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deanstead · 2 years

Text

News

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Requested: yes, by @caritobbg

Summary: Dean’s first news about Y/N after their fallout is not good news and everything else is thrown out the window as they rush to her, hoping to make it in time.

Square Filled: Hurt Feelings for #resa.3kfiestabingo

Word Count: 2K+

Warnings: canon-typical mentions of blood

A/N: I changed the request a little based on how I was able to envision/write it so I hope that’s okay, do let me know what you think! Special thanks to bestie @mertes4cker <3 Feels great to write for Dean again after a long break!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST

“So what, Dean? You’re telling me to give up?”

“I’m telling you to take a freaking step back and use your goddamn brains, Y/N! Instead of getting us all killed! Just like…”

Dean stopped and you looked up. He didn’t need to finish that sentence for you to know what he was going to say.

“Say it, Dean.”

“A stupid hunter is a dead hunter.”

“Like Mark? Or my parents? You know what, if I’m so stupid why do you bother keeping me around!” You turned to storm out.

“If you walk out that door, don’t you ever come back, you hear me, Y/N?”

You heard, but you kept walking.

You didn’t go back, and Dean didn’t call. Before you knew it, you’d been on the road for six months on your own, but everytime you thought about that night, or even the name Dean, it smarted and hurt. It hurt that the man you were in love with had said and thought those things about you.

But now, you glanced back down at the darkening pool of blood by your abdomen before you sunk to the ground.

You'd spent months tracking down the demon that had been responsible for the death of your parents but it seemed like an impossible task, until it wasn't. With no one's help, you'd managed to finally catch up to it except that you had absolutely no back up and no friends. And that's how you found yourself here now.

Dean had been right. You were an idiot.

You'd finally put that knife through the demon's heart, you'd killed it and exacted some form of revenge against him, but at what expense? You were now sitting in an abandoned building, leaning against a bunch of crates and probably going to die on your own - a realization that you'd had from the moment you'd first felt the knife the demon was carrying pierce through your skin while you fought with him, but it was already too late to back down. The price of revenge was death.

Maybe it was the blood loss as you sat there, cradling a wound in your side and feeling the blood leave your body that made you fumble for your phone with one hand and press the last number you could call.

Bobby glanced up at Dean who was wolfing down a burger while Sam sat next to him, flipping through a research book.

"Exactly how long are you boys planning to…"

Bobby was interrupted by his phone ringing and he headed to answer it, acutely aware that it was his personal cell.

"Bobby?" Your voice reached his ears immediately, the moment he'd answered the call and Bobby frowned.

"Y/N?" Bobby asked, not missing the way that Dean's eyes shot up, although he pretended that it didn't as he averted his eyes almost immediately, looking away from Bobby and looking around the room again.

Your voice was weak, which only made Bobby more concerned. "I did it. I killed the son of a bitch. But… I don't think I'm... going to make it. I just wanted… I wanted to t-tell you… thank you. Thank y-you for everything."

Bobby was the father figure you'd needed in the aftermath of losing your parents and honestly, you couldn't have asked for anything more.

"Where are you, Y/N? Give me something, coordinates, a city or building name. Give me something." Bobby said, his voice a little strained.

You mumbled the coordinates that you'd followed to get here in the first place. "You're not going to make it. Just… w-wanted you to know…" You took another breath, trying to breathe through the pain. "…that you were like a... a father to me."

"Listen, we're going to head there now. Alright?" Bobby said quietly.

He could hear the smile in your voice. "Listen, can you tell Dean and Sam something for me?" There was a pause before you continued. "Just tell Sam that... that he was the older brother I'd always d-dreamed to have. And tell... tell Dean that... I didn't mean anything I said and that I… I love him. Always have... always will." Your voice was coming out in short breaths.

Bobby's eyes flicked to the Winchesters. Sam was paying full attention like he'd already figured something was wrong, while Dean looked like he was trying not to look interested.

"We'll be right there, don't… You're going to be fine, kiddo."

Bobby hung up the phone and glanced back at the Winchesters. Sam was already on his feet. "That was Y/N, wasn't it? What's wrong?"

"Listen, she…"

Dean put the plate he was holding down with a thud and glanced up. "It's none of our business. I told her not to come back if she left and she left anyway. I'm not…"

"You stupid idiot!" Bobby let out the outburst, stunning both Dean and Sam. "Well, boohoo, I'm sorry your feelings were hurt! I thought I pounded this into you years ago! Family, Dean. Family. Right now, the girl who just confessed her dying love for you to me on the phone is alone and bleeding out somewhere so get off your ass and get moving!"

Dean froze. "What?"

Sam glanced at his older brother. "Come on, Dean. Let's go."

Throughout the whole journey towards the coordinates that you'd given Bobby, Dean was quiet. Sam didn't say anything, although he glanced at Dean a little more than he usually did.

Dean barely noticed, absolutely preoccupied with the thoughts flying around in his mind.

He'd never meant for you to disappear from their lives. Never. The fight still made his stomach churn with regret every time he thought about it - anytime he looked in his rearview mirror and saw the empty backseat. Or when he'd found something of yours somewhere in his car when he was least expecting it.

All he'd been trying to do was protect you, but he'd failed miserably at it, pushing you further away, hurting you by bringing up the death of a hunter at a hunt gone wrong when it hadn't been your fault, and now he didn't feel any better knowing that he had a part to play for the fact you were bleeding out by yourself somewhere.

The only consolation Dean got was that the coordinates were not far. They'd be able to get to you in time. He'd make sure of it.

Sam glanced at Dean again, but Dean just pressed harder on the accelerator, pushing Baby forward.

The place was quiet and empty when Dean pulled up outside the building all of ten minutes later.

Sam put a hand on his gun as he climbed out, but Dean was already heading in, Bobby bringing up the rear.

They didn't have a lot of time but that didn't mean they could be careless, so Dean glanced around cautiously even though he didn't slow down at all.

Thankfully, there were no surprises waiting for them and Dean spotted you almost immediately, your body slumped against one of the corners, your eyes closed.

"Y/N!"

Dean held his gun by his side but raced towards you, getting to his knees so he could check you out.

There was blood everywhere, spilling out of your abdomen, on the ground next to you, smeared across your hands from where you trying to apply pressure on your wound.

"Y/N, wake up. You with me? Y/N!" Dean raised his voice louder, his voice echoing against the walls as Sam and Bobby watched helplessly.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you paused, like you weren’t quite sure if you were seeing things.

A small smile fluttered across your face. “Huh.” You breathed, amused that you’d hallucinate about Dean right before you took your last breath.

“Y/N.” Dean’s breath came out like a sigh, a mix of relief that you were awake that was overshadowed with the worry that you really might not make it.

“Dean?” You felt the uncertainty that this was more than just a hallucination shake you.

Dean nodded. “It’s me. Alright? We’re going to…” Dean’s voice trailed off, his attention once again taken by the sheer amount of blood pooling out of your wound and he hastily pulled his jacket off, reaching forward to press his balled up jacket against your wound even though he knew it wouldn’t do much good.

“Dean, I… I…”

“Shh, it’s okay.” Dean reached for one of your hands and squeezed it. “You stay with me, alright? We’re gonna patch you up, you’re going to be fine.”

Dean could feel the fear start to pulsate through him, the real possibility of your life literally slipping through his fingers dangling right in front of him. “We gotta get you to a hospital.”

“Dean.” Sam interrupted for the first time, as he bent next to you, opposite from Dean.

“Hey squirt.” Sam said affectionately, putting a gentle hand against your head.

You gave him a small smile and Sam turned towards Dean now, talking in a low voice as if you couldn't hear every word. “We can’t move her. Bobby’s calling an ambulance as we speak but…”

Dean knew what Sam was telling him, in not so many words. Moving you could shorten whatever time you had left, but what else were they supposed to do?

Dean glanced back at you and then at Sam. “So what, we’re just going to let her bleed out?”

Sam didn’t answer and you turned to look back at Dean. “It’s… okay. D, I… I’m sorry.”

Dean frowned and Sam quietly excused himself, leaving you with Dean while he headed out towards Bobby.

“No, don’t do this, Y/N. Do not give up on me.” Dean said, his voice low but soft and even in the state you were in, you could hear his voice crack a little. “You’re supposed to continue to argue with me, fight with me, make up with me. Don’t leave me, Y/N.”

Your eyes welled up with tears. “I love you, D. Always have.” The energy leaked out of your voice. “Always will.” You whispered.

“No. No, Y/N. Please just a while longer. I haven’t told you I’m sorry. I haven’t told you I… I love you. Don’t…”

Your eyes fluttered shut, just as there was a flutter of wings.

“Dean.”

Dean’s head snapped back around. “Cas, do something. Anything. Now.”

Castiel didn’t say anything just reached down, putting his hand over your abdomen as his hand glowed.

Dean didn’t even have the presence of mind to snap at Castiel for just getting here, even though he'd been praying all the way down here.

As the glow from Castiel’s healing powers died down, Dean glanced back at you, where you lay motionless. It was too late. You…

Dean felt like he couldn’t breathe, the pressure on his chest as heavy as if he was lying under a car. He couldn’t…

Your fingers closed around a few of Dean’s again, your eyes opening slowly, just staring back at Dean.

“Y/N…” Dean exhaled your name.

You glanced at Castiel. “Cas.”

Castiel just gave you a small smile. “I’m glad I got here in time.”

You looked back at Dean, seeing a range of emotions swimming in those green eyes of his along with unmistakable tears and you sighed. “Dean, if you’re still mad, I…”

Dean just pushed himself forward, never mind the blood surrounding you both on the ground and on your clothes, pressing his lips against yours gently in a tender kiss, the tears slipping down his face and onto yours.

“D…” You whispered, as he pulled away now.

Dean just smiled gently. “As long as you’re back.” He whispered. “I need you to argue with me for a long time more.”

You smiled and nodded. “If you’ll have me.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” Dean whispered back, before Sam and Bobby came running in again. Sam sighed in relief to see Castiel standing there, before he headed towards you and pulled you into a hug.

“Welcome back.” Sam whispered, his hand cradling the back of your head affectionately as Bobby just smiled at his kids.

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF THIS!!

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Character taglists are open!

#resa.3kfiestabingo #resa.fics #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #resanoona request #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester imagine #spn #supernatural #spn x reader #spn imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #spn x you #spn x y/n

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crissiebaby · 10 months

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Squish Game: Ch. 1-3 (Patreon Preview)

DISCLAIMER: This Patreon exclusive series contains diaper usage, hypnosis, pants wetting, mental regression, masturbation/diaper sex, sissification, bondage, violence, strong language, and other ABDL themes. I hope you enjoy!

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PROLOGUE

Sweat dripped down Aaron’s forehead as he kept his legs locked. He’d taken a number of stupid bets over the years, but this one was certainly something. In the room with him were eleven other adults, each with the exact same goal that he had.

To keep their diapers clean...

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It all started at the race track, where much of Aaron’s misfortune often originated. With a scrap of paper clutched in his hands, he hung his head low as the horse he’d bet on blew a staggering lead.

And with that, Aaron was completely out of money. With nothing in his bank account and his credit cards maxed out, he was flat broke. And he knew he needed to get out of town as quickly as he could. He stood up to make his exit but was instantly stopped by two muscular dudes in black suits. He gulped, hoping whatever misery he was about to be put through would, at the very least, be swift.

The two men escorted Aaron through a series of dingy corridors that descended underneath the race track. He could feel his heart beating in his throat. He didn’t know what was better, to try and make a break for it now, or to be patient and see if he could find an opening later. Craning his head back, he knew he was no match for the two beefy boys who kept his walking pace brisk. Besides, squirming his way out of hairy situations was one of his best, if not one of his only, skills. His patience was an asset he couldn’t afford to lose.

The three men finally arrived at a set of double doors where two more Greek gods were standing by. Dutifully, the men grabbed their respective door handles and ushered Aaron and his escorts into the grand space.

Despite the crummy-looking hallways, Aaron was shocked to find a decadent and sophisticated space. And at the center of it was Talin, a man Aaron owed a lot of money to, along with several other well-dressed, rich white guys. Talin raised his glass towards Aaron, “Welcome Aaron, my boy. My friends and I were just talking about you.” said Talin, snapping his fingers. The bodyguards responded, grabbing Aaron’s arm and forcing him down to his knees directly in front of one of the most powerful bosses in all of LA. The intimidating, middle-aged man rested a hand on Aaron’s shoulder, “Listen, my boy. I heard what happened, and that’s a bitter loss. But a loss is a loss, all the same. Now, you and I both know you can’t pay off all that green.”

Aaron felt as though he might start crying. The kind tone Talin was taking did nothing to ease his nerves. He thought about trying to beg or argue but knew neither of those options would likely be fruitful. Instead, he looked him square in the eye and said, “No, I c-can’t.” He tried to keep his voice steady, but couldn’t help but stutter slightly. It was obvious he was scared, but at least he wouldn’t go out groveling.

Talin cackled, “See, I told you, boys, that he was a keeper. Loyal, honest-”

“Not lucky, though” interrupted one of the other gentlemen at the table to an abundance of laughter.

Aaron flushed, not happy to be mocked for his misfortune like this. He moved to stand up, but Talin rested a hand on his shoulder, keeping him down. He lowered his head. After betting the skin off his body for years, and it was time to pay the piper.

