face came from.

He reached out and brushed one of Andy’s curls off his forehead. His hand lingered.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry, buddy…”

He wanted to say I love you. He wanted to say I’ll come back. But both of those promises felt like lies. And he wouldn’t leave this world with another lie on his tongue.

Instead, he bent forward and kissed the top of Andy’s head. A long, silent goodbye.

Then he stood.

And he left.

Downstairs, in the weak flicker of the kitchen lantern, Tommy sat at the table with a scrap of paper and a pen. The fire was dead now. Everything was quiet.

His handwriting was rough, uneven, almost angry. But the words were clear:

My love,

I’m sorry.

I can’t sit here and do nothing while the people who did that to Joel are still out there breathing. I know you’ll hate me for this. I don’t blame you.

I tried. I really did. But it’s eating me alive. And I don’t want to turn into something bitter and ugly in front of you and Andy. I love you too much for that.

I don’t know if I’ll come back. I won’t make promises I might not keep. Just know I love you. I love Andy. More than anything.

Tell him his Uncle Joel was brave. And that he loved him so, so much.

Please, take care of each other.

Love always, Tommy

He folded the note carefully and left it on the kitchen table under Naomi’s favorite mug—the one Joel had given them as a housewarming gift. The one with the faded bear on it.

Then, without another sound, Tommy slipped into the cold.

The door closed softly behind him.

And the wind carried him away

[tikus-library]

"Nothing, Nothing, Nothing"

Marvel AU

Brock Rumlow x unnamed!OC reader

Summary: Nothing is happening between them. Nothing at all. One doesn't think about the other.. that's not professional at all.

Chapters: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 //

Updated: march 1st

A/N: Of course, this is unplanned... I never know what I'm doing.

[easy-a-b10g]

THE GIRL WITH THE ENDEAVOR DOLL 

"Nova Kamiya, Izuku Midoriya, and Katsuki Bakugou all grew up together in the Shizuoka Prefecture, before Nova was born her mother moved to Japan from America after loosing her husband to a rouge villain attack making friends with Mitsuki and Inko during her stay, Nova grew up in japan alongside Kacchan and Izuku bonding more with the latter over their love of heros and missing quirks (and missing fathers lMAO) join this messy journey of love and soul searching between Nova and not just her childhood best friends but her future classmates aswell.  Stay tuned!!👀.  I'm trying to make it like A/B/O but I've never written for it so please be patient.😭

(A little on that a/b/o so your not confused in this story. In my a/b/o children can sorta be predestined to be alpha, beta, or Omega, like you can kinda tell by their pheromones and demures, or simply by their parents gender. It's kinda like the genetics of eyes if that makes any sense like how two blue eyed parents could have a blue eyed baby but if the parents of the blue eyed parents were all brown eyed parents they could have a baby with brown eyes or the baby could carry the gene of brown eyes. Like two Omegas male and female because I also believe that male and female Omegas can have children together as well as male and female alphas because you know male+ female =pup not necessarily Alpha+Omega=pup. So two Omegas have a baby and it could be an Omega but if their parents were all betas on both sides the baby could be a beta or carry beta genes???? Does that make any sense let me know )

Anyway Katsuki's parents are both alphas so he's an alpha Izuku's parents were both Omegas so he will be and Omega and Novas mom is an Omega and he father was an alpha and idk what I want her to be she probably going an Omega lol

   Feed back is greatly appreciated just please be nice. It's kinda proof read lol but not really. 

"Why are you being so mean?" Izukus voice trembled and whimperd with fear as he raised his fists in the air his distressed pheromones permitting the distance around them, "You're making her cry, Kacchan!  If you keep hurting her, uh ...I'll, uh... I'll stop you myself!"  These words tumbled from 4 year old Izuku Midoriyas lips as he stood at the end of Mesou Park, in front of his very best friend Nova Kamiya defending her from the bullies that decided to pick a fight with them.

  Nova was on the ground cradling her bruised arm, and her all time favorite Endeavor toy to her chest, trying to hold back tears and keep her sad smell to herself. She looked down at the doll which had been ripped in half, the stuffing was spilled all along the ground and even in her lap, with a trail leading to the other half of the doll which was left in the clutches of Katsuki Bakugou or Kacchan as Izuku and Nova liked to call him, he is the worst bully Nova has ever met. 

But first here's what happened.

Nova and Izuku had decided that bright Sunny Sunday morning that they were going to go down to Mesou Park and play heros together till super time.

Nova all but begged her mother everyday to see him since she couldn't last weekend, all because Izuku was at home sick with the flu, but her mother promised her as soon as he was better that they could play together again as much as she wanted but only until after Izuku got better.

She was so excited for this day, jumping with joy when seeing Izuku on the swing set at the end of the park waiting for her arrival. His favorite All Might figurine sat in his lap as he swayed with the wind on the rusty seat. 

 So you can imagine their dismay when halfway into playing Kacchan and his minions, Tsubasa and Tesaki or dumb and dumber as Nova like to call them, showed up to the park causing a ruckus and disturbing the other pups as they played. Nova told Izuku they weren't going to let them bother them today not like they did the last time and Izuku agreed with her and they continue to play without incident. 

 Up until Tsubasa had zeroed in on Izuku and Nova playing together by the swings and came over to spy on them from behind the giant tree near the swing set. That's when he overheard Izuku and Nova talking about All Mights Special combo moves and Endeavors furious flames before he decided that was all he needed to hear before he ran back to report his findings to Kacchan.

Izuku always chooses All Might when they played heros together always, just like she always chooses Endeavor. It's not like she likes him tho, no infact she thought he was a mean mean bully just like Kacchan and his friends, but his quirk stopped a lot of bad guys and in her book that was enough to make him a good hero despite his attitude. She also secretly really loved All Might just as much as Izuku did but she let him have All Might every time they played heros just to see him happy. 

Unfortunately for them Kacchan just happened to be one of THOSE moods today. "Are you guys seriously playing heros right now?" Nova and Izuku stopped playing and turn their heads to the voice addressing them. Tesaki and Tsubasa are seen snickering into their hands while they stand behind Kacchan who has his arms crossed with a smug smile on his face.

"Yeah so what?" Nova replies with a snark hands on her hips as she turns her nose up at him. "Well if your really a hero then how about you dodge this weakling!" He yells as he dashes for her, screaming she closes her eyes and braces for the impact of his push but it doesn't come, instead she feels a harsh tug on the doll in her hands. Her head snaps up immediately and she cries out for her special doll.

"Hey that's not yours!" Kacchan laughs at her waving the doll above her head once he was able to get it from her grasp. "Your a hero aren't you," he teased  "Don't heros share their toys? Hey guys catch!" he then throws the doll into the air over to his friends who then shove Nova into a involuntary game of monkey in the middle as she tries to rescue her stolen doll.

 With one final jump Nova finally claims the doll again but so has Kacchan and he's NOT letting go. "Let go of it Kacchan, give it back it not yous!" A tug of war begins between the two of them not lasting long before Nova could hear the tearing of the stitches as Kacchan continued to pull. "Wait Kacchan stop your going to-"

"RRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPP"

The doll comes apart at the seams splitting this way and that until the stuffing from the Endeavor doll comes spilling out around her and into the air like white dandelion ploofs, without warning Kacchan shoved Nova to the ground where she hit her elbow really hard against the metal bars of the swing set. That's when Nova finally let out a distressing smell, not a very strong one but one strong enough for Katsuki to wrinkle his nose at her in disgust. Izuku finally ran in front of her yelling at Kacchan and the others to stop their antics.

"Hmph. You both wanna pretend to be a heros?" Kacchan proceeds to blow up the half of the doll he managed to snag from Nova with a wide grin. The tears Nova tried so hard to hold back came spilling out. "Neither of you stand a chance at becoming REAL heros without a quirk not to mention your just going to turn out to be a bunch of weak Omegas so why bother." Laughing he and his friends finally jump Izuku and and Nova. Kacchan went for the other half of Novas doll, the others  went after Izuku kicking and shoving and hitting him calling him a Deku over and over again. 

Nova tried her best to protect her doll but unfortunately Kacchan was stronger than her. Kacchan snatched the other half of the doll right from her tiny hands and burnt it to a crisp. The ashes falling in Novas face slowly and silently much like her tears did. Kacchan and his friends laughed and taunted them both until they finally decided they were done torturing them and moved onto the next group of pups to mess with. 

Crying Nova moved to Izuku to make sure he was alright. Izuku was just lying there in the dirt looking up at the sky tears streaming down his face. Sniffling and wiping her own tears away Nova sat Izuku up and dusted off his clothes and hair and asked if he was ok. With a nod he started to cry harder, "I'm sorry I wasn't able to save your doll Nova, I'm so sorry." Pulling his hands to his face he started rubbing at his eyes, " It's not your fault zuku, Kacchans just a big ole bully whole likes to pick fights for no reason." Nova crossed her arms in anger. " Why does he have to be so mean just because he has a quirk does not make him any better than us!" She says with a huff grabbing a fist full of dirt and tossing it in anger. 

Here's the sad truth, all men are not created equal.

By the time they were both 4 years old, Nova and Izuku had learned that some kids have more power than others especially if you have the right secondary gender to back up that power. But that won't hold them back, if anything it pushes them to do even better. Being a hero is everything to Izuku and Nova. Despite not having their quirks yet they know they are going to be the fiercest heros around when they do get them! No matter how many people teased them for not having their quirks yet, they had each other to lift the other one up and encourage them to keep going and to keep believing that one day their quirks would finally show.

[aylacavebear]

An Arranged Marriage

Your parents told you when you were twelve. You’d seen lots of Disney and kid movies up until this point, so you thought you had a good idea of what being married to someone meant and how it was supposed to go. On top of that, you were taught how to be a hunter and use your unique set of abilities. 

The way they had explained why you, it had to do with Bastet and her desire to bridge the world of hunters and monsters. Not all monsters were evil or killed people. Some hunters saw this and acted accordingly, letting those monsters live. However, it was less than a handful, and Bastet was hoping for a better way to bridge the gap.

Paring: Dean x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 12,828

Warning: Angst-LOTS, longing, Fluff, Dean being an ass, Car accident, Dean almost dies, Reader being utterly selfless, Sam being a sweetheart.

A/N: Found an interesting writing prompt - An Arranged Marriage, so, I ran with it. Sorry for the length, it literally kept going. I might write the other version that played out in my head and post it too.

----------------------------------------- For a while, you daydreamed about some handsome prince and a fairy tale life. You’d write out things in your personal journal, dreams of a child. When you’d watch movies with a romantic couple, you daydreamed it was Dean, even though you had no idea what he looked like or what kind of personality he had. You were a kid and so very naive. 

After graduating high school, you began going on hunts alone, having honed your abilities over the years. There was a freedom in it, without the politics of niceties during interactions. With other people, it was like a dance of words, testing to see what was okay to talk about and what not to talk about so you didn’t set someone off. Monsters were easy to deal with. Monsters were either good or bad. They didn’t have that gray area like humans did.