“Oh, Aaron, don’t look so down. And my friend here couldn’t be more wrong. Today is your lucky day in fact,” said Talin, causing Aaron’s ears to perk up, “I will not only forgive you of your entire outstanding debt, but you can also win both of us outrageous sums of money.”

The piper could wait another day. Aaron quickly spoke, “I’ll do it!”

The rich guys all laughed again, finding much humor and how desperate Aaron was. Talin, however, silenced them all by slamming his fist down on the table. He turned to glare at all of them, each one avoiding eye contact. He then turned to Aaron and smiled warmly, “That’s excellent, my boy. Now listen to me very carefully, the game you will be playing has a cost. If you win, you will be set for life. But, if you lose...your life will belong to someone else. Knowing this, do you still wish to proceed?

Aaron caught on to how purposefully vague Talin was being. Clearly, there was something more, if not life-threatening, that Talin was leaving out, but asking for him to elaborate was likely to be a non-starter. All he knew was that his refusal would mean his demise, so what choice did he really have? Uncertain, but determined to find a way out of this, he nodded his head.

“Boys, we have our champion,” announced Talin, causing quite the uproar of cheering from the poker table. He snapped his fingers again. The same two bodyguards came up and grabbed onto Aaron’s arms, lifting him up and leading him toward another corridor.

With how fast everything was coming at Aaron, his anxiety had shattered through the rooftop and was well on its way to the moon by this point. He turned back just before the door closed behind him, seeing Talin waving goodbye to him with a toothy grin.

Aaron was once again in the catacombs of the race track, as this hallway seemed almost grosser than the last. At least the walk wasn’t near as long. He promptly arrived at a dull pink door. Sounds of voices chatting and giggling could be heard through the door, all of them very feminine. One of the bodyguards knocked and three waited in awkward silence.

When the door opened, Aaron was greeted by a very large and voluptuous woman, who seemed nearly a full foot taller than him, despite the fact that he was over six feet tall. Despite the multiple muffled voices, she seemed to be the only one in the room. She smiled down at him with greedy, red eyes. Her lusciously painted lips parted, “Did you boys bring me a new toy to play with? Hmmm…” She grabbed Aaron’s hairless chin, turning his head back and forth. “She will do just fine.”

“She?” Aaron took a step back but could go no further with the two bodyguards boxing him in. They shoved him forward directly into the well-endowed woman and closed the door behind him. If he wanted to back out, it was already too late.

Looking at his new surroundings, Aaron was quickly overwhelmed by how pink and plush everything was. The wall and flooring were all fuzzy and pink. The only furniture in sight was a single armchair in the center of the room, perhaps the only thing that wasn’t pink, as it was instead black leather.

“Welcome, darling. My name is Ms. Blair Blankanship, but you will refer to me as Mistress. Is that understood?” said Mistress with an authoritative, yet radiant voice. Her words were like butter, smooth and creamy, entering Aaron’s ears in the most delightful way. And yet, her sultry voice had nothing on her body. If he wasn’t such a nervous wreck right now, the sight of her alone may have been enough to cause a boner. She was thicker than a snicker in the best of ways. And that said nothing about her wardrobe, with her tight black pencil skirt and silky white blouse with match paired perfectly with her blood-red lips.

Aaron was so entranced by the woman’s beauty that he completely forgot to answer her for several seconds, before muttering out, “Oh, um, yes!”

“Oh my, such a timid little thing. Don’t worry, after a week you’ll be just like all the other girls here,” said Mistress, giving him a coy smile. She grabbed him by the arm and brought him to the chair in the center of the room.

For the second time, Aaron had been dubbed the incorrect gender. This time, he spoke up, gesturing to his obviously male appearance, “Um, there seems to be a little confusion. I’m not a girl. I’m a b-”

*SMACK!*

Mistress’s hand collided with Aaron’s right cheek. The sound it made reverberated throughout the entire space. He had no time to recover before she grabbed onto his face again, much rougher than the last time, “You listen here, Arabella, and you listen well. Once you stepped through that door, the “b” word was erased from your vocabulary. Use it again in my presence and there will be severe consequences.”

Aaron sealed his lips shut. He never thought of himself as particularly obedient, but he couldn’t find it in him to stand up to his captors. Not wanting to find out what Mistress meant by “severe consequences,” he groveled, “I’m so sorry...M-Mistress.”

Returning to her neutral smile, Mistress eased Aaron back into the cushy chair. She then took his arms and tied them down, followed by his legs. Lastly, she grabbed his hair and pulled him back so that she could lock his neck in place, forcing him to stare straight forward.

“Now,” Mistress whispered into his ear. Well, what do you know? It was possible to pop a boner under immense stress. Her teeth clicked as she continued, “I want you to be a big brave girl and keep your eyes nice and wide.” She gave him a kiss on the cheek, before taking her leave. As she walked through the same door he’d entered through, she pulled a remote from her pocket and pressed the big red button that had been lovingly placed in its center, “I’ll see you when you wake up, cutie.”

The furry pink wall in front of Aaron began to rise, revealing itself to be a curtain instead. Stationed behind it was a large, empty glass orb perched on a pedestal so it was perfectly at eye level.

Aaron pulled against the restraints, finding them much too secure to be muscled out of. He was well and truly trapped. Defying Mistress’s words, he closed his eyes.

Meanwhile, as the curtain reached the ceiling, the glass orb began to fill with a glowing pink gas. The lights around the room dimmed down, causing the smoke to shine even brighter. As the glass container finished filling, the magenta haze began to spin in a clockwise pattern. The centrifugal force of the spinning smoke generated an undeniable heat, much like a lightbulb would. It was a mesmerizing sight had Aaron’s eyes been open.

“Aaron, you’re making Mistress very sad when you don’t listen to her orders,” Mistress’s voice came through a speaker embedded in the chair, “Don’t you want to make Mistress happy? It feels so good to make Mistress happy. All you have to do is open your eyes, and then Mistress can show you just how happy I can make you feel.”

Aaron could feel his resolve waning. Something was off about this whole thing, but it wasn’t like he was going anywhere. Plus, the last thing he needed was to piss this woman off and lose his chance of absolving his debt. He clenched his fist and unclenched his eyes, allowing them to gaze at the pink spectacle.

It was beautiful, radiant, and bold. The color felt so...uniquely feminine. Was this what being a girl felt like? It was so warm and inviting and friendly. He felt like he could watch the smoke turn in that glass case for hours.

In fact, Aaron was so captivated by the glowing pink fog that he had absolutely no idea how much time was passing. Seconds turned into minutes turned into hours with no differentiation between them. His consciousness was so locked that he didn’t realize when he started to wet his pants, soaking his jeans, as well as the leather seat, in his fresh urine. And with the way the clock was moving, it was as if no time had passed when he felt himself go again, and again. After a few instigated accidents, his wetting problem turned into a messing one, as he began to ruin his pants in a far more embarrassing way.

However, in spite of the raging humiliation he should’ve been feeling, he hadn’t even noticed anything wrong. His mind was so deep in trance that nothing, not even a kick to the groin, would pull him out of it.

The speakers came to life again, with Mistress’s silky smooth voice ringing in Aaron’s ears once more, “You’ve done so well, Arabella. Your Mistress is so proud of you.”

Aaron could feel a bizarre sense of gratification from Mistress’s praise. He cooed and moaned, feeling himself growing aroused by her unyielding approbation. “Go ahead and reward yourself sweetie, and once you’re done, you will fall into a deep, deep sleep.”

“R-reward myself?” said Aaron, his voice monotone, despite how excited he was to be earning a reward so soon. He was clamoring to know what it would be. Suddenly, his arm restraints were freed, but not his legs, causing even more confusion.

“Go on, pleasure yourself to my voice, Arabella. Let my words bring you to a climax.”

That was all Aaron needed to hear. His hands instantly closed in on his urine-drenched pants. He didn’t bother with unbuckling his belt or removing his pants, instead choosing to unzip the hole in his jeans to pull his dick through. With only piss to lubricate, he furiously masturbated as his Mistress continued to speak in his ear.

“That’s right. Very good. You’re so big. Much too big to be my little sissy. Don’t worry, we’re gonna change all of that after you are fast asleep. Won’t that be nice?” “Yes!” shouted Aaron, as he was mounting toward a climax unlike anything he’d ever felt before. And it was all for her. For Mistress. For his Mistress. Thinking those words only added to the euphoria that was wrecking his body. His hands and feet were twitching with ecstasy.

Letting out a high-pitched, feral squeal, Aaron ejaculated, sending several helpings of gooey sperm onto the floor. However, unlike his normal orgasms, this one didn’t seem to be dying down. His penis kept spitting out spunk at an alarming rate. He clawed against the leather seat and thrust his hips in the air as his balls emptied out completely. He collapsed in his messy pants, fully drained of both energy and cum.

As Aaron started to drift off following his life-changing climax, he fell back against the chair and zoned out like a complete space cadet, not that he minded. Mistress was so satisfied with him and that thought made his heart flutter. He couldn’t wait to bring her even greater joy in the future.

As the curtain shuttered, so did Aaron’s eyes, ushering him into a deep sleep. Mistress, along with three other women, entered once the room was accessible again from a secret entrance hidden behind a different curtain. All of them giggled viciously. One of the girls, Elissa, nudged Mistress, “It’s not fair, Blair Bear! Why do you always get the cute ones?”

“Yeah,” said Deborah, Elissa’s loyal minion. She sniffed the air and covered her nose in an exaggerated manner, “Woof! And he’s a messy one too! I can never make their pants brown on the first try!”

The third girl, Miley, ran up and hugged Mistress, “Oh shush, Debby! You’re just jealous that Ms. Blair is just that good.”

“What did you say?” asked Deborah in a threatening voice.

Mistress stepped in between all of them, breaking up a fight in the making. “Girls, girls, this is not the time to be caddy with each other. Arabella here makes twelve,” she said, the other girl’s faces lighting up with anticipation. She smirked, her lips curling into an evil smile, “Looks like we’re ready for the games to begin.”

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ROUND 1, PART 1

The dimmed fluorescent lights that lined the ceiling of a large room powered on fully, their harsh light designed to pierce the sleeping eyelids of those under its heavy beams.

Aaron’s eyes cracked open. He instantly rolled to his side to take cover from the blinding light, barely registering the fact that he was unable to close his thighs together. He didn’t care, he just wanted to go back to sleep...wait...why couldn’t close his legs?

Aaron’s eyes opened once more, only this time he was aided by his accelerated heartbeat, which was thumping like a bass drum. His hands slowly shifted beneath the sheets. It was only when he made contact with the bulky plastic surrounding his pelvis that he noticed the pink bars that lined the mattress he was lying in. Putting two and two together, there was only one possible answer.

Sitting up and ripping the plush blankets off of himself, Aaron was horrified to find that his only attire was an enormous white diaper and a t-shirt. The pink and white baseball shirt fit him comfortably and had the number “12” written on its front and back. He instantly moved to rip the diaper off, but as he did, he suddenly stopped. He wanted to take it off, he really did. But, something in his brain wouldn’t let him.

Looking around the room, Aaron saw he wasn’t alone in this predicament. Set up in a circle were eleven other cribs with other men and women inside, each dressed identically to how he was, only the numbers on their shirts ranged from 1 to 11. He opened his mouth to speak, “Heya! Hewwo-”

Aaron stopped talking, in utter disbelief at the sounds that came out of his mouth. He tested his voice again, “Whas appenin...whas wong wit ma voish?!” No matter what he did or what way he held his jaw, he couldn’t get anything to come out of his mouth without a babyish speaking affect.

Several others in the room turned to look at him, each with varying degrees of empathy and apathy. One girl in the crib next to Aaron with the number “11” written on her shirt took pity on him. “Ish nod jus you. We don kno-wa whas goin on,” she said, blushing at the adorable kiddy lisp she was forced to speak with.

Suddenly, a loud alarm not unlike a school bell rang throughout the room. The last two people who were asleep were startled awake by the noise. Simultaneously, the bars of all twelve cribs descended. Yet, once the cribs were all the way open, no one dared move a muscle.

Aaron looked back and forth around the room, confused as to why no one wanted to be the first to leave. He decided to make the first move, scooting himself toward the edge and hopping down to the plushy, foam-covered floor. Everyone else in the room gasped as if waiting for something bad to happen.

Quickly scanning the room, Aaron discovered finally allowing himself to get a better sense of his surroundings. Scattered all throughout the room were items and furniture pieces that one would usually find in a nursery. Combined with the crib and diaper he woke up in, it wasn’t a very far-fetched assessment, no matter how bizarre it was that a baby nursery was scaled up for adults.

As Aaron searched, he could only find one exit in the form of the large door that lined one wall of the nursery. Without thinking, he rushed over to the oversized entryway, waddling a bit with each step. It took a few seconds to get the hang of, but it wasn’t all that hard to move. He remembered his days in football, wearing bulky, padded clothing and bending his knees to balance his center.

The giant metal door was painted sky blue with white, clouds scattered across it. There was no handle or lever or anything. All Aaron could do was bang at the door and hope someone would be able to hear, “Hewwo!!!! Hewp ush!!!!”

One by one, the others stood up, each working on their own methods of finding an escape. Some joined Aaron at the door, with the idea of creating as much noise as possible. A few others started feeling around the walls, looking for a secret door or passage. Only Eleven stayed seated while everyone tried to escape.