It was six months after your eighteenth birthday that you were supposed to meet this Dean Winchester, your soon-to-be husband. You couldn’t help but be excited and had spent nearly an hour in your room attempting to figure out what to wear. Clothes were strewn everywhere, several pieces laid out over different surfaces. You finally went with a pair of jeans and a comfy shirt and pulled a red flannel over that, leaving it unbuttoned. As the time neared, you felt butterflies in your stomach and anticipation coursing through you. It was the phone call ten minutes before the time that made you frown. Then, your mother was apologizing to you, saying something had come up on their end. You brushed this one aside. They were hunters too. It was a viable reason, this time.

When it happened two more times, your fairy tale world shattered. This one, you heard him in the background of the call as you sat near your mother on the couch. “I’m not marrying a monster!” Those had been his yelled words laced with anger, venom, and disdain.

Even being eighteen and technically an adult, you still had that child-like wonder, hope, and optimism. You dreamed of the kind of love they wrote about in stories. You had run to your room before the call had even ended, the tears already falling, then slammed your door. Monster, he’d called you. Technically, you were. You weren’t human, so you fell into that category. As you sat on your bed, trying to wipe away the tears as they fell, you thought back to the movies you watched growing up. The monster was always killed. The monster didn’t get a happy ending. The monster wasn’t loved. 

With that realization, you began packing a bag, your hunting bag. It was at that moment that you started constructing walls around yourself. You knew you couldn’t get out of this marriage and that at twenty-five, it would happen by Bastet’s hand if it hadn’t been done before. 

Seven years. I have seven years to postpone this.

You kept yourself busy with hunts, being home less and less. The next meeting that had been set up, you sat on your bed, dressed in what you called your hunting clothes, far too lost in thought. So far, the Winchesters hadn’t canceled. Your bag sat packed behind you. The sound of an engine pulled your attention from your thoughts as your heart hammered. Then your expression hardened. Fuck this asshole. With the anger welling up again, you grabbed your bag, slinging the strap over your shoulder, and slipped out of your bedroom window. Cats really do always land on their feet.

Moving quickly, you went for the nearest tree, extended your claws, and climbed it till you were hidden by the foliage. With quick thinking, you pulled out your phone and put it on silent, then slipped it back into your pocket. 

Part of you wanted to see your future husband, the curious, hopeful part. So, you had lingered in that tree, but you never did get a clear view of him before the four Winchesters had reached the front door. Only a minute later, your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You knew your parents were pissed, but you didn’t care. You wanted to hurt Dean like he had hurt you.

Yelling had begun coming from your house as you slipped from the tree and walked away, head held high and feeling justified, at least a little. Why? You’d heard Dean yelling and could hear the anger in his tone, as a smirk had found the corners of your lips.

When your parents informed you of a meeting, you would slip out of the house without their knowledge. You had even managed to elude going home for nearly a year once, which your parents weren’t happy about. Were you being childish? Probably, but to you, you saw no point in meeting a man who saw you as only a monster. I’ll deal with meeting him on my wedding day, you’d tell yourself.

Near your twenty-third birthday, you found a note stuffed into your hunting bag, pulling your lips into a frown. It was in Egyptian hieroglyphics, a language you had been required to learn in case Bastet ever interacted with you. Plopping back down on your bed, you instantly felt bad for your behavior as you read her note. She was asking you to let go of your anger. A Goddess was asking nicely. Bastet was one of the good ones, even if you had never gotten to meet her. Your parents had told you what she’d promised your family: good health and long lives if they had agreed to this marriage of their only daughter, and that had been before you’d even been conceived. 

With a heavy heart, you tucked the note into your private journal, one you hadn’t written in in years, nor had you wanted to. Sometimes, you would go back and read things from when you were younger, then scoff at your childish dreams. 

Your parents had already gotten the dress for the wedding. It was a simple yet elegant traditional Egyptian wedding dress. You just hadn’t wanted to wear all those colorful things, so they compromised with a decorative veil to match the dress. It would hide your face completely, but you would be able to see through it.

That was when your phone vibrated with a text from your mother. Your parents and apparently Dean’s parents had been talking, a lot. They had agreed upon a date for the wedding, whether the two of you met or not. It was in three days' time. Plus, apparently, they’d gotten help from an angel if either of you attempted to get out of this and not show up. This angel would ‘retrieve’ you.

This sucks. 

The first two days went by in a blur with all the preparations. Most of them had been done over the last year by both families. The four parents had taken things into their own hands since neither the bride nor the groom wanted to be any help. 

The day of, you were in a daze, mostly just going through the motions until you were in that room at the church, staring at yourself in the full-body mirror. You looked beautiful. The dress was elegant but traditional. Your hair had been done so that it was partially up but the other half down and partially curled, so it had a wavy look to it. One of your mother’s friends had done your makeup, simple and only enough to bring out your natural features.

But, as you looked in that mirror, his words from that phone call with your parents began ringing in your mind: I’m not marrying a monster. Your expression fell even more before you just sat down in the chair near the vanity. The door opening didn’t even pull your attention.

“It’s time, sweetie,” your father announced softly, doing his best to hide his worry.

Letting your gaze fall to the mirror, you carefully pulled the veil over your face, then took a slow, deep breath. You’d put on that front, just like you did when you were hunting and had to talk to people. You stood with confidence, holding your head high as you joined your father. As the music began, you followed his lead. The church was silent until you entered. Murmurs whispered among those gathered of your beauty. You didn’t care. Looks faded with time. They weren’t what made someone who they were. 

He was standing up at the altar with a man near him. You figured it was his brother, as both men were fairly tall. Dean looked rigid as he stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his expression completely unreadable.

Of course, he’d be wearing his hunter’s mask. I don’t know why I hoped for anything else. It was in that moment that you realized you were still hoping, like your child-self all those years ago, that he had changed his thoughts. That perhaps, he wouldn’t look at you like a monster. When you reached the altar, you turned toward your father. He reached out with slightly trembling hands as he gently lifted your veil. You could see the dampness near the corners of his eyes, which softened that hard exterior of your expression. 

Just as you gave him a small, reassuring smile, he handed you off to Dean, and for the first time, you looked upon the man who was to be your husband. He looked strong, not just physically, though. He had to be physically strong, he was a hunter. To you, he seemed to have a different type of strength, and it made you a little curious about him.

As the pastor spoke, you continued looking at him, studying him. His green eyes that swam with emotions behind his mask, just as yours did. The way freckles danced across his chiseled face like stars. The occasional twitch of his clenched jaw. When he repeated the words of the pastor, his voice was deep, a little gravely, but also like there were things weighing on him that he was fighting against. Then, he was slipping the ring on your finger. It was then your turn to repeat the words as the pastor spoke them, and you did so, your head still held high.

After you slipped the ring on his finger, the pastor added a line you were not prepared for. “As you hold the ability of his life in your hands,” he paused as the best man pulled a gun from a holster on his hip. You hadn’t even noticed it before. “He shall hold the ability of your life in his.” Dean took the gun and holstered it on his hip as your hunter’s mask wavered for a brief moment. The Colt. The one weapon that could truly kill you. Your eyes only looked at it for a split second, but the movement of your eyes was not lost on Dean.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

He leaned down, then pressed his lips to yours for as briefly as he could to finish the ceremony, and the entire church erupted in cheers. You realized all these people knew each other. They’d spent time talking, due to this very moment, trying to bring the families and friends closer together. You were the one who only knew those on your side, and there weren’t many there. Dean had far more family and friends than you did.

You felt him take your hand as he walked you out of the church, both of you putting on that mask for everyone there, and for each other. He opened the door of the limo parked outside and even held your hand to help you as you got inside. You, of course, gave him that thankful smile, even if it was mostly forced. 

Once he was inside with the door closed, the driver began driving as the silence stretched and the tension built. You’d never spoken directly to Dean, and now, he was your husband. You hadn’t allowed yourself to truly think about the reality of your life. Even now, you couldn’t bring yourself to do so.

The reception was loud, at least for you. You managed, though, mingling with people like you were enjoying yourself. Just get through this. It was your mantra as you pretended to smile at people, including your family. There were speeches made, but you didn’t really pay attention to them. You didn’t want to hear words from people who weren’t in your shoes. None of them truly knew what you were going through.

I’m not marrying a monster. His words kept echoing in your head as the evening progressed. Dean was only near you when he had to be, and he barely said anything to you unless it was required. You noticed how his smile was forced when it came time for the stupid dance, but you gave him a fake smile as well.

It was like the entire event had been nothing more than a dance around each other, avoidance being the lead. You had caught him drinking several shots of whiskey, but then again, you had done the same when you thought no one was looking. By the end of the evening, all you wanted to do was get out of the get-up and into something comfortable. The limo ride to your and Dean’s new home was silent, a gift from Bastet to show her gratitude. You took note of how Dean kept space between the two of you. So much so that he wasn’t even touching any part of your dress, and there was seat space available for another person to fill. 

To keep up the act, you noticed how he went around to your side of the limo after it had pulled up to the house, opened your door, and held out his hand for you. You took it, playing along, and walked with him toward the front porch. However, the moment the limo was out of sight, he let go of your hand and walked ahead of you.

Again, your heart clenched with an ache you wished would just go away. Stupid hope and childish dreams. His strides had lengthened, so he had entered the house first. With a sigh, you went inside and closed the door, locking it out of habit. Dean was already moving toward the bedroom, pulling off his tie.

You followed, but only so you could change. He was near the bed, removing articles of his tux, so you slipped into the walk-in closet to find something comfortable as your mind began filling with questions.

Finally locating some sleep shorts and a slightly baggy Led Zepplin shirt that belonged to you, you began slipping out of the dress, which had felt like a burden more than anything else over the last several hours. Your focus was on your task, not on Dean. So, you missed how he watched you from the corner of his eye as he changed, just out of your view unless you turned to actually look at him. Before you had put on your comfortable pajamas, you hung the dress in the back of the closet, not wanting to be able to see it when you had to go in there. Then, you slipped into your comfortable clothes and went into the master bathroom.

There, you meticulously removed the little bit of makeup and took your hair down, brushing it out even if the waviness had stayed and would until you showered. When you came out of the bathroom, Dean was nowhere to be seen, but his tux had been thrown to one corner of the room, and the Colt was gone as well. 

You heard his footsteps near the kitchen, but you sat down on the edge of the bed as it all sank in. He was your husband. You were his wife. Would he expect you to be a proper wife? Did he want anything to do with you? Would he insist on consummating the marriage even though he seemed to hate you?  Those and more plagued your mind as you laid back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments.

Now what? It was the one question that wouldn’t go away. With a mild grumble, you sat up and headed down to the foot of the stairs, glancing toward the living room. Not seeing him there, you knew he was in the kitchen, drinking. As you entered the kitchen, he stared at you with a mask of indifference from the kitchen table.

You weren’t in the mood to deal with anything, including whatever might come out of his mouth. So, you grabbed another bottle of whiskey and, without even looking over at him, went into the living room, giving him the space of the kitchen. That first drink burned on the way down, but it was a welcome feeling after the day you’d had. 

Curling up on the far side of the couch, clutching the neck of the bottle almost like a lifeline, you tried not to think. Your thoughts were already swimming with questions, and to top it off, you felt his eyes on you. The tension in the house was thick, stifling, pushing down on your body like an invisible weight. Briefly, you wondered if he felt it too, but refused to open your mouth to say a word.

In your mind, he was the one who viewed you as a monster. The logical answer had been just to stay away from him, the best you could in your shared home. I’ll sleep in one of the guest rooms—another logical answer. Plus, you knew he had the Colt on him. At least in the guest room, you wouldn’t have to worry about him shooting you in your sleep.

The longer he sat there silently watching you and sipping his whiskey, the more uncomfortable you felt. Typically, you were the predator when you were on hunts. Right now, you felt like the prey, and it made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. You almost felt like a cornered cat and began noting all the quick escape routes of the house.

The legs of the chair scraping across the kitchen floor made you jump, but you still didn’t look over at him. You didn’t have to. With your hearing, you could tell exactly where he was in relation to you, even with him being barefoot. It wasn’t long before you heard the door of the master bedroom close and a click afterward.

He locked me out. The thought was more depressing than you wanted to admit, as your expression fell further and your shoulders slumped. You bit back tears of childhood dreams as you cleaned up his glass and the two bottles of whiskey, almost hating your entire existence. Then, you quietly retired to the guest room on the bottom floor, giving him as much space as possible. Out of fear, you locked the door but stood there, just staring at it.

With a defeated sigh, you unlocked it. Dean was a hunter. If he really wanted in that room, he could easily just pick the lock. So, what was the point of locking it? You went to bed with a heavier heart than you were willing to admit, even to yourself, with how things were going. 

As morning approached, bringing the first glimpses of light to the day, you slipped out of bed and quietly made your way to the kitchen. You were typically an early riser, enjoying this time of morning when the world wasn’t quite awake yet. First, you got coffee brewing, then you started on breakfast.

You weren’t a bitch, and something in you wanted to prove not only that but also that you weren’t like the monsters the two of you hunted. You didn’t know much about Dean, only what you had heard from those at the reception when they spoke of him. For a few moments, you stared at what was available in the fridge, then sighed. There wasn’t much, just basic things.

I’ll need to go shopping later.

Instead of making breakfast, you pulled out the pie and then set it aside while you grabbed the eggs and bacon. At least there was also a loaf of bread. The pie went into the oven while you sipped coffee and made breakfast, humming quietly to yourself in an attempt to calm your nerves.

You didn’t hear him wake up, dress, or descend the stairs in his boots, far too caught up in the tasks you were doing. Nearly a minute later, the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end, like you were being watched. You turned slowly and nearly jumped when you saw him leaning on the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed, mask up, watching you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, as the sizzle of bacon was the only sound in the room. “There’s coffee,” you offered, but your voice was quiet, nervous, and almost shy.

He didn’t move, nor did he answer you. He just watched you with that expressionless gaze. Feeling completely out of your element, you turned from him and went back to cooking, finishing up breakfast. There was no calming your nerves as your hands trembled slightly while you set the table with two plates of food. As the timer dinged on the oven, you carefully pulled out the pie and set it on the top of the stove to cool. But all he did was watch you.

When you sat down to eat, he pushed off the doorframe and grabbed his jacket, then he left, nearly slamming the door behind him and making you jump at the sound. Your entire body fell in defeat. You had tried, but he had walked away without a word.

You saved what you could, which was just the bacon, having barely touched your own plate that morning. Dean had stayed gone nearly the whole day. You had eaten the pie on and off all day while on your laptop, looking for a case, literally, any case, so you could escape your new reality. 

He came back after sundown but went straight to the master bedroom and locked the door behind him, as your eyes followed his movements from the kitchen table. My life sucks. With a defeated sigh, you took your laptop to your room and quietly closed the door.

That was how the entire next week went. He was gone all day and then would lock himself in his room overnight. You had tried cooking for him when you made yourself breakfast, but he never ate anything, nor did he ever have any of the coffee you made. There were even two dinners you had managed to finish just as he had walked back in the door, but he had gone straight to the bedroom like all the other nights. It was getting disheartening. Couldn’t he see that you were trying?

You had moved some of your clothes from the master bedroom to the guest room you had chosen downstairs. That way, you wouldn’t need to go into that space at all. Your toiletries, which were very minimal, were now in the downstairs bathroom, including your towel and washcloth for showering. You had begun feeling like a guest in his home.

Another week passed before you finally managed to find a case. It was a long shot and might be nothing, but it was something, and you desperately needed something else to do. The morning you were planning to head out, you were in the kitchen, already dressed with your bag set on the kitchen table, packed. You were sipping a cup of coffee while eating a couple slices of bacon when he descended the stairs, but stopped dead in his tracks seeing your bag. “Where the hell do you think you’re going?” he growled, moving toward the table.

You looked up, blinking blankly at him, not understanding his reaction. He hadn’t spoken to you since the wedding, and now this? “A case,” you replied, dumbfounded.

“What case?” he growled again as he crossed his arms.

So, you told him about the possible ghost two towns over and the details you had gathered online as well as from the phone calls you had made. The line of his jaw ticked as he stood there, just staring at you with that same mask. “No. You’re staying here. I’ll deal with it,” he stated firmly before grabbing his jacket and leaving, again.

For a few moments, all you could do was sit there as you attempted to process what had just happened. He’d told you no. By the time it hit you, he was already pulling out of the drive, and all you could do was watch from the front door.

Anger hit you first, feeling like you were being treated like some child, as you went back inside and slammed the front door. Then, you grabbed your bag and threw it in your room, well, the guest room that had become yours, and plopped down on the edge of the bed.

Why doesn’t he want me hunting? Why won’t he speak to me unless it’s to tell me what I am and am not allowed to do? Why does he seem to hate me?

When a tear slipped down your cheek, your shoulders fell in defeat. He sees me as a monster. Why would any hunter want a monster near people? It was all you could come up with, even though you had never done anything toward him in a threatening way. You wanted to pull out your phone and text your mom, but decided against it. How could she help you? Seriously, how could your mom help you with this mess that was your life? What advice could she give? Just keep trying and hope he came around? With a depressed scoff, you tossed your phone onto the bed beside you. 

The sound of the doorbell pulled your attention and your curiosity. Who would be coming here? You wondered as you made your way to the front door. Surprise crossed your features as you pulled the door open when you saw Dean’s younger brother there.

“Umm… he left a little bit ago,” you admitted, quieter than you had wanted to be.

Sam furrowed his brow at the news. “Left where?” he asked, now confused.

“I had found a case and was going to go, but he left to take care of it instead,” you replied, moving a little so he could come in if he wanted to.

A frown found his lips as he looked down at you, but he did step inside, so you closed the door behind him. “There’s coffee, if you’d like,” you offered, leading him to the kitchen and getting him a cup.

“Thanks,” he replied with a friendly smile, taking the cup after you filled it. “Uh, how are things, between the two of you?” 

Sam took in your demure demeanor as you sat down at the kitchen table, the defeat in your shoulders. It was a far cry from the confident mask you’d worn during your wedding and reception. With you now being his sister-in-law, he figured he’d given you and Dean enough alone time and wanted to get to know you.

At first, you didn’t answer Sam. What could you say? You no longer had the energy to keep up your hunter's mask in your own home, which didn’t even feel like one. “Probably better than it could have gone,” you murmured, staring more at the coffee in your cup than anywhere else.

Again, he furrowed his brows as he sat across from you. Far too many questions slowly formulated in his mind. “Could you share a little more detail?” he asked inquisitively.

Your lips were curved down, along with your gaze, not even sure where to begin. “I don’t know what to say, honestly. He leaves in the morning and locks himself in his room when he comes back after dark,” you admitted quietly. “Today is the first day he’s spoken to me since the wedding, and he told me I couldn’t go on a hunt I found, like I was a child or something.”

Now Sam was utterly confused, more at his brother than you. He knew how his brother felt about the whole situation, but he hadn’t thought he’d act like this. 

Over the next few hours, he asked you questions, and you freely answered him. It was the first real conversation you had had with anyone in a long while. Being able to tell someone what you were struggling with felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Plus, Sam seemed genuinely interested. He even stayed late enough to have dinner with you.

For Sam, he had been curious about you, the Touched destined to marry his brother. From the moment he’d found out, he did all the research he could to learn about you specifically. However, the topic of Touched spanned every pantheon available. When he got older and began hunting with his brother, the two had come across a couple different Touched who’d gone bad. One of which attempted to light Sam on fire before Dean had shot it.

But today, sitting for hours and just talking to you, he began seeing you as more human than monster. You had feelings, likes and dislikes, favorite things, and a yearning to fit in, just like any other human. What he couldn’t figure out was why his brother was being the way he was. To top it off, you were an amazing cook, for also being a hunter.

Sam bid you goodnight somewhere after six, and when you closed the door, you were smiling a little. There was a lightness to you now where heaviness had once been. As you did the dishes, you hummed to yourself again, like you had that first morning when you had cooked. It allowed you to relax further, at least until your mind did what it always did and began wandering.

The longer it wandered, the more your smile fell, and your humming eventually ceased. Why did Sam seem to care more than your husband did? It was circling your thoughts and bringing back the weight that you thought was gone. You didn’t even bother waiting up till Dean got back before you retired to your room, one of the guest rooms, and closed the door, your heart heavy once again. What was the point in waiting up? He hasn’t wanted to see me anyway.

—---------------------------

When Dean’s phone vibrated on the seat next to him, he sighed before picking it up. Great, now what does he want? “What?” Dean grumbled, looking out the windshield at a bar, just watching people as they went in and out.

“How are things with Y/N?” Sam asked casually as he drove back to his place. 

Dean clenched his jaw. It was a reflexive habit at the sound of your name. “Fine.” 

The one-word answer had Sam rolling his eyes. He could hear how his brother was trying to end the conversation before it ever got started. “Then how come you aren’t at home?” Sam mused knowingly, calling his brother out deliberately.

Dean straightened up in his seat, gripping the steering wheel to keep his anger under control. “What does it matter to you where I am? Besides, how the hell do you know I’m not home?” 

Sam chuckled at that, almost grateful he wasn’t having this conversation in person. “It doesn’t, not to me. She’s your wife. I had stopped by cause I wanted to visit with you, but she said you had gone out on a case,” he explained casually like it was a normal thing. “She’s nice, even made dinner for me.”

Again, he clenched his jaw, his grip tightening so much on the steering wheel that his knuckles went white. “You could have called,” he barely got out through gritted teeth.

“I’ll call next time,” Sam began, but his tone got serious. “She’s nice, Dean. Maybe if you took some time to get to know her, you’d see that. She’s not the monster you’ve made her in your head.”