After getting exhausted from banging on the door, Aaron turned his attention to the lone girl still inside her crib. She was small and petite with large eyes. Compared to his oafish appearance, she looked far cuter in her diaper than he did, though it wasn’t likely she should appreciate that sentiment. “Hey,” he said, leaning against the bars of her crib, “We cood use yo hewp ta-”

“I’b fine, tank you,” said Eleven, keeping her eyes trained on the door as if waiting for someone. Timidly, her eyes darted over to Aaron, looking him up and down. She sighed and muttered quietly, “An if you smart, you wiww ged back in da cwib.”

Aaron was more than a little puzzled by the girl’s response, but he got the hint. She had zero interest in talking to anyone. He looked to his crib, considering what the girl had told him, and then back towards the door, which might as well have been another wall with how unlikely they were to get it open. Regardless, he couldn’t justify sitting and waiting for help. To hell with hiding in the crib. He was going to get out of here.

However, just as Aaron was about to return to the metal door, another alarm went off, freezing everybody in place. The door slowly began to rise, forcing anyone nearby to back up. Standing on the other side with enormous smirks on their faces were 12 tall, gorgeous women, one of whom was the woman Aaron only knew as Mistress. Behind the girls was a team of slightly shorter women dressed in nurse’s uniforms.

The tallest of all the women stepped forward from the group and peered around at all the diaper babies. “Well, ladies, it looks to me like we have a lot of troublemakers who should know better than to leave their cribs on their own,” she said with an authoritative voice. She then walked up to the man with a “1” on his back and picked him up with ease. The other ladies followed suit, going after their various Littles.

“Aww, such a good baby! Mommy knew she made the right choice when she found you,” said the woman who was lifting Eleven out of her crib, “No punishment for you!”

P-Punishment?! Aaron did not like the sound of that. Since he hadn’t seen Mistress come to get him yet, he quickly ran over to his crib with the intention of jumping inside, hoping that no one noticed his sly maneuver. Sadly, just as he was climbing back in, he felt a hand on his shoulder, followed shortly by an eerily familiar voice, “It’s lovely to see you again, Aaron.”

All at once, Aaron felt his heart dissolve. He had no idea how to explain it, but Mistress’s voice and touch brought him such euphoric levels of joy. Meanwhile, his conscious brain actively fought against these invading thoughts. He slowly turned to make eye contact with the fiercely intimidating woman. She looked around at all of the other women who were far too busy with their own babies to worry about what she was up to. She pressed her finger to her lips, signaling Aaron to stay quiet as she lifted him up and cooed, “Hehe! I knew you’d make Mistress so proud by staying in your crib! Looks like there will be no punishment for you!”

Aaron breathed a sigh of relief. He hated to admit it, but it wasn’t just his physical body that was in Mistress’s hands, it was his entire life. He needed to trust her for now. At least she appeared moderately on his side by getting him out of punishment. He looked to all the other women, who were forming a single-file line in front of a small, pop-up table set out by the nurses.

Mistress walked over to stand out of line with her “good baby,” allowing Aaron to see exactly what the punishment was. It was a hardy serving of castor oil. He felt his gag reflex kick in out of sympathy, thankful he didn’t have to stomach what ten of his fellow prisoners did.

Still, thinking about the others reminded him that there was one other person who had managed to avoid punishment. Aaron craned his neck to look at Eleven, watching as her caretaker bounced the diaper-clad girl in her arms and babbled baby talk to her in her ear. How did she know to stay in the crib? While he and the others were clueless, she seemed to have advanced knowledge of what was going to happen.

Aaron’s musings were cut off as the final dose of castor oil was handed out. The lead woman once again returned to the mic, wearing a far warmer smile than before, “Hello everyone, my name is Dom, and these are my lovely Mistresses. For most of you, you have not experienced what happens to those who act out, who misbehave, or who disobey. In order to win, you must prove you’re the most mature baby in this room, and ten of you are not off to great starts.

“Win?” muttered Aaron, before realizing that idle thought was not silent. He instantly covered his mouth when he realized he’d managed to draw Dom’s attention. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he prayed he would not have to endure her wrath due to his small outburst.

Luckily, Dom only giggled at his one-worded question. “Yes, number 12, that is correct. You all were brought here for one reason. To play our game and to win,” she said, before turning her attention back to everyone else, “All of you have debts that you cannot pay off. Your lives before entering this room were already forfeit. That’s why we want to give you either the chance for redemption or at least the chance to start anew. The winner of this game will receive a handsome reward. Your debts will be paid off in full. Additionally, you will receive twelve million dollars to restart your life with, one million for every player in this room.

Audible gasps echoed throughout the room. Aaron couldn’t believe his ears. All he had to do was win some stupid game and he’d finally get out from under his gambling debt? It was almost too good to be true. It was definitely no trick though, as she soon brought forth a briefcase, opening it to show off the potential winnings.

Dom, however, was nowhere near finished with her speech. She smirked as continued, knowing she already held these penniless babies by the balls, “For the eleven of you who fail to win, you will be given a brand new life as a newborn baby slave. You will never be allowed to return to your old lives again. You will instead remain in this facility until someone purchases you, either for personal use or to be auctioned. At which point, you will have been perfectly trained to be the most obedient and adorable baby girl that you can be.”

The excitement in the room quickly died down. Aaron could feel his heart racing. He’d played with some serious stakes before, but this was something else. None of that mattered right now, though. The thought of what awaited him if he tried to refuse to play had far worse odds than 1 in 12.

Smiling, Dom finished her announcement, “Welcome to this year’s Squish Game!”

-------------------------------------------------------------

ROUND 1, PART 2

“Welcome to this year’s Squish Game! We’re excited to have you with us! You’re assigned Mistresses will now prepare you for the first round of the game. And I know you will all do your best to be good, obedient Littles!” With her finishing words, Dom and her Mistresses got to work. Aaron’s Mistress picked him up and carried him over to one of the twelve changing tables. His was clearly marked with a big 12 written in pink numbers that perfectly matched his shirt.

Mistress propped Aaron up onto the table, taking a deep breath, “Okay, Aaron, I know this is going to sound weird...but you need to use your diaper.”

“I’b sowwy...w-whad?” stuttered Aaron, pretending not to be certain what Mistress had just said to him. In actuality, he knew exactly what she’d asked him to do. She wanted him to...he didn’t even want to think about it.

And Mistress was no fool. She could see by his expression how apprehensive her request made him. She placed her hands on his shoulders. “This is it, Aaron. This is the only change you’re gonna get until the end of the round. The last thing you want right now is to have anything inside of you.”

Aaron looked down at his diaper, dreading every second of this as he motioned for Mistress to lift him off of the table. “Sho, whas da gamb? Ho-wa do I win?” he asked, hoping to have some motivation for what he was about to do.

Mistress could only shake her head in response, “I’m sorry, Aaron. I’ve probably already said too much.” She placed her arms on two corners of the changing table and looked away.

It took Aaron a second to realize what she was doing. She was giving him as much privacy as she could to do his business. Glancing at the other teams, they all appeared to be doing something similar. Despite how grim a lot of this shit was, at least the Mistresses didn’t seem overtly cruel, with one glaring exception. Dom had her Little squatting on top of the changing table, barking at him to fill his pampers, much to his humiliation. The poor dude kept looking around the room at everyone frantically, his eyes begging for others to turn away.

Aaron was happy to oblige, knowing he had his own problems to worry about. He bent his knees a bit more to get into a squatting position. He squinted his eyes, assuming after decades of potty training that his body wouldn’t be able to get anything out. Much to his shock, his body instantly started to pee like nothing was wrong. He stopped, recoiling from how easy it was to let go.

Mistress giggled at his reaction, “Did Aaron already forget? We had such a lovely introductory session too. You’ll find it’s not very hard to get past all those pesky mental hurdles so you can use your diaper whenever you want!”

Needless to say, Aaron wasn’t exactly thrilled by this development, but at least it made it easier for him to use his diaper when he needed to. He sighed and let himself resume his urination. He blushed hard as his diaper grew moist and yellow, which unfortunately wasn’t the only thing that was hard. Inside his progressively swelling pampers was an unexplainable erection that seemed to very much enjoy the squishy confines of his diaper. He pressed against himself to stuff his stiffy between his legs, but the diaper was far too thick to pull off that maneuver. All he ended up doing was fondling himself, which only served to turn him on even more.

*PFFFFFFFF!*

“Eeep!” yelped Aaron as he farted loudly for all in the room to hear. His stream once again stopped, though at least he’d managed to nearly empty his bladder. He now had a new problem. He had to poop. It wasn’t desperate yet, but given an hour or so, it could be.

Covering her mouth to stifle her laughter, Mistress did her best to be respectful in spite of Aaron’s comical reaction. “Sounds like someone needs to go number two!” She patted him on the back, knowing her affirmation would make him feel better thanks to the triggers that had been planted in his brain.

Defying the warm feeling in his heart from Mistress’s gentle pats, Aaron shook his head no. Peeing himself was one thing, but he’d be damned if he was going to shit himself.

Mistress, however, had other ideas. She placed her arms around his waist, pulling him close and whispering into his ear, “Hehe! Sorry, Aaron. You’ll thank me later.”

Aaron had no time to react before Mistress crushed his tummy within her tightening hug. He squirmed as the newly applied pressure sent new, confusing signals throughout his body. Normally, he’d have no problem holding his composure from a heavy embrace, but for some reason, it was like his sphincter had been activated by the aggressive mama bear hug he was receiving. He clinched with everything he had, but it was no use. His eyes went wide.

*BLOOOOOOOOOORRRRT*

Unable to form any words, Aaron could only mumble out incoherent babble as he filled his diaper with almost no control. Even worse was the strange reaction that the mushy mess was having on his body. It felt like he got even harder after muddying his butt. He hated the way it oozed around in the back of his nappy...so why did it turn him on so goddamn much?!

Mistress was quick to notice this phenomenon occurring and decided to take matters into her own hands. She carefully grabbed onto the front of his diaper, slowly encircling the padding around his phallus. “Uh oh, looks like widdwe Aaron is getting all excited,” she said as she began to pump her hand up and down.

Aaron’s knees went weak. He couldn’t find it in him to fight back. It felt too good to want it to stop. Any thought of how disgusted he should be was replaced in less than a millisecond by the overwhelming pleasure he was experiencing. An ungodly screech escaped his lips as he unloaded his spunk into his nappy, playing right into Mistress’s hand.

As Aaron jizzed in his pampers, Mistress pressed her other hand into the back of his diaper, smushing his own filth against his backside. This was her cherry on top. She wanted to make sure that Aaron associated his wonderful climax with the messy diaper he was stuck in. She spoke into his ear, “Oh wow, I’ve never had a sissy baby so eager before! Did Mistress do a good job?”

“Ahhh...uh-huh..” was all Aaron could muster the strength to say. He rested his weight into Mistress’s arms, feeling oddly content. He could get used to-NO! “Gah...wha...did I-”

A cruel snicker sent chills throughout Aaron’s spine as Mistress lifted his noodle-like body onto the table. “From now on, you’ll find that, after a climax, your mind and body are as loose and docile as a newborn baby. You must have a strong will to break through the mental effects so quickly,” she said, complimenting his resiliency.

Aaron couldn’t care less about the flattery at this present. He would’ve been scowling had his eyes not been so droopy. If only it were just his eyes. Try as he might, he couldn’t seem to will his body to move whatsoever. It was like he was completely paralyzed. “Wha...c-can’d I...mobe…” he mumbled, still panting heavily.

“Because you’re under hypnotic trance, silly billy. Remember?” said Mistress, sweetly, yet coldly at the same time. She chuckled, “I just told you mere minutes ago. Maybe I gave your baby brains too much credit.”

Blushing, Aaron couldn’t believe a form of hypnosis was so strong that it could disable his body at will. And yet, his immovable limbs were all the evidence he needed to prove the contrary.

With no warning, Mistress leaned down and kissed him on the lips. His body convulsed filled with ecstasy and adrenaline, as her plush lips consumed him. She giggled at the admiration that coursed through his entire body. She couldn’t get enough of her sweet, helpless victims losing themselves to her touch. That was all it took to send Aaron’s mind back down, leaving him perfectly pliant.

Grabbing his ankles, Mistress unfastened Aaron’s diaper tapes, removing his wet, messy, and sticky diaper. Part of her wanted to tease him about it, but she knew he wouldn’t comprehend a word she said right now anyway. She wiped him down thoroughly, gaining intense satisfaction at the reaction she could still get out of him.

Despite cumming buckets into his fluffy diaper, Aaron was already back at full attention. He wasn’t aware, but increased sperm production was just another influence of the trance he was under. His balls were already looking plump again, a good sign that his body was adapting well to its new conditions.

Having had to go last in sissy baby selection was new for Mistress, so she was a tad concerned his body wouldn’t have enough time to incubate. Lo and behold, she may have lucked her way into her most subby baby yet.

Mistress placed a clean diaper under Aaron’s butt and wasted no time slathering him up with baby lotion and coating his privates and backside with powder. She made sure not to stroke him too much. She’d already let him cum once and she didn’t want to spoil him before he even made it through the first round. It almost felt like a form of self-deprivation, though, since she would’ve loved nothing more than to waste the rest of her day making him ejaculate over and over again. Instead, she restrained her inner desires as she smothered his throbbing member underneath the soft, plushy diaper front.