He really didn’t know how to respond to that. You were a monster by the sheer definition of not human. He was a hunter. He was supposed to kill things like you. He had killed things like you. It was why he stayed away from you, why he never ate anything you cooked or drank anything you made, and why he locked himself in that room with the Colt while he only half slept at night.

“She’s not human, Sam,” Dean tried to argue, as that had been all he’d been able to hold onto.

But Sam cut him off before he could continue. “She’s more human than you realize.”

The softness in Sam’s voice hit Dean like a Mack truck. He’d only spent the day with you. Then, Dean’s hard shell came back up. “She probably just enchanted you or something,” he grumbled under his breath, trying not to think about you at all.

“Dean, I swear to God,” Sam growled, taking him by surprise. “She doesn’t have those sorts of abilities. If you picked up a damn book, you’d know that.” His tone was harsh, but at the moment, Dean needed a wake-up call. Before Dean could argue, Sam continued. “Stop being an ass and talk to your wife!” Then, Sam hung up the phone.

Dean slumped back in his seat. He didn’t want to go back to that house, not with you there, but he started the Impala’s engine anyway. Sam’s words echoed in his head as he began the drive back from the ghost hunt. The whole drive, he replayed things in his head that he had tried desperately not to think about, but his thoughts always ended up back there, to that day.

When you stepped out of the room, your father by your side, he stopped breathing for a moment, even though he couldn’t see your face. Your steps were confident, as was how you stood. His eyes followed every step as the rest of the room slowly faded into the background. Then, your father lifted your veil, and he swore he’d died and gone to heaven, and you were the angel waiting to greet him. It took every ounce of resolve he had not to let it show, figuring you cast some sort of spell on him. The way you looked at him, holding the same mask he was, but the emotions behind it had his heart pounding.  He had tried to pay attention to the pastor as he spoke, taking in the delicate details of your face and those eyes. God, your eyes held something that begged for him to get lost in. Then, you spoke. There was no other sound in that room but your voice, and he wanted to hear it for the rest of his days. But it was that last thing the pastor said that snapped him back to reality, to the fact that you weren’t human, when the Colt was placed in his hands. He shoved everything down, just like he always did before, he barely let his lips touch yours to end the ceremony.

Dean glanced down at his phone and then back at the road, pushing thoughts away that he didn’t want to have. He couldn’t think like that, not in his mind. The consistent thought was that you weren’t human, and that was the only thing that kept him from getting close to you. What the hell had happened that Sam saw you as more human? Did you know witchcraft? 

He scoffed as he drove. Probably. It was the other thing he had clung to, even if he had never found a single shred of evidence to prove it. He had chalked it up to you just being that smart to hide it.

Every time he looked at you, you took his breath away. He saw the emotions you were dealing with, but he had refused to believe it was nothing more than some act just to get close to him. Monsters don’t have feelings. They’re monsters. That was always his reasoning. But now, his brother’s words began circling with his carefully constructed view of you, and it was starting to piss him off.

He wasn’t paying attention, not like he should have, and he barely had enough time to look up at the bright headlights before metal twisted, sound disappeared, and everything went black.

—-----------------------

It was near ten when your phone went off again before you finally sat up and answered it. “What?” you grumbled out, having no clue who would be calling so late.

“Dean’s been in an accident,” Sam told you, and you heard the waver in his voice.

In an instant, you were out of bed, your phone pressed to your ear as you began moving. “Where?”

“They can’t get him out of the car. We’re a mile down the road,” he sighed, and you finally heard the sounds in the background.

“I’m on my way,” you told him; all traces of sleep were gone.

Shoes on, wallet and phone in hand with your keys, and you were out the door. You didn’t even care what the speed limit was. The flashing lights made it clear where it had happened, just before the turn into the small neighborhood where the two of you had been given that home. Carefully, you maneuvered your car through the crowd to a place off the side of the road as Sam ran over to you.

“They had to get the jaws of life. He’s gonna be pissed when he wakes up,” Sam tried to make light of the horrible reality you were almost terrified to look at.

The short walk over, you could barely breathe. You didn’t love him, but you didn’t want anything bad to happen to him either, and this was bad. His beautiful Impala was nearly totaled, having been hit almost head-on by a semi. Sam explained that the driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel and veered into Dean’s lane before he could make the turn.

Words failed you when you saw his battered body still behind the wheel, his head to the side, unconscious. There was glass everywhere, and you noticed a few tiny shards sticking out of his face, along with blood from at least one head wound. You took several tentative steps closer, still trying to stay out of the way of the crew trying to get him out of the car with the jaws of life.

You could hear his heartbeat. He was still alive, but it was fading. Without waiting, you went to the other side, past everyone, and managed to slip into the car. You couldn’t wait and didn’t care who saw at this point. You weren’t going to let him die, not like this. He was a hunter, he deserved better, even if he hated you.

Several of the rescue team were yelling at you, but all you did was glare at them while Sam tried to explain that you were his wife. Discretely, you found a shard of glass and cut your hand, then found the open wounds you could while they pried the door open. You rubbed your blood into his wounds, knowing it was literally the only thing that would save his life with his fading heartbeat.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered as they pulled him from the car and onto a stretcher. You weren’t sure why you were apologizing to him, but somehow, it felt like it was your fault. If you had been the one to have taken this case, this never would have happened to him. Perhaps it was a form of guilt.

“Y/N!” Sam yelled, finally getting your attention. “Come on, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

All you could do was nod, far too many thoughts and emotions coursing through you to think straight. The drive was quiet, but your thoughts weren’t. “It’s my fault,” you whispered, your gaze on the night beyond the window.

“It’s not your-” Sam tried to reassure you, but you cut him off.

“If I had taken that case, left before he had woken up…” you trailed off, your voice small again as your guilt ate at you.

Sam sighed quietly, setting his hand on your shoulder and giving you a comforting squeeze. It was the first real physical contact you had had since the wedding, and it almost hurt. You let Sam deal with the people at the hospital while you looked around. It was nearly silent there at this hour, only a few nurses and staff moving about. “He’s in room 206, but he’s stable,” you heard the nurse say, and you finally felt like you could relax.

The hospital felt eerie this time of night as Sam led you down several different hallways before pushing open the door of Dean’s room. When your eyes found him, your hand covered your mouth. He looked bad off, but you knew it could have been far worse. At least he’d heal now, and he wouldn’t die from the trauma his body had suffered.

Sam tried to guide you to Dean’s bed, but you refused to move as another horrible thought entered your mind. “Y/N, you okay?” Sam asked, puzzled at the shift in your demeanor.

“He’ll hate me even more now,” you told Sam quietly as defeat took hold. “I healed him, with my blood, so he didn’t die back there.” Your voice was nothing more than a whisper as the realization hit Sam like a ton of bricks. “His heartbeat, it was so faint and getting worse. I couldn’t…” you sniffled as tears pricked at your eyes before a few slipped down your cheeks.

Perhaps it was the first time Sam truly saw you. Even after spending the day with you and learning more about you, it hadn’t prepared him for this. Before he could truly process the fact that he had almost lost his brother and that you, a monster, had saved his life, Mary and John were pushing past both of you into Dean’s room.

“Bastet promised,” John growled under his breath as he reached his son’s bed.

“He’s not dead. She kept her word,” Mary told him, but there was a cold edge to her tone that had you fleeing from the room before anyone noticed your disappearance.

You ran, it was all you could do. Your mind piecing things together on its own, the way it always had. Bastet must have promised that the Winchesters would live a decently long life if they agreed to bind their firstborn to you. That was what your mind came up with, and you weren’t far from the truth. 

By the time you got back to your car, it was sometime after midnight, but you drove yourself home. Home. The thought was depressing. Your movements were mechanical, mindless as you drove, parked, went inside, and crawled into bed. 

He’ll only ever see me as a monster. It was the last thought as you drifted off to a fitful sleep.

—---------------------

Dean woke up the following morning, his entire body sore. It took him several moments to even remember what the hell had happened, let alone figure out where the hell he was. It wasn’t bright, but he could tell the lighting was fluorescent bulbs. Then, there was the beeping of monitors to his left. 

A hospital? 

Then it hit him. The accident. He strained, pained groans coming out as he forced himself to sit up, when Sam was immediately at his side, helping him. “What the hell are you doing here?” Dean was more confused than angry, no matter how gruff his voice was.

He chuckled a little as he took a seat next to the bed. “I’ve been here all night. Someone had to watch over you. I sent Mom and Dad home and told them to get some sleep. How are you feeling?” 

“Like I got hit by a truck,” Dean groaned, his muscles aching, but not nearly as much as he figured they should. The truck had hit him dead on. He should be dead, and he knew it.

This time, Sam laughed a little. “Technically, you did get hit by a truck.” He noticed how Dean’s eyes scanned the room. “She’s at home, if you’re looking for Y/N.”

Dean’s walls instantly went right back up. “I wasn’t,” he snapped sharply in that gruff way when he was hiding the truth. “So, how come Cas only partially healed me?” he asked, changing the topic.

For a long few moments, Sam didn’t answer him, not entirely sure what to tell his brother, let alone how he was going to take it. “Dean, Cas didn’t heal you at all,” he began cautiously, and instantly regretted it when Dean looked at him, pissed. 

Before Dean could growl something else, a doctor came into the room with a chart in his hands, reading parts of it. “You’re making a rapid recovery, Mr. Winchester. We’ll have your discharge papers shortly,” he stated before looking up at the brothers. “Given the reports from the scene, you’re lucky to be alive. Looks like you’ve got a guardian angel looking over you.” And with that, he was gone again.

Dean was in a state of shock, even if it wasn’t apparent outwardly. Had Bastet stepped in to keep her word? It was the only thing he could figure as he stared at the open door of his room. 

“Y/N saved you,” Sam told him quietly, a frown finding his features from his worry of how Dean would react.

Instead of Dean going off or reacting how Sam figured he would, he just became completely confused. “How? She’s not an angel.” 

For a few moments, Sam just looked at him, far too many questions now rattling around in his head. “What do you know about her abilities?” he asked, almost cautiously, as that seemed the most logical place to start.

Dean’s expression went to an instant deadpan mixed with his bitch face. “She’s like a cat, and she heals,” he answered, not amused.

Sam chuckled, he couldn’t help it. “She doesn’t heal. Her blood does,” he clarified, waiting for Dean to put the pieces together on his own.

Slowly, the realization came into Dean’s features. “You mean I have monster blood in me now?” he asked as his tone went from confused to almost angry.

Sam frowned as a sigh slipped out. “She saved your life. The least you could do is be grateful.” He was about to tell him how you had just gone to save him without even caring about being seen doing it, but a nurse walked in with all his paperwork, so he could finally leave. “Want me to drive you home?” he asked as Dean signed the paperwork.

“Where’s my car?” was all Dean asked in that tone that meant he didn’t want to talk about anything that involved you or what you had done.

The drive to Bobby’s was silent. Sam had done the courtesy of texting you so you knew what was going on with Dean. He just wasn’t sure how to reach his brother or get him to see reason. Now, he was hoping Bobby might help. Bobby always had a way of saying things to Dean to where he had no choice but to think about it, even better than either of their parents could.

“Don’t bother picking me up later. I’ll stay at Bobby’s till I’m done fixing Baby,” Dean stated firmly before walking away from Sam’s car. His mind was racing like it always did when it came to you, and now, his carefully constructed image of you was changing, and he really didn’t like it.

—--------------------

Nightmares of Dean hunting you with the Colt had flooded your mind, waking you in a cold sweat sometime after dawn. Your chest was heaving, your hand over your heart as your eyes slowly adjusted to the room. Images flashed behind your eyes, the hatred in those green orbs, the sound of the gunshot.

A chill ran down your spine before you forced yourself to get up, the house feeling too small and too large simultaneously. He hates me. It was the thought that wouldn’t go away, your shaky legs taking you to the kitchen.

Trembling hands made coffee, and after pouring yourself a cup, the warmth of it offered nothing to your frayed senses. You’d read the message from Sam, even thanked him, but you were slowly retreating back into yourself. It was safe there, the walls high, but you could only hide there when Dean was gone.

For a long while, you just sat there at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around the mug as the heat slowly drained into your skin. Even in marriage, you were alone. No one wants me. Another thought set on repeat, circling around with the others.

The day was long, as you distracted your mind with anything and everything you could find. Sadly, it only partially worked and then completely failed with the knock on the front door, pulling you from the laundry pile on the couch. There was a frown on your lips when you pulled the door open, seeing Sam there.

“Come in,” you sighed, stepping back and closing it behind him.

You took your seat on the couch, going back to your task as Sam sat in the recliner. “He’s not coming back, is he?” you asked quietly.

Sam watched you, like he had when he came over last time, his heart breaking for you. “Not til he fixes his car. He asked me to pick some of his stuff up.” The compassion in his tone hurt more than comforted, but you tried not to show it.

“His stuff is in the master bedroom,” you murmured, letting your fingers move along the piece of fabric in your hands as you carefully folded it, then added it to the stack on the coffee table.

“Y/N, I can-” he began, but you cut him off with just a look.

“Sam, I appreciate that you’re nice to me. You’re not the one who had to marry me. Don’t. Please,” you told him, but your voice shook just enough for the resolve to solidify in his chest.

“I’ll stop in and check on you,” he offered before going to Dean’s room, leaving you to your task.

It was what he said on his way out that gave you pause. “Maybe you’ll bake for me. You’re an artist in the kitchen.” Then, he was gone, leaving you with a puzzled expression, staring at the front door he had closed behind him.

Why couldn’t Bastet have chosen him? 

With a sigh, you went back to trying to figure out your life, questions, and emotions twisting into things you didn’t want to face. Nothing could take your mind from them. When the house was clean, you tried to distract yourself by looking for another case. Those typically helped, and this time, Dean wouldn’t be there to take this from you.

—----------------------

Sam split up his time between work, school, getting on his brother’s nerves and visiting you. You had baked for him. Although, you wanted to question his tastes, as they were exactly like Dean's, at least from what you’d learned from Sam. 

He’d hang out with you for a bit, take the tasty treats you’d made, then go visit his brother. Dean would do his best to just focus on Baby, but those damn baked goods he kept bringing around would instantly distract him. 

Bobby would watch from the house as Sam played keep away for a while before sharing them with his brother. He knew what Sam was up to. Hell, he’d tried to get through Dean’s thick skull, Sam having shared quite a bit with him. 

Neither could figure out what Dean was hung up on, and it wasn’t like Dean was talking to either of them. 

It was the day Sam showed up with an apple pie, freshly baked, now three weeks after the accident. “You don’t even like pie. What are you up to?” Dean asked, only glancing at him before sliding back under Baby.

“What? I’m not allowed to bring my brother his favorite pie now?” he mused, standing next to Baby’s hood.

“You’re up to something,” Dean grumbled, his voice muffled as he tightened another bolt. But the alluring scent of apples and cinnamon had wafted under the car, cutting through the smell of oil and metal. “Jerk.”

Sam chuckled as Dean straightened up, wiping his hands off on a rag. And, without warning, he snatched the pie from his brother’s hands, but Sam had a plan in mind. He leaned against the side of Baby, arms crossed, just watching as Dean dug in, moaning in delight as the flavors melted in his mouth.

“Where’d you get this? I need to know so I can pick up another one,” he mumbled, mouth full of pie.

“Your house,” Sam answered plainly, and Dean froze, his eyes wide as he stared at the pie. “Same as all the other ones I’ve been bringing.”

Dean’s hand clenched around the box, but he swallowed the bite in his mouth, his mind racing. Then, his entire body slumped in complete defeat. Sam tilted his head, just a smidge, watching as Dean closed his eyes, head dropping.

“Dean?” he asked, concern etched in his features.

“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” he began, voice barely above a whisper. Everything he’d been fighting was about to tumble from his lips. “She’s a monster, but she’s so… human.”

With a sigh, he set the pie down on the hood, grabbed his beer, and leaned against the driver’s side, taking a long swig. “Maybe start with that?” Sam suggested, gesturing to the pie. “She’s sweet.”

Dean couldn’t help the amused smirk that tugged at his lips from Sam’s pun, shaking his head slightly. “And I’ve been nothing but bitter toward her.” “So, pick up some dinner. She likes burgers the same way you do,” Sam shrugged, trying to nudge his brother gently, knowing just how quickly he could clam right back up.

“Will you tell me about her?” Dean asked, his voice still quiet, a far-off look in his eyes as he stared across Bobby’s yard. 

So, for the next two hours, while they leaned against Baby, sipping beers, Sam talked about you, sharing what he’d learned since he had started visiting you. Dean listened with unwavering attention, making mental notes. Sam noticed the range of emotions as they went across Dean’s face or in his eyes, even the tiny clench of his jaw when Sam spoke of the night of the accident.

“She thinks you hate her,” Sam finally mumbled before finishing his beer.

Dean sighed, unable to blame you for that assessment. It wasn’t like he had treated you in any other way. Hell, he had wanted to keep hating you, but he couldn’t. “That’s the problem. I don’t hate her,” he admitted, glancing over at the now half-eaten pie. “I fell in love with her on our wedding day.”

Sam nearly choked on a breath, never expecting those words to leave his lips. Before he could utter a word, Dean’s gaze was back on him, “I have to fix this.”

And in an instant, he was gone, pie in hand, and inside Bobby’s. Sam let out an amused chuckle, shaking his head. 

—---------------------

In that three-week time frame, you’d only found one case, and it had only taken three days to take care of it—a single werewolf. You had enjoyed the days when Sam would stop by, even getting texts the night before so you could figure out what to make the following day when he’d come over. His company began filling a void inside you, but the moment he was gone, you always felt worse than before he’d come by.

Today had been the same, only you’d made apple pie. The other sat on the table as you nibbled on it throughout the day. It’d been more conversation, laughter, and silly or weird stories. You glanced up, watching the setting sun through the far kitchen window. The wedding had been a month and a half ago, but it felt like so much longer, while also feeling as though it had never happened at all.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the car pull up or the front door unlock, open, and then close. You were sipping a glass of whiskey, taking small bites of the pie. Spending most of the day doing nothing important, you were still in your pajamas, a pair of soft shorts, and an old AC/DC shirt from when you were a teenager. And your hair? Not even brushed that day. Depression does that sort of thing.

Dean paused in the doorway, still not sure what to say. So, he just walked over to the counter, setting everything down. That was when you noticed him, but it was due to his scent as it moved through the kitchen, tugging at your senses. This was the closest he’d gotten to you since the day of his accident.

He pulled two plates out of the cabinet and began pulling the food out of the bags. You noticed the pie Sam had taken that morning, sitting on the counter, mostly eaten now. Your brow furrowed, and for a brief moment, your lips parted before you quickly shut them and looked away from him.

The only sound in the room was from him unwrapping the burgers and then dumping the fries on the plates. He took a shaky breath, picked up both plates, and turned, finally looking at you. It wasn’t just that you looked like you just rolled out of bed. It was the bags under your eyes, the slump of your shoulders, the distant look in your gaze that got to him.

God, I’ve been an ass.

He cleared his throat as he set a plate down in front of you, then slipped into the seat across from you with his. The guilt churned in his stomach when he finally met your gaze. “Sam said you liked burgers too,” he finally offered, trying to keep his nervousness from slipping out.

You didn’t know what to think; far too many things racing through your mind. Had Sam only come over to get information about you to feed to Dean? Why was Dean even talking to you, let alone initiating a meal with you? Dean saw the confusion in your eyes, a reluctant sigh slipping past his lips as his gaze dropped to his plate. Where the hell do I even start? Everything he’d felt toward you since he’d found out about having to marry a monster, crumbled in his mind. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I know I’ve been an ass toward you.”

Your eyes went wide for a moment, before letting your own gaze fall away from him. “Why do you hate me?” the words slipping out before you could stop them. Even though you had already come up with your own reasons, you wanted to hear it from him.

He swallowed hard, his throat going dry, but he couldn’t meet your gaze. “I don’t,” his voice barely above a whisper. “I used to. Eat. We can talk after.” It wasn’t just to make sure you ate something decent, it was to bide him some time to find the right words.

Dean had lots of things go through his head since he’d walked away from Sam earlier. Half of it sounded great, in his head. The other half? None of it sounded right. Then there was how whenever he was around you, he couldn’t think straight.

You watched as he focused on his food, taking a bite of his burger, not looking at you. Lots ran through your head, all questions you didn’t have answers for. With a quiet sigh, you focused on your own burger, even though you really weren’t hungry.

You didn’t love him, not like regular people who married for love. You’d avoided him up until your wedding day due to those words you’d heard him say when you were eighteen. Although, you couldn’t hate him either. Not since you had set your eyes on him on your wedding day.

Trying to figure out in your head what had changed, why he’d gone from hating you to not hating you was impossible in the silence. You wanted to open your mouth, ask him what felt like a million questions. What had Sam said to him? Why doesn’t he hate me anymore? What changed?

With a quiet sigh, you nibbled on another french fry, mostly picking at your food. Dean noticed but didn’t say anything. You were picking at your food, only having eaten half the burger and barely any fries. The tension in the room sat heavy on his shoulders, the distance between you further than just the physical table where you sat. He’d always pictured you a specific way, like a monster. It had twisted in his head over the years, even after he’d seen pictures of you in your home, the few times he’d been there.

The pictures of you in a Disney dress, you were eight, trying to mimic one of your favorite characters at the time. You, high up in a tree, a proud smile on your face because you’d learned how to use your claws. Then there was the last one, you in your graduation gown, diploma in hand. 

Nothing around your home portrayed you in the way his mind had. He’d pictured you with the claws, blood dripping off them, an almost sadistic gleam in your eyes as you stood over a freshly killed monster. Then, in his head, you’d turn and look at him, making his blood run cold.