Looking around at how the others were progressing, Mistress was pleased to see that only she and Dom had yet to finish pleasuring and changing their Littles. Another advantage she had over her competition. Leaning in close to Aaron’s ear, she whispered, “Okay Aaron, pay attention. In a few minutes, I’m going to be escorting you into the game room. You will have to compete to stay in the game. If you lose, you’ll never get to see Mistress again, so make sure you do your best! I don’t know what the first game will be, but my advice is to be cautious and let others be the first to make mistakes. You’ll also want to keep...

Aaron did his best to keep up, but Mistress was talking a mile a minute. Still, he didn’t want her to think he wasn’t paying attention, so he put all of his energy into nodding along with every word she said.

*RRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNGGG!!!*

The school bell alarm sounded off again, alerting the Mistresses that their time was up. Several ladies were still taping their babies into their diapers while simultaneously lifting them up and rushing toward the exit. But not Aaron’s Mistress. She was cool and confident as she raised her well-prepared baby up to her chest, nuzzling his head in the crux of her neck.

“I hope you’re ready, Aaron, because the game is about to begin.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

-------------------------------------------------------------

Heyyo! If you enjoyed this preview, consider subscribing to my Patreon! All 8 parts of Squish Game: Round 1 are available for members of my Patreon’s $3 tier and higher at patreon.com/crissiebaby.

Edited by AllySmolShork

#diaper art #diaper stories #crissiebaby #little space #ab/dl #ab/dl stories #ab/dl art #ab/dl sissy #diaper sissy #sissybaby #diaper humiliation #dirty diaper #diaper messy #wetting diaper #md/lb #diaper hypno

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siremasterlawrence · 5 months

Text

Christmas Night Fight

This is a Christmas Boxing Match For A Very Special World Title for once in every twelve years a major box goes toe to toe with major other fighters going through the roof in hell like defeat.

I place my bet at the door on Jack L Monroe before sitting in my seat as the light pops on over the shadows of the boxing ring the spit light is giant. A fist pump into the air as a crowd goes wild in the boxer, steady with punches in the air.

Jack Mickelson the titan is a legend in the field, but he does not know that I am both the one betting against him and my almost ensuring my victory over this floor and his constant need for that overbearing and toxic desires, needs and wants above all else.

I can see that smug look cross his face in a cheesy stretch his fist in the other and starts jumping up like an idiot, howling, screaming, and shouting as crowd goes wild and the odd cheering only motivates me more and I could not tell if he was mocking me or not but I was about to win.

The announcer steps onto the ring with an awful condescending smile, foul stench and crooked teeth. The left hand picks up the mic as he squares off with the crowd who are losing all of the their minds, and great anticipation for their great hero, to win yeah, another victory, and prove his might.

He starts to hop on both feet coming at me with such intensity as I take a hop back my fist forms throwing a punch which he evade to hit me up and I avoid that as well but I go for it one curl punching hard fist hitting him in the chest.

The spot I hit on his chest glows hard as he hold on to it backing up he falls to his knees much to my delight I gleefully jump kicking him on both of his sensitive nipples areas as he cries the technique travels causing a electrical current down his spine.

He falls face forward when the alarms goes off ringing loudly in a resounding style the crowd is in a loss booing me as they throw cans at me I laugh shouting out loud to freeze which they do without being aware

of anything.

Tom struggles to rise to his feet barely able to stand up I punch him in his face the spit goes flying in to a air the man is done for as I watch it take effect he stops on his knees he is a mere puppet now. I unzip my pants exposing my cock as I stroll towards him and force his mouth on to it.

“There he is your number three seed in this World Championship.” He shouts lifting my hand in the air.

“Who wants to see the next match?” He is shouting.

“Let me hear you guys scream for it.”

“Wwwwoooohhhhooooo…let the games roll”

“Everyone! Please welcome Mathew James Howl”

“Gentleman! 1…2…3”

“FREEZE”

“What the fuck?”

“Why can’t I move?”

“Because I am the master of the ring “

“I rule the roost”

“Nnnnnoooo”

“I’ll have to educate you then”

“On what?”

“The proper behavior ”

“Unfortunately! I don’t obey anyone least of all.”

“One punch and you will fall into my submission “

“Never gonna happen…you….uuuugggghh…fffuuccckkk…yes Master Lawrence.”

“ I don’t know what you’re up to, but I do understand it’s something wicked because you two are up to something very evil and let me have a bad attitude problem, but I surly will not tolerate anyone getting in my way or causing more undue damage to my title.”

”Oh! is that what you were thinking? You have no idea what I am capable of doing you overgrown ape if you mind your own business. Getting angry, I see you throw a punch and failing because you are no good McGregor just another tough guy with pussy heart.”

“ What did you just say to me? I am to break to break you open, spit your ass open, fuck you raw, make you come and worship my skinny tone black ass.” I state to him as he races at me his speed up with every step I take but I launch my hand in the air throwing a one punch as I send him flying into the rings gate.

Meet all of my bodyguards.

The end

#tom hardy #henry cavill #boxing #sports #hypnosis #mind control #reprogramming #hypno slave #hypno submission #mind control slaves #reality change #alternate timeline #championship #Sportsdom

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decieve-ineigle-obfuscate · 2 years

Text

Finally and Forever

Category: Fluff

Pairing: Spencer x Reader

Warnings: Language. So, so much pining.

Word Count: 2.1 K

I had met her upon her first defence of me. I'd been young and stuttering.

A raging man stood over a younger, significantly more insecure version of me.

She'd come out of the multitude of people buzzing about the station, yanking his arm so that he was forced to face her.

"You know, most kids are dropped at some point. It's safe to assume your parents threw you head-first at a wall. Why don't you save us all the torture of listening to your nail-on-a-chalkboard-esque voice and go the way of the dodo?"

He fumed a few moments, and I feared him striking the girl who was nearly a foot shorter than me, never mind him.

She glared, holding her ground stubbornly.

As he stalked off, cursing her under his breath, she relaxed.

"Are you okay?" She asked softly, coming closer to me.

I opened and closed my jaw a few times before producing a rather disappointing "Yeah.".

She offered a small smile before disappearing once more.

My brain remained silent and still, watching after her.

"You good, pretty boy? You look a little heart-eyed there." Derek teased, coming up and teasing me.

I quickly fled to the single bathroom, attempting to cool my face with tap water.

Despite being on the case for another 3 weeks, I didn't see her again.

Not for another 4 years.

When I did see her again, I was a very different person. I had and lost Maeve and had gone to and left prison. I hardly felt the same in my skin.

She had not changed. She was, once again, squaring up to someone much taller than her, clearly defending a woman behind her.

"If you even look at her wrong again, you won't see the outside of a cell again. Am I clear, hothead?"

I watched, the world seeming too slow as he reached for and drew a weapon.

She grabbed his wrist and forced it upwards, leaving them both vulnerable.

I drew my gun and aimed. "FBI! Drop the weapon, sir!" I shouted.

He glanced over, then back to her. His face hardened, and he kneed her in the stomach before bringing his gun down to aim at her.

I squeezed the trigger and watched his head jerk back as the shot hit its target.

The woman behind her screamed and covered her face.

I rushed over and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Are you okay?" I asked frantically.

"Fine. Just need air." She wheezed hoarsely.

"Yeah, you're okay," I said, unsure whether I was soothing myself or her.

She shifted back onto her heels and breathed deeply.

"That's a lot of paperwork." She groaned.

"Yeah." I chuckled. "I'll live."

She nodded, allowing her head to drop forward.

"You're the uh — boy genius the dodo was yelling at, right?"

I smiled, face warming, mind slowing, and chest tightening at her remembrance of me.

Again, all I conjured was a "Yeah."

She smiled. "Always this articulate?"

"No, usually people have to tell me to shut up," I replied.

"Mmm. M'I special then?"

Oh, if only you knew. If only you knew how I am inexplicably unable to stop thinking of you.

I had no solid reply.

She only smiled. "Well, help me up, boy genius?"

"Spencer," I said, taking her hand and helping her up.

She smiled more widely and introduced herself.

My chest tightened once more at the sound of her name, finally and forever in my mind.

I tried it once, enjoying the sound of it.

"Yeah. I'm plainclothes." She said, rubbing her neck.

"That's really cool."

"You're FBI. That's a hell of a lot cooler." She said, a crooked smile adorning her face.

We stayed, waiting until local law enforcement arrived, giving our stories of what had happened.

I gave my number and other contact info before being released.

"Are you doing okay, now?" I asked as we leaned against a nearby building.

"Bumps and bruises. I'll live."

I smiled softly.

"Can we grab lunch? I'll pay. I was going to eat. It's fine if you're not hungry. I just wanted to offer. And —"

"Lunch sounds good. I'm pretty hungry too. Any place you wanna go?" She said, shrugging.

"There's a great Thai place. It's two blocks east."

She nodded and followed after, quickly taking place beside me.

My mind raced, interrupted only by the occasional bump of our shoulders as we walked.

Lunch was filled with exchanged stories and easy-flowing conversation.

For the first time in so long, I felt safe — at peace.

Our bubble was shattered by Derek's obnoxious ringtone that I still had not been able to change.

She only smiled. "You should get that, boy genius."

"Oh. Yeah."

I pulled my phone from my pocket and answered.

My irritation increased as Derek invited me to a "guys' night" with the rest of the team.

"This could've been a text, you know," I said, attempting to keep my impatience from my voice.

"I didn't know you knew how to text, pretty boy. My bad. Next time."

I sighed. "I have an IQ of 187. Of course, I know how to text, Derek."

I glanced across at her amused smile as she gently brushed the toe of her sneaker against my sock-covered ankle.

"Well, I'll think about it, anyway. I gotta go." I said, refocusing.

"You busy?"

"At the moment? Yes. I'm having lunch." I said.

"Alright. See you later."

I hung up without replying and muted my phone before shoving it back into my pocket.

"Co-worker," I explained simply.

She nodded and went back to her food, a smile still not gone from her face.

I always want to be the reason you smile.

I shook my head, attempting to dislodge the thoughts of permanence involving a woman I'd met only twice. It was more difficult than I'd like to admit.

"You smile a lot when you look at me." She said, dabbing at her face with a brown napkin.

"You're smiling. It's contagious."

Her smile widened, and a blush adorned her cheeks.

It was more moments than I could keep track of before my brain — which had apparently been reduced to that of a single-celled amoeba — came up with something else to say.

"Lunch good?"

Two words. Great going. And you told Derek you have an IQ of 187. Nice to know a pretty girl can flush that down the toilet.

"Lunch is fantastic, actually. Just what I needed today, thank you." She said, taking another bite of whatever noodles she'd ordered.

"Yeah. That's one of the many reasons I love this place. And it's open all night."

"That's great! I'm gonna come here when I'm on patrol more often. Fast food all the time fucking sucks." She joked, gently brushing her shoe against mine again.

"Don't I know it," I replied, finally looking away from her and eating some more of my own food.

I immediately looked back up, though.

"You're not on the clock, right? Like I'm not keeping you from anything?"

She shook her head and swallowed another bite. "Nope. It's not my shift today, and honestly, my supervisor can suck 100 dicks if he wants to call me in on my day off. Especially after he just got back from a 2-week long cruise."

I smiled and finished eating with her.

Our time together was up far too quickly, as I only had the luxury of a lunch hour.

We exchanged numbers and promised to speak soon before parting ways.

It would be another 6 months before I saw her.

‡

She texted me at 2:30 in the morning.

• Can I come to see you?

6 months of phone tag between our busy jobs (and luck not allowing us to meet by chance again).

I was ready to give her anything she needed.

• Of course!

I sent my address along and waited impatiently.

• Do you have a first aid kit? Like a good one?

My stomach dropped.

• Yeah.

I waited. And waited. And waited.

My intercom buzzed and I ran for it.

"Hello?" I asked eagerly.

"Myeh, what's up, doc?" She teased.

"Me, on the second floor, apartment 23."

She chuckled, and I buzzed her in.

I waited. And waited.

Her knock came sooner than expected, but longer than I had wanted to wait.

I opened the door and looked her over.

"I cut my shin open hopping a fence. Your building maintenance person's gonna hate me."

I ushered her in and sat her on the toilet before rushing to grab my kit.

She had, in that time, removed her shoes and pulled her pant leg up.

"That looks painful."

She nodded. "You use your uh, profiling skills for that one?" She asked, the corner of her mouth crooked up.

"Yeah. We at the BAU can tell when a boo-boo hurts." I teased right back.

"Good to know." She chuckled.

I pursed my lips as I knelt down.

"You're not squeamish, right boy genius?"

"Think I like doc better, and no. I just don't like the fact that you're hurt."

She nodded. "Are you an actual doctor or a diploma doctor?"

I smiled. "Mathematics, chemistry, and engineering."

"Diploma doctor. Got it."

Something clicked in my brain before I ran the first alcohol pad over the gash.

"So, who was chasing you?" I asked, making contact.

"Fuck! I don't know. He's in worse shape than I am, though. I just didn't wanna go home. He's been following me for the last few days."

I glanced up. "Do you need help?"