Dean shook his head, then looked up at you. Your head was dipped slightly, your eyes half-lidded, gaze on your plate. You looked so small, like you were trying to curl in on yourself, away from him. Or like you were waiting for him to lash out, like he had the day he took that hunt from you. I’m the monster. Not her.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, popping the last fry into his mouth. The silence was deafening, but he pushed past it, the clinking of his plate, the scuff of his boots, the movement of his chair, each one making you flinch, ever so slightly.

You didn’t look up. Since your wedding day, anytime you’d met his gaze, he always walked away or looked at you with disdain and hatred. But you heard everything. Every little sound he made as he moved.

Dean opened the fridge, glancing at the beer, then changed his mind. He needed something stronger. Instead, he reached into a cabinet, pulled out a glass for himself, and then grabbed the bottle of whiskey. With the items in hand, he turned, pausing for a beat, still having no clue what to say. He’d never been good with words.

A heavy sigh left his lips before he finally sat back down, taking note of how you still hadn’t looked back up at him. Carefully, he poured each of you a hefty amount, then slid your glass across the table to you, near the top of your plate.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his gaze still on you before he took a long swallow from his glass.

Gingerly, your eyes found the glass, then him. He saw all the emotions that swam in the depths, emotions that had clearly been eating at you for a while. You wanted to reach for the glass. Wanted to down it in one go. But his words, his apology, had surprised you too profoundly to move.

For a long moment, the silence stretched, neither of you knowing what to say. A small, sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I never got a chance to thank you, for saving my life.” The sincerity in his words nearly broke the walls you’d been trying so desperately to keep up.

You finally picked up your glass, downing it in two long swallows. The burn as it slid down your throat, reminding you this was real, that you weren’t dreaming. Dean raised a brow. He’d never seen you drink before, not like that, but he was impressed at your ability to handle your whiskey.

The emotions that coiled into a thump in your throat were far harder to swallow than the whiskey. So, you poured yourself another. “I couldn’t let you die,” you whispered, gaze on the amber liquid as it swirled in the glass in your hands.

It wasn’t what he’d thought you’d say, at least not in the way you said it. Like it had nothing to do with Bastet’s promise. “Why did you?” Dean asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

You swallowed hard, still unsure how to explain it to him, just as you hadn’t been able to explain it to Sam when he asked. Another sip of whiskey, your mind racing, trying to find an answer he’d understand. “I just couldn’t, even though I knew you hated me,” you mumbled. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Dean watched you, wishing you’d look at him, but he knew he had no right to even ask that of you. “I’m glad you did,” he murmured, pushing past his own self-deprication. “It gives me a chance to fix this.”

With that, you did look up, more puzzled than emotional. Why? “I still don’t understand. Why don’t you hate me anymore?” The words came out quiet, nervous, but also curious. It was something you still couldn’t understand, couldn’t figure out. He’d treated you like he had truly and completely hated you. “You said you didn’t want to marry a monster.”

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from his lungs. Words he’d spoken so long ago. Words you’d never been able to forget. Words he now regretted. He downed his drink, pouring himself another, contemplating how to explain.

His gaze lingered on the amber liquid. “I was young,” he began quietly. “Honestly, I was scared. I knew not all mon-” he quickly cut himself off, sighing heavily and looking back up at you. “I didn’t know anything about you. I’m sorry.”

You couldn’t stop the tear that slipped down your cheek, quickly looking away from him and wiping it away. Something in his chest tightened. He always saw you as strong, resilient, hard. But right now? You looked vulnerable, human.

Dean moved on instinct, his hand reaching across the table before quickly pulling it back, feeling he had no right to touch you. “Can we start over?” His quiet, hesitant request broke every wall you had. All you could manage was a slight nod as the tears fell. Dean’s jaw clenched, an internal battle raging at seeing you like this. With a shake of his head, he chose not to think. Instead, he stood, the chair scraping across the floor, before he pulled you up and into his arms.

It startled you, but you didn’t pull away. You buried your face against his chest, hands fisted in his shirt. Your body shook with sobs, unable to put any of it into words, and he didn’t force you to. The warmth of his body seeped into you, and the comfort of his arms around you didn’t feel empty.  

Dean just held you. Words were never his strong suit unless he was pushing people away, and he refused to do that to you again. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, unable to express it any other way.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that before your body finally stopped trembling, before the tears finally began to subside, before you could manage to utter a word. 

“I just wanted someone to want me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, but the words nearly broke him as guilt churned in his stomach. He tightened his arms around you, the breath taken from his lungs, his vision blurring from tears he wouldn’t let fall. Apologizing again wouldn’t help. He knew that. So he just held you, hoping you could feel what he couldn’t say.

When he did finally pull back, it was only enough so he could look down at you. You looked so human. A small, tender smile tugged at his lips as his hand cupped your cheek, wiping away another tear. Slowly, he tilted your head up, meeting his gaze.

You saw it in his eyes, emotions he couldn’t name, things he didn’t know how to say. It brought a matching smile to your lips. He saw you. Not the monster. Not the hunter. Just you. The you that you had hidden from the world. The you that Sam had gotten to know. 

“What do you say to a few drinks and some conversation?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek.

“That’d be nice,” you murmured, unable to push the hope back into the dark corner where you typically kept it. Not with the way he was looking at you now. 

That night, everything changed. The two of you settled onto the couch, both sitting so that you were facing each other. The drinks flowed. But the conversation flowed easier than either of you had expected. Dean found himself captivated with your laughter. You found yourself lost in his eyes. The green shifting slightly depending on his emotions.

The two of you talked long into the night, neither caring about the hours as they passed. In the early morning, only two hours before sunrise, he debated a question that had been circling his mind for the last hour. You tilted your head, just a bit, reminding him of a curious cat. Dean chuckled in amusement, perhaps even adoration, as he held your gaze. “Will you share our bed tonight?” he asked, his voice laced with nervousness. He wasn’t asking anything more than to have you close, and he wouldn’t blame you if you turned him down.

You nibbled your bottom lip, only partially from nerves. Hope. Anticipation. “I’d like that.” Our bed. Those words had sent your heart racing. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, noting the flush of your cheeks. She’s cute when she blushes. “Come on. We can clean up later.” Dean stood, holding his hand out for you to take. Your breath hitched, but you took it, letting him help you stand. His hand found purchase on your lower back, keeping you by his side as he led you to the master bedroom. The room he’d locked you out of for the last almost two months.

You were surprised to see how tidy he’d kept it. There were no dirty clothes on the floor. The bed was made neatly. It looked like he had even kept the bathroom clean—nothing like how you had expected to find the space.

“Did you want to change into something else first?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, slipping off his shoes.

Glancing down at yourself, you furrowed your brow, then looked back up at him, puzzled. “But, I’m in pajamas.” Sleep shorts and a slightly baggy shirt.

The confusion in your tone had him smiling again. God, she’s fucking adorable. “Just wanted to ask,” he chuckled, setting his shoes to the side of the bed before slipping off his shirt.

You quickly turned away, warmth finding your cheeks, figuring you would wait till he had slid under the covers before you even turned back around. One topic the two of you hadn’t covered, anything intimate.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? Never seen a guy without a shirt before?” he teased playfully, but that only made you blush deeper.

Seeing it on TV in shows or movies was different. There had been guys in public without shirts on, yeah. But this? This just felt different. “Not like this,” you mumbled, still refusing to turn around.

Dean had stood, already halfway through removing his jeans, when your words stopped him. For a long few moments, he stood there, frozen as his mind worked in overdrive, piecing it all together. Fuck. I’m an idiot. He let out a sigh through his nose and finally slipped out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers.

“I can sleep in sweats and a shirt, if you’d be more comfortable,” he offered, taking a tentative step toward you.

You shook your head, not wanting him to be uncomfortable on your account. “It’s okay. I’ll wait till you get under the covers,” you quickly mumbled, now fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

He wanted so badly to hold you, help you relax, but thought better of it. “Alright.” Dean turned off all but the lamp on one of the nightstands, then slipped under the covers, still mostly sitting up. You still didn’t turn around, moving to the other side of the bed. He watched in curiosity as you managed to get into bed without ever looking at him. He exhaled through his nose, flipped off the lamp, and got comfortable on his side, watching you in the dark. Questions danced through his mind, and before he knew it, one slipped out. “You’ve never been with anyone, have you?” he asked quietly.

You curled a little in on yourself, almost ashamed of it, and your reasoning behind it. “No,” you admitted in a nearly inaudible whisper.

He let the silence stretch, chewing on his next question. “Can I hold you?”

Your heart rate spiked as your breathing shallowed. Stupid nerves. 

As if he could sense it, he reached out, resting his hand tenderly on your shoulder. “I promise. I just want to hold you. Nothing more.” The sincerity in his voice almost brought another wave of tears. Briefly, you wondered if you’d ever be able to explain to him the things you kept buried, and how he was slowly healing parts of you that had been wounded for years. He felt the shaky breath that left your lips slowly, then your body inching back, toward him. Dean slid his hand down your arm, finding purchase at your hip, coaxing you closer. 

At first, you weren’t sure what to feel, other than the physical sensations. The warmth of his body against yours, his hand resting loosely on your hip, his warm breath in your hair. He didn’t say anything, didn’t move his hand, didn’t cage you in. He just held you.

Slowly, the tension eased from your muscles, your breathing evening out, your heart steadying. He felt it, smiling a little. A small win.

It was when you started purring that he froze. Not out of fear, out of surprise. Then you were moving away from him before he could process it.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly apologized, almost out of his reach now.

“No. Wait,” he blurted out, his fingers tightening on your hip before he let go completely and sighed. “Please don’t run,” he whispered. “It just surprised me. That’s all.”

Your hand fisted in the sheet momentarily before you let out a shaky breath, managing to relax. Your heart was pounding again, but his plea gripped at your chest. “I’ve never purred around anyone before,” you confessed quietly, slowly moving back against him, getting comfortable.

Dean’s hand soothed down your arm, something about it was far more comforting than you realized. Again, the tension eased from your muscles, your breathing evening out. It wasn’t long before the soft vibrations rippled gently through his muscles as you began purring again. This time, he didn’t freeze. He closed his eyes, letting himself feel it. A soft hum left his lips as he pulled you just a little closer. “It’s nice. Relaxing. Get some sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair, wondering why the hell he’d let his fears cloud his mind for so long.

You let out an almost contented breath, letting your eyes drift shut. Perhaps things could be different now. Perhaps… he does want me. It was the last thought that wandered through your conscious mind before sleep claimed you, finally relaxing after almost two months of emotional turmoil.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow would hold a new future. One you had only dreamt about as a child. One you had written about as a young teenager in your journal. Life with Dean would be imperfectly perfect, in a way you never thought possible.

----------------------------------------- Touched Master List Main Master List

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[the-wize-1]

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 6 - Frozen Peas

Chapter Summary: Cat's plan kind of fails (is anyone surprised?)... but it also works out? Things happen and she’s reunited with a certain redheaded assassin.

Chapter Warnings: Talking about a mugging, playful threatening with a knife. This is and will be minor friendly! No smut in this story.

Notes: Nat returns this chapter! But this isn’t the last we see of Peter! Thank you to everyone who reblogged/commented/read so far! Getting notifications really encourages me and I enjoy each and everyone one of them. New chapters will come Monday/Thursday 5PM PST (I’m on time FINALLY). Also idk if I should make a tag list but if so lmk who’s interested! Happy reading!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"That was awesome!" Cat breathed as Spider-Man dropped her and Taco back on the ground. Her heart was still beating fast from the exhilaration. Swinging around New York was similar to riding a roller coaster, albeit a faster, steeper, more dangerous one with significantly less elbow room.

Spider-Man looked around the abandoned streets warily. "Um… are you sure this is where you wanted me to drop you off?"

Cat made sure she had the right dark alley. Granted, all the dark alleys looked generally the same in New York, but she had a great mind for directions. And she was pretty sure she was at the right place. If she squinted, she could spot a few familiar landmarks. And… there! If she could get a little closer, she could just make out the sliver of the door on the side of the wall.

The door of the safehouse.

"This is the one," she confirmed.

"If you're sure," he said. "Is there anything I can do to help? I don't think I have any cash on me— wait—" He awkwardly patted himself down for cash, even though Cat couldn't see how any pockets could possibly be hidden in the folds of his spandex. "Yeah, no cash. Sorry."

Cat suddenly had an idea. "Can I have your autograph?"

"What?"

"You know, to sell it," she said unremorsefully. "It might help me make some money. Sorry if that's offensive. I need everything I can get right now."

"Oh, that's really smart. I didn't even think of that. I don't have any paper, do you?"

Cat rummaged around in her backpack. She had a few souvenirs, a mug that was only a little cracked, some pieces of cardboard, and an I-Heart-New-York sweatshirt that was slightly too large for her. Lastly, she pulled out an extra thick sharpie. She'd gotten most of the items in the soup kitchen cupboards, or at homeless shelters.

Spider-Man quickly scribbled his signature on all of them, leaving little sweet but unnecessary notes. "Here you go."

"I'm really grateful for this," she told him.

Before handing the sharpie back, he paused. He stared at her for a long time. "Are you going to be okay?"

She glared at him. "Of course I am!" she said indignantly. "I'm tough, you know."

"I know. You're pretty neat, Cat."

"You're not so bad yourself, Spider-Man."

He awkwardly placed his hand on her shoulder, then removed it almost instantly. "Well, just know that if you're ever in trouble, I'll always be around. Just… scream for help, or something." He patted Taco on the head. "Bye, cute beagle." He shot a web up into a ledge of a building. He made a peace sign at her as he yanked himself into the air. "See ya, Cat!"

"Bye!" Cat called after him as he swung out of view.

I'll be okay, she thought.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

She was so not going to be okay.

"Damn," she swore under her breath, jamming her knife in the lock for the eighth time in the dim hopes that it would work that time.

Cat dug it in harder, twisting and turning every which way. She was waiting for the telltale clicks and shifts, but they didn't come. Instead, the knife was met with a stubborn wall that blocked it from moving in further. She'd been there for at least ten minutes, with a sinking heart. They'd changed the locks.

"Damn it!"

Taco barked. Cat liked to imagine she was sharing her frustration.

Frustrated and disappointed, Cat gave up. Plan A was a no-go. She'd have to find somewhere else to sleep. Which actually really sucked, because it was freezing. The wind was blowing with a frigid ferocity that night. She tried to yank the knife out of the lock, but it was stuck.

She swore again, tugging at the knife, but it stayed stubbornly stuck. Her grip slipped and she fell backwards onto the ground, landing hard. Oww. She groaned. Taco jumped up and padded over to her, licking her face.

Despite Taco being adorable as always, Cat was miserable. Her hands and face were numb with cold. She could hardly feel her fingertips. She was shivering in her feeble, tightly stretched coat and thin leggings that offered no protection from the cold. She'd been looking forward to the warm, welcoming safehouse, but now even that wasn't an option. The good thing was, the cold did a good job of numbing the pain on her face and ribs. She had long gotten used to the throb of pain.

Cat got to her feet, shaking with exhaustion. She took a shaky breath, steeling herself. Her eyes narrowed and she gritted her teeth. Whether she was getting into the safehouse or not, she sure as hell was getting her knife back.

She rubbed her hands together, trying to generate some warmth into them. She wrapped her hands around the hilt of the knife, and raised her left foot to a position over the lock. Taco watched her with a perplexed expression, as if asking her what the hell she thought she was doing. Pushing off of her left foot, leaning sideways, she tugged at the knife as hard as she could.

The knife came loose. Cat couldn't regain her balance quickly enough, so she went flying backwards, slamming into the opposite wall with a sickening crash. She collapsed to the floor with a heap. For a moment, Cat laid there, breathing hard, and felt impossibly tired. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to fall asleep right there…

Then, she heard something moving behind the door. With a grunt of pain, Cat forced herself to her feet. She held her knife to her side, the slightest sliver of hope in her heart.

The door groaned open.

"You're making an awful lot of noise," Natasha said.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Natasha didn't say a word as she led Cat into the living room, and gestured to the table. Cat took a seat and watched as Natasha took out a bag of dog food from one of the cabinets and poured it into a bowl for Taco. Taco leapt on it eagerly.

"Do you have a dog?" Cat asked out of curiosity.

"No."

"Why do you have dog food?"

She shrugged. "Why not?"

Cat took that as a good enough answer. Natasha wordlessly passed her a box of Chinese takeout. The smell of it had been filling up the kitchen. Cat dug in the moment she had it in her hands, feeling impossibly luckier and happier than she had in weeks. She ate like she was starving— probably because she was.

Natasha was silent, watching her as she devoured the takeout. Once Cat had eaten almost half of it, she gently tugged it out of Cat's hands.

"Sorry," Cat said immediately, scooting back in her chair. "I didn't mean to eat so much, I just—"

"Relax," Natasha said. "I'll give it back. You don't want to eat too fast or too much, or you'll throw up."

"Right." Cat took a deep breath. "Thanks."

"Here."

Natasha passed her a mug of steaming brown liquid. For a moment, Cat got excited, thinking it was coffee. When she took a sip and the taste of hot chocolate slammed into her, she wasn't too disappointed. It was surprisingly good. She was mostly glad Natasha had decided to let her in at all.

Cat wrapped her hands around the mug, trying to let the warmth of the room envelope her in its embrace. She relished in the moment, having a warm place to stay, food, and water. She shivered, remembering that it was only temporary and soon she'd have to be back out in the streets.

Cat couldn't take the silence. "Do you live here?" she asked.

"Sometimes," she answered vaguely.

"How did you know I was outside?"

"Like I said, you were making a lot of noise. I didn't think that was possible, considering those walls are about two feet thick."

"You changed your locks," Cat said resentfully.

"It's called a safehouse for a reason," Natasha pointed out. "What would be the point if persistent little orphans like you could break in?"

"I didn't think anyone would be inside."

"And that makes it okay?" Natasha asked pointedly.

"Um… no," Cat said, trying to sound remorseful. "Sorry."

Another bout of silence passed. Cat was trying to think of a way to ask for the takeout back. Her hunger was still rearing its little ugly head inside of her. But Natasha was holding the box just out of arm's reach.

"What happened to your face?"

"Nothing."

"I said, what happened to your face?" Natasha asked again, this time with an edge to her voice. Her eyes had narrowed.

"And I said," Cat fired back, "nothing."

"I gave you food," Natasha pointed out. Cat eyed the takeout box. "I could've left you out there in the cold. The least you could do is give me a straight answer."

Cat bit her lip. That was true. What would be the harm in telling her? Her stomach whined, yearning for the takeout. Still, some part of her didn't want Natasha to know. She stayed silent.

Natasha sensed the shift in her silence. She pushed the takeout box toward Cat, just a little. Cat reached for it, but then Natasha pulled it away. Cat looked up at Natasha with a mixture of betrayal and confusion. No food?

"Answer the question, and you can have it."

Cat scoffed. "That's not going to work on me."

"We'll see," Natasha said with an infuriating amount of certainty.

Cat worked her jaw. She crossed her arms and leaned back, defiant. Natasha stared back with an equal amount of fierceness. Cat's stomach growled painfully. It was loud enough so that even Natasha heard. She raised her eyebrows. Then, the smell of the takeout got to Cat.

"I tripped."

"You tripped."

"Yes."

"Try again."

"Fine. I got mugged." Cat lunged for the takeout box.

Natasha held it just out of reach, again. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused."

"Who mugged you?"

"How do you expect me to know? They weren't keen on doing icebreakers, and there wasn't enough time for me to run a facial recognition program."

"What did they want?"

Cat crossed her arms. "I thought you said I only had to answer one question. This seems like a lot more than one."

Natasha passed the takeout box to her. Cat started eating with a fervor. She was starting to feel a little full, but too full was better than too empty. She'd learned on the streets that she never knew when her next meal was going to be. If overeating to the point of throwing up meant she could spend another night without starving, that was what she was going to do.

Natasha got up and left, then came back with a first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas. She watched Cat wolf down the food with a horrified fascination.

"Slow down. You're scaring me."

Cat made a show of chewing for a long time before swallowing. The food in the takeout box was almost gone. She polished off the last bit, feeling satisfied for the first time in weeks. She started on the hot chocolate next, tipping the mug over until the last drop fell into her mouth.

Finally, she settled back into the chair with a sigh.

Natasha passed her the bag of frozen peas.

Cat stared at the bag of frozen peas. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Put it on your face, idiot."

Cat pressed it to the bruise on her face. She winced. "Ow."

"Don't be a baby. So, what did the muggers want?" Natasha repeated.

Cat sighed, long and drawn-out. Natasha had been awfully nice to her. She was lucky to be in a warm room with hot chocolate and takeout instead of shivering out in the cold. The least she could do was provide her with a little information.

"Money. They saw me give, like, twenty dollars to this Girl Scout, but it was pretty much the last of it. I kept telling them I didn't have any more, but you'd be surprised at how dumb they are."

"I'm not. How did you get away?"

Cat grinned. "Oh, funny story, actually. You know that guy, Spider-Man?"

"Sure. We've met a few times."

Cat gaped at her for a moment, having forgotten that Natasha was the Black Widow. She probably had met Spider-Man before. "You have?"

Natasha shrugged. "He's a good fighter. He's a bit of a talker, but a decent guy. We didn't really do the whole 'getting to know you' thing. We were mostly focused on trying to beat the crap out of Steve and his groupies."

Steve… Cat thought. Who was Captain America. Natasha was on a first name basis with Captain America— obviously— which was so cool.

"Yeah, anyway, Spider-Man swooped in and beat up all the muggers and stuck them on the wall. Then he swung me here. I asked him to autograph all my stuff so I could sell it."