"That is why I'm here, doc." She teased.

I nodded. "That's fair. If you need anything more —"

She nodded. "I will let you know, I promise."

I finished cleaning her wound and wrapped her leg in gauze.

"I want you to stay the night, so I can change that in the morning. Please?"

"Will there be coffee?" She asked, using the counter to stand.

"Whole pot," I replied.

"Twist my arm, why don't ya? Where's the couch?"

I brought her out into the living room, not bothering to argue.

Despite not having known her long, I knew well enough to know. She wouldn't change her mind.

I grabbed sheets and blankets from the top of my closet and returned to find her conked out. I draped the blankets over her and turned the lamp out.

"My room's across from the bathroom if you need anything," I said lowly.

"Spencer."

I stopped in my tracks and turned back to her. "Yeah?"

She worried her lower lip.

"I can sit out here with you for a bit. It's Friday night. I don't have work tomorrow."

She nodded gently. "Just for a bit?"

I sat on the couch beside her and turned on the TV.

"We can watch whatever you want," I said lowly.

"One of your coworkers, the blonde one. She was teasing you about Russian films?"

"I have the 1967 Anna Karenina in Russian. I could translate."

She nodded and leaned back.

I put the movie on and began translating.

‡

Her head's on my shoulder. Her head's on my shoulder.

A second, more moving thought came to mind.

She trusts me enough to sleep around me.

I turned the TV off and leaned my head back.

You trust her enough to sleep too.

I closed my eyes and drifted off.

‡

She was gone when I woke up.

A note was next to a freshly brewed pot of coffee.

Sorry I didn't stay. I got a call. The guy was picked up by a patrol. See you later, doc.

My heart sank.

You miss her.

I shook my hands, pacing around my kitchen.

Knocking sounded, and I rushed to the door.

I opened the door, and — there she was.

"I was hoping to be back sooner. I had a shit ton of paperwork." She said softly.

I nodded gently, watching her pupils dilate.

"I was hoping I could make you breakfast."

"Would you like to stay for dinner?" She teased.

Mulan, 1998. Henry made me watch it. Historically inaccurate, but—

"Would you like to stay forever?" I asked, unthinking.

"I don't know about forever, yet. But, maybe, for now?" She asked, wrapping her arms around my waist.

"I would like that a lot."

"And definitely for breakfast." She added.

I nodded.

A small kiss was pressed to my cheek, and she pulled me further into the apartment.

I have her in my arms. Maybe not forever, yet. But for now. And I know her name. Finally and forever.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #oneshot #criminal minds oneshot #spencer reid one shot #one shot #fluff #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #one shots

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quietlyimplode · 7 months

Text

the language of flowers and silent things

Whumptober 2023: Day 16 - Don’t go where I can’t follow

Warnings: whump but nothing explicit

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Yelena sends a coded message, a trap or askance for help?

A/N: <3

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

‘Meet me in Stockholm. Come alone.’

The coded message bypasses Tony’s AI and Natasha feels it could only be Yelena.

The message is accompanied by coordinates to a café and time.

Natasha smiles at the old language and tries to explain to Clint, that the coordinates and time are wrong.

By swapping the second number and reversing it, you get the true coordinates and time.

It’s not Stockholm.

It’s Rome.

Not 1pm but 4am.

The date reads for the next day.

She still thinks the ‘come alone’, still stands though.

There’s a distinct happiness and apprehension that comes and Natasha pushes the feelings down, she can’t afford hope.

Not just yet.

Clint is adamant on coming, but Natasha worries that if he does, it’ll spook Yelena into leaving, and when he puts it to the others she finds that Tony also wants to help.

Steve stands back and watches the arguments unfold until she explodes at all of them.

“Likely we have one chance at this. You,” she points to Clint, “don’t need to come, you do however need to broker peace with Fury, so on the off chance she does want to defect we have a place for her. Shield may be gone but he can still pull the strings. And you,” she points to Tony, “can do the behind the scenes setting everything up. If she comes here, can you find her a place to stay? Somewhere near mine or Clint’s apartment. She probably won’t stay there but maybe the offering of it, could entice her to come. Pepper knows what I mean, there’s money in my bank account to lease it; just use that?”

Natasha puts her hand up as Tony starts to protest, “just use the money? It’s not like it’s my only bank account.”

She smiles.

“And you, Captain, sorry, I don’t think symbolism of America is quite what I need right now.”

He nods back.

“It’s fine, Sam and I have a lead on Bucky anyway, you don’t think it’s all connected do you?”

She shrugs, stepping towards him.

“Where’s the lead?” Clint asks.

Steve looks at Tony who makes it appear on the screen.

“It actually is in Stockholm, Tony’s AI picked him up in the Vasa Museum and tracked him to Strotorget where it lost him. The main square was too busy,” he tells her.

She looks to Tony and nods.

“I didn’t know you were helping?”

Tony gestures around.

She shakes her head, cutting off his cocky retort.

“No, you follow your leads and I’ll follow mine, hopefully both of us will get some answers.”

She can feels Clint’s gaze on her.

“I’m coming,” he tells her, “whether you want me there or not.”

Rolling her eyes, Natasha nods; “fine but you’re coming to talk to Fury with me.”

The train station in Rome is busy, like the airport.

Clint climbs up the rafters dressed as electrician and hopes that he’s been inconspicuous enough that no one has noticed his ascent.

“Nat, I have eyes on you,” he tells her, “three exits and a café to your right.”

He uses the sight to look at the furthest exit.

“Do you think she’ll come as herself?”

“Blonde hair and all?”

Clint knows she can’t answer, but he likes to talk all the same.

“What’s your opener going to be?” he wonders, out loud.

“How’s it going? Long time, no see?”

He looks at the the other exits, not seeing anyone matching Yelena’s description.

A young girl approaches Natasha and immediately she stands.

Clint’s heart sinks, of course Yelena would be underhanded and use little girls to lure Natasha.

It’s effective.

He watches her move, following the girl.

“Nat, stop, no, don’t follow her,” he huffs, adjusting his potion and tailing after her from above.

The second exit, he thinks.

“Natasha, do you hear me? Don’t be a fucking idiot and get played,” he tells her.

He reaches a dead end from above and is forced to just watch as she makes her way to the exit. He races back the way he came, hoping she takes small steps as he loses sight of her.

He hasn’t even seen Yelena.

“Nat. No. Don’t got out, don’t go where I can’t follow, slow down I’m almost there, just wait,” he swears almost out of breath, as he hurries down the ladder.

By the time he reaches where he last saw her, she’s gone.

“Can you help me find my sister?” the little girl asks Natasha.

“I lost her and I can’t find her.”

Natasha’s heart sinks, as openers go, it’s a pretty good one she’s got to admit.

“I’ll help you find her,” Natasha replies.

“That’s what she said you’d say,” the little girl smiles.

“Follow me.”

Natasha stands, hears Clint’s warnings, his panic, as the little girl moves seamlessly through the crowd.

If she stops, she knows she’ll lose her.

“She wants to see you alone, she says your boyfriend can’t come,” the little girl says, eyes following Natasha as she walks backwards and then forward.

“Follow me.”

They exit through a news agency, the girl nodding to the owner as she leads Natasha through.

The exit leads behind the shops, into a thin corridor the girl running down so that Natasha has to hurry to catch her.

“Follow me,” the girl giggles.

And then, she disappears.

Natasha turns where she did, and comes face to face with Yelena.

“Hello, big sister,” Yelena says, gun held at Natasha chest.

“So easily you fall into a widows web,” she taunts, and then, pulls the trigger.

Clint calls Tony, he has no idea what to do.

They’ve disappeared and whilst he knows how absolutely flawless Natasha is at running and hiding, he feels they should have planned this better.

He knows she is compromised when it comes to Yelena, but he didn’t think she would be stupid.

“Can you get a live map or the area?” he asks in greeting.

If Tony is put off by it, he doesn’t say, he just sends Clint a real-time map on his tablet and tells him to swipe through the cameras and exits.

“Can you track where Natasha went?” he asks, looking at all the available ways of exit.

Tony does so, far quicker than Clint knows he ever would, and then sends them back to overlay the camera.

“Car park,” Tony surmises, “or basement, is there a basement?”

Clint growls in frustration, “which one!?”

“Car park,” Tony tells him, “I think.”

Clint runs, heading to the endless car park, and the rows of cars outside.

“Which one!?” he asks, “where do I look?”

Tony doesn’t answer.

“You can’t find her can you?”

He starts with the first row, then down the column and feels the desperation bubbling.

“Nat, you idiot, why did you have to be such an idiot?” he mutters to himself, “not compromised, my ass.”

“I’ll run the full diagnostic,” Tony promises, “we’ll find her, I swear.”

“Wake up,” Yelena says, wafting smelling salts underneath Natasha’s nose.

“Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey,” she smiles, squatting in front of Natasha.

“Isn’t that what Melinda used to say to us?”

Natasha opens her eyes and watches Yelena pace.

Her arms tied to a metal chair, knotted into her legs as there’s no movement in either.

Yelena stops and looks.

“Are you going to kill me?” Natasha asks bluntly.

Yelena rolls her eyes.

“Isla came to see me, was that you?”

Not answering, Natasha tries the restraints again.

“I think it was. It’s what Isla alluded to anyway. The tracker, you disabled it, and now they just want me back. The thing is, I like being free. It’s only been months and already I know. I have this headache, and it’s like I’m forgetting something- I can’t concentrate- that I need to do something.. But the only thing I can think of is you.”

The pause is large as Natasha waits for her to continue.

“I don’t know whether to forgive you or kill you and if the thing that I need to do; the thing that will set me free, is something that they’ve programmed in my head. A fail safe, for both of us. I kill you, then I kill me,” she holds the gun away from both of them, and places it on a chair opposite Natasha.

“Forgive you, or kill you,” she repeats, “but to be honest, I don’t think I can do either.”

She moves slowly around, the cadence of her voice slow.

“I had to see you, to see if I could perhaps do both, maybe one and then the other and maybe this headache would go away.”

She picks up the gun and sits on the chair.

Natasha hesitates.

“What do you think now?”

Yelena stands, emptying the bullets, placing them in front of Natasha.

“There is a part of me that angry. So angry and confused. I want them to tell me what to do. Tell me what my next mission is, give me some structure to my life. There’s nothing. Just endlessness,” she pauses.

“Is that what life is? Is it what freedom is?”

“But no, you’re not the one that needs to die,” she finishes. “I see that.”

Natasha feels the adrenaline fade and the drowsiness of the drug run through her.

“Your people will be coming soon,” Yelena says, not moving.

“You can come with me, with us,” Natasha offers.

“If you wanted too, of course.”

She pauses in the offer, trying to gauge Yelena’s reaction.

“You could be a freelancer within the remnants of Shield or under their employ. Defection,” she offers.

“Or, you could just be here, with me,” she says softly.

Yelena stands.

“You left me,” she says off handed, “you didn’t come for me.”

The words hold such sadness that Natasha doesn’t know what to do with them.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha repeats, unsure what else to say.

“I don’t want your apology, not now, but I do know, I maybe, I think I know why. I think…”

Pacing, Yelena holds the gun.

“They’ll be here soon,” she repeats, still not leaving, perhaps wanting to hear what Natasha is saying.

“There’s an address in my top left pocket,” Natasha tells her, “it’s your apartment if you want it. Leased under Fanny Balankov.”

Yelena’s small smile at the name and the inside joke gives Natasha hope.

“There’s money, passports and an offer of defection, or if it feels better, freelance supports, it doesn’t offer the same protections but it does give more options and no full debriefing that usually takes months.”

Natasha feels like she’s doing this wrong.

Clint should be here. He did it for her, he knew all the right words to say, all the ways he could give her hope.

Right now it just feels like she’s failing her sister again.

“They’ll be coming for you,” Yelena repeats, sitting down.

“Yeah,” Natasha replies.

“They are.”

Clint finds her in the basement, tied to a chair.

Gun raised he points it at Yelena.

“Hello,” she says casually, “you must be Clint.”

If he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it.

Yelena holds her gun away and shakes her head.

“Put it away, we’ve called a surrender,” she smiles.

He does as she asks, but only because there’s no way he’s going to be responsible for taking down Natasha’s sister, he doubts they would get close anyway.

Yelena turns to Natasha.

“Be seeing you,” she nods, and then sets the smoke grenade off, forcing Clint to rush to Natasha.

By the time the smoke clears, Yelena is gone and Natasha is untied.

“What happened?” he coughs, leading her to the exit.

Natasha is silent until they reach the car.

“I don’t think I did a good job at convincing her,” she whispers.

Clint half hugs her as he opens the passenger door.

“Maybe you did better than you think,” he consoles.

47 notes · View notes

keiththecat · 11 months

Text

Admissible (Part One)

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Female Reader (You)

Summary: You've always hunted alone. That is, until Bobby sends you on a hunt near the Winchester brothers. How will things change when they come to help?

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: 18+, series typical violence and monsters, weapons, cursing, groping/ almost sexual assault, self-doubt/ self-esteem issues, character death, injuries, hurt/comfort

Author's Note: Hello friends! This is something I'm working on, but it has gotten long enough that I know I'll have to split it up (and I'm excited and can't wait longer to share it lol). Warnings may update as I keep writing, so please check them! The almost sexual assault is stopped, I promise (and it isn't in this part, but I will be sure to clearly label it when it does happen so you can skip it if this upsets you). Also feel free to message me if you have any questions or concerns about anything. Y/N is your name, and feedback is always welcome. Thanks for reading and thanks for all the love so far! <3

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, or any of the related characters. The Supernatural series is created by Eric Kripke and owned by The CW Network. This work of fan fiction is for entertainment only. I am not making a profit of any kind from this story. All rights of the original Supernatural series belong to The CW Network.

AO3 link here

You have just hit the city limits of Kensington, Kansas when your car decides to call it quits. You manage to pull your car off to the side of the road, the engine spitting and sputtering before stopping altogether. You lay your forehead on the steering wheel and groan, “whyyyyyy?”

You almost pull out your phone to call Bobby back and see if any other hunters are close enough to take the case, but your pride stops you. You’re still a relatively new hunter and feel like you need to prove yourself. You’ve done well for yourself so far, no major injuries and usually finished hunts within two days of arriving, but you don’t want to jinx your progress. Sighing, you get out of the car, grabbing your duffel bag of hunting supplies and your backpack of clothes from the back seat. Squaring your shoulders, you start walking into town.

After about ten minutes of one foot in front of the other, you find a motel that looks promising: just run down enough for what you need. You walk into the office, finding a big burly bearded man, probably mid-50s, reading a newspaper. He glances up when you enter, his gruff voice mumbles out “how long?”

“Day by day. I’ll let you know early each day if I still need it the next night.”

He eyes you for a moment. “Cash?”

You pull out some cash and count out $100, placing it in front of him on the counter without a word. He takes it, nods at you and places a key on the counter. “Room 11. Farthest one to the left. You’re paid for three nights.”

You pick up the key and leave the office, heading left toward your temporary base of operations. You immediately break into your duffel bag, cleansing the room with a smudge stick, laying out your mats with sigil traps embroidered into them, and applying salt lines to the windows and door. You have the room properly protected within three minutes. You pull out your phone to start researching the deaths that brought you here but you’re greeted by a text message from an unknown number.

[Unknown 11:02AM: Hey, Bobby said you were in our area. We’ll be around if you need any help]

You stare at it for a moment before calling Bobby, who picks up on the second ring, “you make it okay?”

“Yeah, Bobby. My car broke down but I made it. Who did you give my number to?”

“I’m guessing the boys reached out to ya finally?”

The boys?, you wonder. Considering what you know about Bobby, that could only mean one set of brothers. “You mean you gave my number to the Winchesters? And what do you mean ‘finally?’ Bobby, you know I work better alone. You know, far far away from big of heart but dumb of ass.”

“Look, Y/N,” you can hear him breaking out his dad voice on you. “I just wanted them to know you were nearby. I gave them your info a while ago, I’m surprised it took them this long to reach out. I want you safe, they’re close by, and they’re good people. You’ll get along.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure they are, Bobby. I just prefer to stay out of the drama that comes with… all that. Their names are practically synonymous with trouble and apocalypse at this point.” You sit on the edge of your bed, picking at a stray thread on your jeans.

“Yeah, and they’ve saved all our asses, yours included, each time,” he reminds you. “Plus, Dean knows his way around cars and could probably get yours fixed up for ya.”

“Okay, Bobby, I get it. I’ll message them back.” You and Bobby say your goodbyes and hang up, leaving you staring once again at the text message.

[Y/N 11:06AM: Which bro do I have the pleasure of speaking with?]

[Unknown 11:06AM: Sam]

[Y/N 11:07AM: Alright, Tweedledee. Bring Tweedledum. I’ll need his car brain. Meet at the diner on Main?]

Without an immediate reply, you start looking into the deaths, looking for any connections between the victims. So far, there have been five mysterious deaths of prominent people in the community and each one has died differently: heart ripped out, throat slit, neck snapped, blood drained, and blunt force to the head.

[Sam 11:10AM: See you at the diner at 12]

50 minutes. More than enough time for you to grab a quick shower, check your supplies, and walk there. Guess I’m dancing with death this time. You sigh, and get to work.

Walking into the diner at 11:50AM, you sit at a booth in the back, facing the door. Front door, back door through the kitchen, windows on three sides, your brain automatically on alert in case of any threats. You’re in your FBI monkey suit, intending to question families after a quick meeting with the Winchesters. Your iron knife is against your right ankle, silver knife is against your left, and pistol is loaded and in a shoulder holster under your jacket, resting under your left arm. You are locked and loaded, ready to get this case over with.

[Y/N 11:51AM: Corner booth by kitchen]

You are pretending to look at the menu for less than two minutes when you hear the rumbling of the infamous Impala. They park out front, both unfolding their legs to get out of the car. Damn, they’re tall and hot, the stories did not do them justice. Dean’s unruly light brown hair is spiking in all directions, green eyes glittering in the sunlight. He’s wearing boots, dark jeans, a black tee, red plaid shirt unbuttoned, and leather jacket. Pistol in his jeans at his waist, he’s right handed. Sam’s soft brown hair blows in the light wind, slight frown creasing his eyebrow above hazel eyes. He’s wearing boots, light wash jeans, blue plaid shirt buttoned, and a grey jacket. Also a pistol at his waist, he’s left handed.

Dean reaches the door first, opening and entering, with Sam close behind. Sam is looking at his phone, looks up at you and points his brother in your direction.

“Y/N?” Dean asks, standing next to your table.

“That’s what my ID says.” You gesture at the seat across from you, indicating they should join you. Sam slides in first and Dean sits on the outside.

“Nice to finally meet you,” Sam says, offering a handshake which you take. “Bobby speaks very highly of you. I’m Sam, this is Dean.”

Damn he has a nice smile. “Yeah, I know who you are. Pretty sure I knew your names my first day on the job.”

A waitress makes her way over to your table. Probably in her 20s, thin and short with long brown hair, her high pitched voice cuts through the air “Welcome in, what can I get started for you all?”

The boys order coffee, Dean gets a burger and Sam gets a chicken wrap. You order a coffee and a salad. The waitress writes it all down and walks away, saying she’ll be right back.

“So, Sammy mentioned car troubles?” Dean asks, looking outside. “Which car?”

“It’s not out there. It’s on the side of the road coming into town. Broke down on my way in.”

The boys both look at you in concern. “You’ve been walking around town?” Sam asks.

You shrug, “the exercise keeps me alive. A moving body is a living body. I don’t mind. But I will need it fixed for when I’m done here, if you don’t mind.”

The waitress brings your coffees to your table, you each mutter a thanks.

“I can take a look at it when we’re done here.” Dean says, then he looks you up and down, eyeing your suit, “unless you have other plans?”

“No, that’d be great. I can go do my thing while you do yours.”

“Perfect,” Dean says, “Sammy can go with you.”

“Whoa-” “Wait-” You and Sam speak at the same time. Sam stops speaking but you continue, “I’m fine alone. I won’t need help.”

“Well, Princess, looks like you do need help since your car is MIA.” Dean says, a smug smile on his face.

You stare at him for a moment, eyes squinted, debating if the fight is worth it. “Fine.” You look at Sam, “do you have your suit?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, it’s in the car,” Sam says, shocked that you gave in so easily. The brothers know how stubborn you can be from the stories Bobby has told them. “I can grab it and change after we eat.”

The waitress brings the ordered food to the table, placing it in front of each of you. She checks if you all need anything else, and leaves the bill on the table when you all say no.

Dean speaks with a mouth full of burger, “alright then, it’s a plan.”

Sam tries to initiate small talk a few times as you all eat, but you keep your answers short, hoping he’ll take the hint. The last thing you need is to form any sort of relationship with the Winchesters. The word around hunters is that being around them guarantees a death sentence, and you’d like to stick around for at least a few years longer. Plus, the less you worry about others, the more you can worry about yourself.

You place cash on the table for the bill, covering all three meals plus tip. You stand and the brothers follow. “Dean, drop us at the Sunrise? Sam can grab you two a room, change and then we can head out on foot from there. A little exercise okay, big man?”

“Uh, yeah, I like exercise. That’ll be fine.” Sam responds.

You ride in the back seat, Dean drives and Sam is in the passenger seat. Metallica plays through the speakers and you hum along, looking out the back window. You can feel Dean periodically glancing at you in the rear view mirror and Sam watching you through the side view. You ignore them, focusing instead on making a plan.

Dean drops you both at the motel, giving you his phone number while Sam goes into the motel office to book a room, duffel bag over his shoulder. You send Dean a blank text so he has your number, and you give him your car keys along with a description and location. Sam comes back out with a key when Dean pulls away to go find your car.

“Got it,” Sam says, holding the key up and walking to room 9. “Leave in five?”

“Sure, Sam. See you in five.”

With some strong pushing on your part, you and Sam agreed to split up, him starting with the most recently deceased’s family and you with the first, and planning to meet somewhere in the middle. Your visit with the Miller family was abnormally short, the widow very skeptical of you and short with her answers. She certainly wasn’t forthcoming with any information, and you’re sure she knows more than she let on. Maybe she’ll respond better talking to a man. Sam does have kind eyes. You shake that thought away, walking up to the Furgeson house now, hoping that Mister Ferguson will be more willing to answer your questions.

[Y/N 1:38PM: At second house now. No luck with the first. Very distrustful of me.]

[Sam 1:39PM: I’m still with the Taylors. We can circle back to her together later. Be safe.]

You roll your eyes, a smile threatening to form. Damn him and his niceness. You hate to admit it, but you are starting to enjoy working with him. You can feel your heart opening up to the idea of being friendly with the brothers. You are walking up the steps of the sidewalk when a police cruiser pulls up to the curb behind you. Shit. Nowhere to run and I doubt I can lie my way out of this. You send off a quick text to Sam, hoping he’ll read between the lines and understand.

[Y/N 1:39PM: I love you too, sweetie. I was never a big fan of brass, but the silver bracelets look nice.]

“Excuse me, we got a call about an FBI officer in the area,” the cop calls out to you. You turn your phone off and turn around to face him. He’s short, stout, bald, and scowling at you like you are the root of all problems.

“Yes, can I help you?” you answer, still keeping some hope that you can get out of this.

“I spoke with the FBI office this morning, they said they weren’t going to send anyone.” he answers, looking you up and down.

“Well I’m just following orders from higher up.” You reach to pull out your badge, but stop short when you see his hand move to his pistol. “Easy,” you say, “just grabbing my badge.”

“Not interested,” he says, pulling out his pistol and aiming at you, “turn around, get on your knees, put your hands on your head.”

“Okay, okay,” you comply, doing as he asked. He moves forward, grabbing your hands and roughly cuffing you behind your back. He picks you up and leads you toward his car, reading you your rights.

Sam is sitting on the living room couch inside the Taylor household, Missus Taylor sitting in a chair across from him. He stares at the message you sent, trying to make sense of the message you sent. Brass… silver bracelets… damn it. “Thank you for your time, Missus Taylor. We’ll reach out if we have any further questions,” he rushes to hand her a business card and practically jogs out the door, dialing Dean.

“Yeah?” Dean answers on the second ring.

“I think something’s wrong. I think Y/N got arrested,” Sam says.

“Well shit.” Sam can hear the clang of tools being dropped through the phone.

Sam knew they shouldn’t have split up. From what he has heard, Y/N is one of the best hunters out there. But Sam is kicking himself, he knew that people around here could be extra suspicious of outsiders and he still let her go off on her own.

“What do you need from me, Sam?” Dean asks.

“I’m not sure. Give me a second.” Sam takes a deep breath. He’s sure he could figure out a way to get Y/N out of jail, but it could take a couple days before the courts decide on her bail amount, and that’s if they do. It’s also been a couple days since the last death, so another person could be targeted any second. “Okay,” he finally says, “I have an idea. But I need you to take over the case for a bit.” Sam fills Dean in on what he knows and who still needs questioned. Dean agrees to pick up where they left off, saying he’ll get right on it. The brothers end their call, and Sam starts his journey toward the police station, making another phone call.

Part Two

126 notes · View notes

sadlittlesquish · 7 months

Text

Hot, Wet, Sticky Sweet

Chapter Two: Come Crashing into my Little World

A/N: A few things before we get into it.

Number one, I would like to thank you all for being so nice and sweet about this fic. It's meant the world to me that not only did you enjoy how I write Eddie, but also my OC. I know y/n reader inserts are most everyone's bread and butter concerning Eddie pairings or StEddie, so to have a good reception to my OC means the world to me.

Number two: I know the Ride the Lightning tour was in Indianapolis around February 1985, but for the continuity sake (and to align with my OC's bday) I fudged the date a little. I'm doing my best to write albums and products that were available in the fall of 1985 to the summer of 86, but there will be a few things I blur because I just want them to gush over shared interests.

Number 3: Some heavy topics are going to be discussed in later chapters if I continue this fic. I will put trigger warnings in the beginning of any of those chapters.

Now, without further ado, please enjoy.

Over the weekend, Eddie had come to peace with his greatest humiliation in front of the girl of his dreams; and he resolved himself that come Monday afternoon he was going to walk right into Home Ec, look her square in the eyes, and act like nothing happened. He reasoned with himself that if maybe he played it off cool, he might still have a .001% chance of charming her.