"Hmm." Natasha moved the bag of peas from Cat's eye to see the bruise. "How hurt are you?"

Cat's ribs were aching, but she knew they weren't broken. Maybe bruised. It was mostly her face that was hurting, but the frozen peas had done a good job of numbing the area. "I'm fine. My ribs hurt a little, but—"

Without warning, Natasha reached out and prodded her side. Cat yelped, more shock than hurt, and thrust her hands up in front of her to defend herself.

"Jesus! Could you warn me before you do that?"

"Where does it hurt?" Natasha asked unapologetically.

"Just… like, around here."

Cat stayed stiff as Natasha pressed lightly against her ribs, examining them. "They're just bruised," she told her.

"Yeah, looks like it."

"You know, I could've told you that if you'd just asked instead of prodding me like some kind of lab rat."

Natasha straightened, looking her in the eye. She had an unnerving habit of doing that. Her piercing eyes were impossible to avoid. "So, tell me. What's your plan?"

"My plan?" Cat echoed.

Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Yes. Your plan for living on the streets, finding a job, feeding yourself, making sure you don't die. Unless you don't have one?"

"Of course I have a plan," Cat said, not wanting to admit that she did not, in fact, have any sort of plan. "I'm going to go to homeless shelters and the soup kitchens to get food. And I'm going to get a lot of canned food from pretending to be a Girl Scout. And I'll learn everything I need to know in the library— Don't make that face!"

Natasha's smirk reverted into a suspiciously convincing blank expression. "What face?"

"Like you think I'm some silly little kid who has no idea what she's doing. I'm really good at memorizing things. I could learn everything I need to learn in the library— You're making the face again!"

The second time, Natasha didn't bother to disguise her skepticism. "Yeah, because it's a crappy plan."

"It's not a crappy plan."

"Really? Then why'd you end up here, of all places?"

"Because I—"

"—had nowhere else to go?" Natasha finished.

She took Cat's sulky silence as an affirmation and plowed on.

"You don't have a consistent source of income. How do you expect to pay for things like new clothes, necessities, or literally anything you need to survive? You're also an easy target because you're young and you barely know how to defend yourself. You got mugged, which I promise will not be the worst situation you'll find yourself in, and you only just scraped by."

"I can defend myself," Cat protested. She thought she did a rather good job of fending herself off against the muggers, considering the circumstances. "I have a knife!" She grabbed it from the pocket of her jacket and pointed it at Natasha.

What happened next Cat almost couldn't explain in words. It happened so quickly. In one swift motion, Natasha lunged over the table and did something weird and uncomfortable with her arm, twisting and maneuvering it forcefully so that Cat's shoulder slammed down on the table. Cat glanced up, straining her neck, to see that the knife had made its way into Natasha's grip. It all happened in a matter of seconds. Cat could've blinked and missed it.

"What… the hell," she breathed. Also, ow. Her shoulder.

Natasha released her. Cat grabbed her shoulder, wincing. "Just because you have a knife doesn't mean you can defend yourself." She examined the knife distastefully. "This a kitchen knife."

"That wasn't fair," Cat grumbled. "You're the Black Widow. I stood no chance."

"So? You think a bunch of muggers are gonna go easy on you just because you're a little homeless girl? Haven't you've already learned that?"

Cat crossed her arms. "Okay, I get it. My plan is a crappy plan. It's not like you have a better one."

"Of course I do. I'll take you there myself."

All at once, alarm raced through her. Cat's feet slammed onto the ground. She pushed the chair away from the table with a loud screech and stood up. "You're not taking me to CPS."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I'm not. Sit down."

Cat lowered herself back in the chair cautiously. "Then where are you going to take me?"

"I own an apartment not far away from here. I barely use it, so you could crash there for the time being."

For several moments, Cat couldn't speak. "W-what?"

"What is it with you and making me repeat myself twice?" Natasha groused. "Did you not hear the first time?"

"I heard," Cat snapped, recovering quickly. "Does it have heating?"

"Yes."

"And a plumbing system?"

"Yes."

"And coffee?"

Natasha frowned. "Of course."

"And Fruit Loops?"

"No."

"Oh."

"I could get some Fruit Loops," Natasha offered.

"Thank you," Cat mumbled, staring into the distance. This was impossible, right? There was no way something this good could happen to her. Her attention snapped back to Natasha, who was still staring at her.

"Why are you helping me?" Cat demanded. "This isn't a trick, is it?"

"Are you always this paranoid?"

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Fair enough," Natasha admitted. "But you just have to trust me."

"I don't trust anyone," Cat said.

Something changed in Natasha's expression. Her eyes were faraway, looking into the distance. "You remind me of myself," she said. "I didn't want to rely on anyone either. But sometimes it's better to have people around you, people who are going to catch you when you fall."

Cat thought it was a bunch of bull. The more people she trusted, the more likely they could hurt or betray her.

"Anyway," Natasha continued briskly, abandoning her dreamy-eyed gaze, "you don't have any other choice. You can choose to go back in the streets and inevitably end up starving, poor, and out of options. Or, you could come with me."

"You promise you won't call CPS?"

"Sure."

That wasn't convincing enough for Cat. "I don't believe you."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "What, you want me to swear on a blood oath or something?"

That gave Cat an idea. She stuck out her pinky finger. "Pinky promise."

Natasha looked down at it. "This is hardly a legally binding contract."

"Pinky promise," Cat insisted. "The most unbreakable of promises."

Natasha linked her pinky with Cat's.

Cat nodded importantly. "The deed is done."

Natasha shook her head, bemused. "You're ridiculous."

Cat got to her feet. "So when are we leaving?"

"Slow down there, Turbo." Natasha got up as well and led her to the couch. Taco had noticed and followed them. "You look like you're about to kneel over. When was the last time you slept?"

When was the last time she'd slept? She honestly couldn't remember. "I don't know."

"Sleep first. Then we'll go."

"Okay," Cat agreed, too tired to argue. Her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and everything hurt. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. She laid down on the couch, resting her head on the arm rest. Taco jumped up and laid on her chest. It was a lot more comfortable than the chair she'd been tied to the first time she'd been here.

"Hey," she said with her eyes closed.

Natasha's voice came from a little to her left. "What?"

"Can you teach me how you did that knife thing?"

Cat didn't hear Natasha's response, because she was already drifting off to sleep.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think! Also my asks are open so feel free to drop anything there too!

[iluffyouxo]

𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚖𝚎

╰┈➤ 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚢𝚕 𝚍𝚒𝚡𝚘𝚗 𓆩♡𓆪

If I had stayed quiet longer, would you still have waited for me?

⋰⋰⋰⋰⋰

He caught her arm as she began to walk away. His eyes were pleading, but she quickly snatched her arm out of his steely grip. “No, Daryl. I can’t…you don’t get to look at me that way.”

What had he done so wrong to deserve a statement such as that? Daryl truly could not pinpoint where Bishop’s anguish stemmed from.

“An’ you don’ get to walk away,” his voice was strained, tight from the fear of crying.

Bishop turned to him, her stare cold as she gave an incredulous expression. “Can’t I? You’ve been running away for as long as I’ve known you.” Her voice was composed and tone full of poise; Glenn had taught Daryl long ago that his sister’s calmness was one to fear in these circumstances.

Daryl gulped thickly, “I have no idea what yer talkin’ ‘bout.” The lie seemed to escape him before he could fully comprehend his words.

He blinks stupidly. Bishop scoffs, “Are you serious?” Her laugh was scathing.

He was bewildered within her amusement—what exactly had been so funny? Bishop was quick to throw on her boots (she was beginning to grow jaded of the topic). She had to leave, get out and take a turn about the prison. She felt that if this conversation prolonged, the entire prison will hear them.

“Why did I think this would work…?” She questioned, herself mostly, as she walked towards the covered entrance of her cell. “I have to go.”

If Bishop seemed as if she could leave barefoot earlier, then now—with her shoes on—there was nothing stopping her from abandoning him. This would be his one and only chance to make up for his indifference (lest he wish for the treatment he’s bestowed upon her all this time).

“Bishop, ’m sorry. Please. I’m beggin’ you.”

She shook her head. This was becoming a bit too ridiculous. Especially for the end of the world. Duchess-Bishop Rhee pining after a man when she couldn’t even find something proper to eat that wasn’t spoiled or already tampered with. To say she was emotionally exhausted was a severe understatement.

“You’re only speaking like this now because of Glenn and Maggie.” He stayed quiet. Her words were true after all. Daryl couldn’t—or rather shouldn’t—argue the obvious.

Why had it taken her brother and his “wife” to get kidnapped by the Governor for Daryl to finally accept his feelings towards Bishop? “I’m pathetic.”

She still stood close to the doorway, a curt nod her only response. She was still ready to leave when the moment called for an immediate distance from him. For now the silent treatment didn’t seem completely necessary. However, her back still faced him. Daryl couldn’t tell what she was thinking as he continued.

“I’m pathetic,” he repeated. “I’m an idiot. I’m an asshole. I’m everythin’ yer thinkin’ right now.” He took a few steps forward, stepping light as to not startle her away. “I’ll be every bad guy in the book to ya, if only to make up for it.”

Bishop froze, having been lost in her own thoughts, Daryl’s words a hushed buzz in the back of her mind, and she looked up at the sound of footsteps closing in. She held her breath as she saw Rick carrying baby Judith through the almost sheer fabric of her black and red curtains. “I dunno what you are to me right now,” she finally managed to say once she felt Rick was out of earshot.

Daryl’s heart pounded loudly at her words (and he was damn certain she could hear it, too).

In his old life before the pandemic—before Bishop—Daryl was about the most unlovable asshole this side of the Chattahoochee River. Even Merle would get laid every now and again. But Daryl? He had only ever had a few kisses throughout his teens, and the girls would always regret it right afterwards.

Daryl had spent countless nights wondering if it was worth ignoring the obvious mutual affection between the two of them. Going mad over what exactly the most perfect woman he had ever met saw in an alley redneck like him.

He was truly confused about the attraction, and it caused him to withdraw, to become cold and distant.

Now he understood the consequences of his reaction. “‘M sorry I hurt you; I didn’ mean for it to affect ya like that. I was bein’ selfish.” Daryl didn’t want to lose her all because he couldn’t get it together.

Bishop finally turned to him, a small smile playing at her lips. “I know the world is fucked up right now. And if I lost you…I might lose my mind—“ Bishop gulped down her nerves, “—but I wanna try this with you. Right now.” She shrugs, holding back hot tears that threatened to fall and swayed in her eyes, “I like you Daryl. Quite a lot, actually.”

And, with teary eyes, she pulls him into a hug. “I won’t fault you for saying no. Just know that the offer still stands…and probably will for a long time.”

Before Daryl could react she’s pulled away and headed outside again, this time with a lighter air about her. “You’ll always get your way with me, Daryl Dixon.” A soft chuckle bounces throughout the room as Bishop finally leaves. Daryl is left to wonder once again how he ended up so lucky.

And left to ponder on the perfect way to ask the most perfect girl out.