Yet, as he sits in his van he hears the bell for third period chime distantly, and closes his eyes to try and block out his cowardice. He really had every intention of waltzing in there, playing it all off like nothing had happened. His feet had other ideas apparently, as his heart thundered into his ribs at the mere thought of seeing her again. So, here he was, ditching 3rd period like a fucking weenie.

Eddie's leg is bouncing erratically, a cigarette burning between his agitated fingers. His other hand is slamming against the steering wheel to each thunderous beat of the drums as the high wailing vocals of Judas Priest fills the space.

"Hypnotize me

Mesmerize me

Feel my willpower slip

Light my fire with cold desire

Losing all my grip"

There's a blue-gray cloud of smoke spilling from his mouth as Eddie's raspy voice joins the one blaring from his speakers.

In retrospect, the scene he had gotten off to a couple days prior had been tame compared to some of the things he'd jerked off to in porn mags and filthy tapes. Sure some of them would occasionally feature a girl with an edgier look than the rest, but none so far had captured everything that this girl had given him in just the span of ten minutes.

Arousal was flickering through him from the mere memory, making Eddie take a heavy drag on his cigarette, the burn distracting him enough to not pop a stiffy. However, the memories persisted and before he knew it, Eddie was half hard with sweat prickling at his temples.

Her thighs had looked so soft, like he could sink his teeth into them and it would feel like biting into a marshmallow. And the fishnets definitely didn't help… Eddie didn't realize he had such a debilitating weakness, until he saw her sweet, creamy thighs peaking through threads of black fabric.

An appreciative groan slips unwillingly from somewhere deep in Eddie's chest as he dared to imagine her soft thighs bracketing his hips while she sat in his lap like it was her own personal throne. The weight of her would feel heavenly, and Eddie knows he would die a happy man just to be on the receiving end of her affections.

"Shit," Eddie huffs out, as the realization dawns on him that this infatuation wasn't something firmly rooted in his pent up lustful desires. He liked her. Maybe he was unsure of how badly he was falling for her, but Eddie can feel butterflies mixing in with the arousal at the very idea of holding her hand, while they screamed themselves hoarse at a concert.

Goin' under

Hear the thunder

Death defying grace

Your condition breeds ammunition

Shoots me in the face

Vicious talkin' (vicious talkin')

Stabs me like a knife

Scratched and bruised (so abused)

I'm a human sacrifice

Eddie can't help the shiver that sprints up his spine, the image of her blood red lipstick making marks up and down his neck, mixing with bruises and teeth indents has his whole body fever hot. He can see the flush of his cheeks in the reflection of the window, and is almost speechless by the sight of himself.

He looks absolutely wrecked, not even having to lay a hand on himself to get so worked up.

Another groan punches its way out of Eddie, his wild eyes flicking over to see the time displayed on his dash. His next class was one he couldn't skip out on if he really wanted to keep up that steady army crawl towards a D. But… well… he did have a little time to indulge.

Guilt finds its way amongst all the other emotions he was feeling right now, especially since he knew it wouldn't be the last time he frantically fucked into his fist thinking about the best ten fucking minutes of his life. Maybe it was a little pathetic, virgin freak Eddie Munson jacking off in his shitty van in the school parking lot to memories of the longest and hottest interaction he had ever had with a girl since middle school.

But right now, Eddie didn't really fucking care.

He closes his eyes, focusing on the dancing images behind his eyelids. The way her tits had swung heavy and full, back and forth in such an entrancing way. The swell of her lower lip being pulled behind her teeth as she concentrated, revealing her wet, pink tongue.

Eddie shudders, his hand already down his pants as he remembers her sticky honey toned eyes. There was a darker depth to them than that, something about her eyes reminds him of quiet nights spent with his Uncle Wayne, sipping aged scotch and watching sunsets. Warmth and darkness contrasting in perfect harmony in her sultry brown eyes.

He has a hand wrapped firmly around his aching cock, the heat of himself making him hiss out in surprise. The previous song is fading, the next one off the Screaming For Vengeance album kicking into gear as Eddie starts to jerk himself to the rhythm. It's slow and languid at the beginning as the guitar comes in soft and sweet, but as soon as the chorus revs up, Eddie is slick fisting his cock and tipping his head back in pleasure.

"Help me, I'm beggin' you please

You've got the power, down on my knees

Give me some kind of life

Leave me be

Take these chains off

Take 'em off of my heart

Take these chains off

Take 'em off of my heart"

Eddie is wrapped deliriously up in the fever pitch of it all. The high octane drum beat, the wailing guitar and the sinful sweet lyrics edging him closer and closer to his end. He can't stop himself from imagining the girl, her arms above her head as she thrashes alongside him in a crowd. He wonders if she would wear fishnets and shorts again if they went to a concert together.

"Hmmmm… fuck," Eddie sighs, his wrist cramping a little from jerking himself off in the confined space of his tight pants. But there was no way in hell he wanted to pull out his dick for all the world to see if someone happened by and looked into his van at the right moment. It was bad enough how obvious it would be for anyone to notice what he was up to…

But he just couldn't help himself. Not when he was so, so fucking close to cumming and he'd barely even begun.

"'M close," Eddie slurs, and pathetically imagines he's talking to her, letting her know how badly she was corrupting him with each and every orgasm caused by her.

Eddie wants to imagine her, looking into his eyes with that gentle teasing smirk caught at the edge of her lips, her voice smoky soft like a perfectly chilled hit when he felt ambitious enough to add ice to his bong.

"Eddie," he remembers the way she had said it clear as day, the way her lips wrapped around his name like it had always belonged to her. It's what finally makes the tension snap; cum roping out over his sweaty fingers in hot, thick spurts that leave him shaking.

By the time Eddie is able to come back to his senses, the last song on the album is halfway over, and his forgotten cigarette has burnt out. He groans at the mess in his pants, a little annoyed with himself for giving in to his horny brain that never thought things through.

"Fuck me," Eddie grumps, twisting and turning to find something in the back of his van within reach to wipe his cum covered hand clean. Eventually he finds one of his ratty old hoodies, already ruined by cigarette burns and the general messy (gross) disaster his back seat sometimes became when life got hectic. He quickly cleans his mess, an embarrassed flush warming the back of his neck and cheeks as he does so.

The act is methodical and by the time he's sure all the cum stains are gone, he's calmed down considerably. His pants zipped back up, Eddie opens his window to flick out his cigarette as the cassette pops in the player, ready to be pushed back in for another time.

Before he heads back into school for his next class, Eddie paws around the glove box for some cologne, just in case the scent of cigarettes and sex lingered on his skin. Drakkar Noir was definitely a better alternative, even if the bottle was almost empty.

Eddie moves aside his hair and spritzes some of the cologne onto his wrist, so he can control the wear; he dabs the rest below his jaw line and in the hollows of his neck. A trick he remembers quite vividly seeing his mother do, sat in front of her boudoir as she fussed with her makeup to hide any visible bruises.

Finally satisfied with his shameful cleansing, Eddie shoulders open the heavy metal door and hops down from his van. He checks the time on his watch, only a few minutes before 3rd period ends. With a final once over in his side view mirror, Eddie heads off to the trenches of Ms. O'Donnell's class.

"War Machine is like, ten times better than Iron Man," Lucas argues, his arms crossing as he stares Dustin down, silently egging him on into a debate he knows he'll win.

"You're crazy!" Dustin sputters, "War Machine wouldn't even exist without Tony Stark inventing the suit in the first place!"

At one point the whole Hellfire club table gets roped into this heavy debate, sides taken and hotly defended debates flying around.

None of this matters to Eddie as soon as he hears a voice ringing out in the cafeteria. It was laughter, but he instantly recognized it as belonging to her; because he had replayed every minute detail of their interaction a million times over in his head.

His head whips up so fast as he starts to look around frantically for her. It doesn't take long for his gaze to catch on her hair, the bloody red color broken up by black tips and streaks unmistakably hers.

She's at a table with a few other people, and to Eddie's absolute mortification (delight), she is wearing fishnets again. He leans forward, doing his best not to catch the attention of his friends, as he tries to get a better look at her.

This time she's wearing a skirt; a tiny thigh high acid washed skirt that just looks so fucking hot paired with the black netting clinging to her thighs. Eddie watches her push playfully at someone's shoulder, and as she leans forward he gets a perfect view of her cleavage.

The cut of her red paisley bandana top is low enough that Eddie can see the plentiful swell of her chest even from a few tables away.

A strangled sound, something Eddie had never heard himself make before, bubbles in his throat at the sight. His cheeks are going flush, as his friends all turn to look at him. Reluctantly, Eddie tears his eyes away from the girl so the group can't figure out who he has in his line of sight. The teasing would never end if the Freshman finally saw him getting interested in a girl.

"Sorry, bit my cheek," Eddie mumbles out, a pathetic attempt at covering up whatever the fuck that was.

"Yeah… right," Lucas adds, his tone very much conveying that he didn't believe Eddie's lie for a second.

But the attention quickly goes back to the impassioned arguing over Iron Man Lore, and Eddie is sat sorting glumly through his pretzels, trying to find the one's with the most flavoring first.

It's so lame, but he can't let this opportunity go to waste; to drink in the girl for as long as he can in case he never gets another moment like this again.

Eddie surreptitiously raises his eyes, finding her so fast it's like there is a magnetic pull between them. He realizes this mistake within .10 seconds of his gaze landing on her. Eddie chokes, literally chokes on the pretzel he had been sucking all the flavor off of; because why in the hell was she licking on a fucking sucker now?

Her lips were dragging on an outward motion as she pulled the candy from her mouth to say something to one of her friends. But all Eddie can glean from the image is how she probably looked just like that when giving head.

Eddie is fever hot, and he can feel his eyes widening enough to probably look insane as he watches her. She has the sucker, cherry from the looks of it (and Eddie internally groans because that's his favorite flavor) poised on the tip of her tongue, ready to continue enjoying it.

One of her friends, the only guy at the table, must have said something again, because she's throwing her head back and laughing. Eddie is torn between being grateful so he doesn't have to see the red swell of her sucker disappear between her lips again, and annoyed because well… that's exactly what he wanted to see.

"Eddie, are you going fucking mental?"

Dustin is snapping in front of his face, trying to break him out of his trance.

"Geez, what?" Eddie regretfully pulls his attention away from her again to find the whole gang looking at him like he'd finally lost his marbles.

"Your eyes look like they're about ready to pop outta your skull," Jeff scoffs, flicking his football shaped folded up napkin at Eddie.

Eddie frowns, his eyes narrowing at his friends. "Guys, don't you have more important things to focus on? Like War Machine vs. Iron man— whatever is going on over here in Eddie land is nowhere near as interesting as that, trust me." He's trying to play it cool, popping some pretzels and a couple mixed in M&M's in his mouth; crunching away with a deceptive smile.

Everyone at the table eyes him skeptically, but to Eddie's surprise, they let the matter drop; quickly returning back to their debate. Perhaps they had all become so used to his odd behavior that even this out of the ordinary display doesn't faze them. The thought wounds Eddie's pride a little…

The bell ringing interrupts any further outbursts. Eddie can't help trying to steal one last glance at the girl, and he sees her pull the empty stick from her mouth and chuck it playfully at her guy friend with a smirk on her face.

Jealousy rears its ugly head, causing Eddie to slam his metal lunchbox closed a little harder than he intended. His friends raise their brows at this, surprised to see Eddie scowling angrily at thin air.

The group looks around, but silently decides not to poke the sleeping bear of Eddie's strange mood. Besides, they all needed to head off to class.

Eddie doesn't really register his friends getting up and leaving, tossing concerned glances over their shoulders as they do so. All he can feel is ugly, black self loathing.

Of course a girl as pretty and cool as her would have a boyfriend. It makes Eddie rethink everything about their previous interaction. How she had clammed up the moment Eddie complimented her. Her not getting the hint that he was only interested in watching her at the car wash…

He felt so stupid.

And, much to Eddie's unending despair, he also felt a little heart broken.

Eddie's mood had considerably soured the more his day went on. He just could not stop replaying what he saw in his head– over and over like some kind of torture porn. Eddie wasn't able to get a good look at the guy, so he had nothing to compare himself to, which only made his imagination go haywire.

The guy was probably ridiculously hot. Probably wasn't 20 years old and still in high school, hanging out with friends far younger than him…

He probably was the kind of person who deserved her.

Eddie's hands are stuffed into his coat pockets, his fingers finding the stray lighter there and fiddling with it occasionally as he walks toward where he always kept his van parked.

He's in the middle of pulling out his lighter so he can get a cigarette lit as soon as he is inside his van, when he looks up from the ground; shock racing through him at what he finds.

She's leaning against the side of his van, one heel kicked up to rest on a tire. There is a cigarette, half burned away between her fingers that she takes a slow, lazy drag off of.

Eddie can barely comprehend what he's seeing, part of him beginning to wonder if he had somehow died between leaving the school building and now, and this was his view of the afterlife. Heaven or hell, he would take it if it meant seeing this girl for the rest of forever.

She looks up, the sound of Eddie's feet crunching leaves and twigs in the underbrush near the forest where he kept his van safe from assholes who liked to vandalize it. A tiny smile lifts the corners of her lips, still wrapped around the end of her cigarette and she gives Eddie that tiny little wave again like she had at the carwash.

"Um… hello," Eddie cocks his head to the side, the question in his tone apparent as he approaches her.

Eddie watches her flick her cigarette onto the ground, putting it out with the heel of her boot before she pushes away from her leaning position on his van.

"Oh good, I'm glad I got the right van– though it was a little hard to find parked all the way out here." Her voice is sweet, and the smile on her face is making Eddie blush to be on the receiving end of it.

Eddie's heart is hammering so hard that he can feel the pulse behind his eyes. Her sweet voice is making him feel like he's on the brink of breaking down. And his brain is practically shutting off at her adorable smile.

"Yeah, I uh... yeah," it's all he can say, feeling like he's about to puke up all his nervous energy.

She steps forward, pulling a slightly squashed box from her school bag and sheepishly offers it up to Eddie. It looks like a miniature version of the kind of box donuts came in, and it makes Eddie's face crinkle in confusion.

"You didn't show up to Home EC today... I felt bad that you missed out on making cookies, so... I saved some for you."

Eddie's eyes widen as he takes the box from her, his heart doing silly twirls at the thought that she was going to share her cookies with him. And they were from her.

"Wow…," he says, accepting the box almost as if it were a precious jewel. "You... you really didn't need to," he finishes off softly, struggling to maintain his composure enough to appear at least semi-normal.

She shuffles, and if Eddie didn't know any better, it almost looks like she's nervous. "Well… I thought that maybe you didn't show up because of what happened the other day." Her brown eyes look so earnest and apologetic as they flit over Eddie's face, as if she's afraid of overstepping a boundary and hurting him.

"I just… wanted you to know that I'm not grossed out or mad at you for what happened— there were like, a ton of super hot girls there. I mean, if I had a dick I probably would have been in the same boat—" She's rambling as she toys anxiously with one of her black tipped strands of hair.

Heat flares through Eddie, and he can feel it burning in his cheeks hot enough to make his face go red. However, after the embarrassing sting fades a bit, Eddie realizes that the girl was under the impression that he had cum in his pants because of someone else.

His silence seems to make her uncomfortable because she continues to ramble, "A-anyway, the cookies aren't perfect– I think I made the icing too runny or something… but, I gave you the best ones."

She was acting more nervous than he was now, and that was adorable. He wants to reach out and touch her hair, to brush it behind her ear and watch her blush deepen. But he keeps himself in check, and decides the best thing to do was simply say thank you.

"Hey, I'm sure they aren't any worse than what I would have made," Eddie responds, opening the box and looking through the cookies, finding that the icing was indeed a bit runny and messy. That made her even more endearing to him than if she had presented him with something perfect.

The cookies inside are flat and misshapen, with horribly doodled Halloween creatures done in icing; like a toddler had got ahold of a box of crayons and a blank wall.

"Sorry again," she mumbles, toeing at the dirt beneath her boots self consciously. "Hopefully the present on the lid flap makes up for everything."

Again, Eddie is confused– until he lifts the lid that had flopped over and sees a ticket lightly taped to the inside.

A ticket for the Ride the Lightning Metallica tour for the end of this month, front row seats.

Eddie is surprised at the sight of the ticket, and he actually has to take a moment to just look at it. A ticket to a Metallica concert... that she had bought *for him!* He looks back up at her, his mind racing.

He wants to thank her again, to try and tell her how much this means to him. He wants to try and repay her. He just can't find the words.

"Is this seriously for me," Eddie breathes out, his fingers lightly tracing the edges of the ticket as if he's afraid it will disappear at any moment, like fairy gold.

"Mmmhm," the girl hums, an expression of relief on her face as she sees how happy Eddie looks right now. "If you don't mind driving us out to Indianapolis, I've already got the room booked and everything. That is, of course, if you wanna go with me."

Eddie can't believe this is reality for a moment, a part of him lost in the Euphoria of her generosity. The other part of him is suddenly wary, and confused.

"This is like, one of the most amazing gifts any one has ever got me… I just… I don't think your boyfriend would be too happy about you going to a concert with someone like me."

She stops fidgeting for a second, frozen in place by Eddie's sudden dark tone. Her face draws up in confusion, especially since Eddie was scowling so heavily.

"Boyfriend?"

Eddie refuses to look her in the eyes since he's having such a hard time hiding his Jealousy.

"Y'know… the guy you were flirting with in the cafeteria today— you threw your sucker stick at him."

Her sudden laughter makes Eddie cringe, waiting for her to rub it in that he didn't even stand a chance in hell with her compared to whatever Adonis she was dating.

"Eddie! Jesus Christ— that was my cousin. He's a fucking idiot, but he's definitely my idiot. And this isn't Alabama, so I'm definitely not dating my cousin."

"O-oh," Eddie practically squeaks out, wishing once again the ground would crack open and swallow him whole.

The ache of a punch to his arm draws him out of his spiraling misery, and Eddie looks up to see a playful smile on her face.

"Charlie hates metal music, so I'm definitely not taking him to something so epic that he can't appreciate. 'Sides, you'd be more fun to hang out with anyway."

The way she's looking up at Eddie, shyly under the rim of her delicate lashes, sends him back to LA LA land.

"Please say that you'll come with me Eddie, I can pull the Birthday card if I have to– since I'll be turning 19 soon, and I really want to celebrate it with you."

"Shit— yeah of fucking course I'll go! Just hella surprised you want me to join you for something so special."

Her smile could power the whole solar system in that moment; and Eddie feels like he's about ready to pass out from how badly his heart has been pounding this whole time.

"Yes!!!" She exclaims, fist pumping the air in triumph.

Eddie was so fucking screwed.

Without a doubt in his mind, in that moment he knows, he's hopelessly head over heels for her.

He clears his throat awkwardly, suddenly hyper aware of how shitty he feels for not remembering her name.

"There is one condition though," Eddie rasps.

"Yeah, fucking anything you want Eddie, just say the word!"

Mind out of the gutter, MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER.

"Promise you won't get mad, but… I never properly got your name, and i… well I don't really know anyone's names from any of my classes."

The girl clutches at her chest dramatically, a move that Eddie himself would 100% perform himself if he was on the receiving end of someone not remembering his name. He tries not to look down, but temptation is a bitch.

Her black nails really look hot against the pale expanse of her chest…

"I truly am wounded Eddie Munson," she emphasizes his name, showing off that she knows it because she paid attention to him even before they properly met. "I get you a ticket to what's going to be the best concert of your LIFE, and you can't even remember my name…"

Her hand is now pressed to her forehead like a damsel in distress as she flutters her lashes theatrically.

Eddie laughs, even if he feels like absolute dog shit as she lays it on thick, he can't help it.

"Alright, alright I get it– I'm not worthy of the maiden's fair tokens."

The two of them giggle like idiots for a moment, the playful twinkle in her brown eyes making up for being teased so thoroughly by her.

"It's really okay Eddie, I wouldn't remember me either." Her tone is still jovial, but something dull and sad in her eyes lets Eddie know that part of her really believes that. "I'm Marnie Wellwood," she adds, holding out her hand for Eddie to shake.

"Marnie," Eddie echoes, his cheeks warming at her name finally coming from his lips.

Eddie takes her hand in his, the first skin to skin contact with her making him feel hot all over.

And as the familiar trickle of arousal ripples through him just from touching her hand, Eddie knows with 100% certainty that Marnie Wellwood is going to be the death of his sanity.

@butts4sale @rubyiren @grungegrrrl @mrsjellymunson

#eddie munson x oc #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x oc #virgin!eddie munson #mdni #minors dni #minors do not interact

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sombersynth · 1 year

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STEDDIE FANFICTION REC MASTERPOST PT. 5

You're Divine by OonionChiver, 259.5 k, explicit ‘Blood?’ Eddie says again. Eyes black but for the slice of iridescent white in the centre. His teeth are sharp, his hands are weapons and Steve thinks maybe he’s made a mistake doing this without telling Eddie first. Eddie’s focus lowers, it moves to his left hand which is… Oh fuck. It’s dripping blood onto the floor. ‘Shit,’ Steve says, takes a single step back, swallows. ‘Eddie, I’m so sorry, fuck.’ Eddie can’t seem to look away, can’t bring his ethereal gaze back up where it belongs. Steve thinks he should run, he should flee. A tiny part of him knows Eddie will chase him. Eddie will catch him, outrun him easily. It's more than a little fucked up how that thrills him. (My personal favorite Steddie fanfiction of all time.)

Stereoscope by Seraphy, 60.8 k, explicit Here's Steve Harrington's biggest secret, though: It's not the alternate dimension brimming with monsters or the impossible girl with powers. It's the fact that he and Eddie Munson have been friends all along. In an on-and-off, tangential, fucked up kind of way. Never on his own terms. But still friends.

(There Is) Thunder in Our Hearts, by Ayes, 28 k, explicit It was only once. They were teenagers. It didn’t mean anything. The last one was a lie.

Paradise by the Dashboard Light by Oaseas, 154 k, teen and up Things were weird in Hawkins. The fields were rotting, there was something in the woods, and Steve Harrington's Beemer had a new problem every week.

Choose the Rose Garden (Over Madison Square), by Strawberryspence, 42.6 k, explicit “I didn’t know you smoked.” Eddie looks at him tentatively. “Didn’t until ‘86,” Steve answers, letting the feeling of the cigarette between his fingers anchor him into reality. “I see a lot has changed for you in ‘86.” Steve snorts, still not returning Eddie’s fixed gaze. “Are you just going to ignore me for the rest of the night?” or: It's 1991, Joyce and Hop are finally getting married. Steve owns a flower shop, Eddie's a rockstar and everyone's tired of their bullshit.

I Don’t Care, Go On and Tear Me Apart (I Don’t Care if You Do), by Gorgeousgreymatter, 3 k, explicit The words are filthy, they always are whenever they do this, play like this. Eddie’s voice is so sweet though, sticky like syrup and sending little pulses, shivers of pleasure, all the way down Steve’s spine. The only way Eddie’ll be able to miss what it does to him — how Steve’s cock is so hard and heavy against his own thigh that it hurts — is if he’s suddenly gone blind. Is it any more than that blistering hurt he always feels when he wants Eddie? It doesn’t matter how, in what way. The wanting always feels the same.

Nothing’s Gonna Harm You (Not While I’m Around) by Judasofsuburbia, 2.8 k, teens and up when max mayfield shows up at eddie munson's door after a nightmare, the last thing she expects to see is steve harrington staring back at her. or steve and eddie being the big brothers that max deserves.

Stevie Don’t Change Your Number by Eggurie, 33 k, teens and up A young Eddie finds the school's golden boy's phone number scribbled on the bathroom wall. A poorly executed call leads to late night talking, secret crushes and lots and lots of anonymous flirting.

#steddie fanfiction #steddie fic #steddie fic recs #steddie fanfic #steddie fic rec #steddie #steveddie fic #my fic recs

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sabraeal · 5 months

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If the Mind Is Willing, Chapter 5

[Read on AO3]

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist, who long ago won the top prize of my 500 Followers raffle way back in 2018. These were all supposed to be done in the few months I had before I gave birth to my second son...who is now less than two months away from his fifth birthday. And in a few weeks, I will be posting the beginning of my 1000 Followers celebration. So you know. Better late than never

His fingers flex before they settle on the keyboard, a cacophony of cracks that would set his mother’s teeth on edge if she heard them. Not that she’d scold him; oh no, Yamazaki would just find a new bottle on his desk after school, some brown glass container— not plastic, never plastic; things like that were made from oil and oil has chemicals, and no matter how often he explain that all things are made of chemicals, even her all-natural essential oils, it would never take— that would say ‘Susu’s Supplements’ complete with a smiling face. Nearly four years out of the house and his shoulders twitch just thinking about it, ready to hike up around his ears at the first whisper of homeopathy.

Instead, Yamazaki rotates them, points angling from inward to outward, forcing his shoulders square and spine straight. Head over heart, heart over pelvis. A straight line from crown to coccyx. Already the muscles ache, longing to hunch— too many hours at a screen, his mother would say, we’re meant to hunt and gather, not hunt and peck. Lips pressed tight, he tilts his head, popping his neck for good measure. One side, then the other. There’s an order to these things, a ritual, and he’s in no mood to rush himself.

But he’s fast running out of joins to crack, excuses wearing thin as he twists his spine, then flexes his feet. A few satisfying pops press them flat to the floor, and he bites the bullet: inbox open, his outstanding draft unfurls across the screen.

Re: Re: Re: Final Grades Deadline, the subject line reads, and with delicate precision, Yamazaki types: Dr. Matsumoto, I hope you are enjoying your time back in Japan with your family, however—

Orange flashes at the corner of his eye. It’s the messenger, wedged tight between tabs on his task bar. Out of the way. Easy enough to ignore.

—however, it’s come to my attention that—

It’s silent, that’s the problem. Just a block of color that won’t go away until he clicks it. And a small 1 in the corner of it, letting him know it’s a direct message. That someone is looking specifically for him. And it won’t go away, not until he pays it some sort of attention.

—that there are still students for whom grades have not yet been—

Not that he has to. If it was urgent, if he was needed, anyone with that information could simply call him. This email, however, is time sensitive. Time oversensitive, if he really thinks about it. Which he’s trying to not, if only so he can finish it.

—not yet been finalized with administration. If there are any changes you would like to make, tomorrow is the last time to—

He could swear it’s flashing now, the number flicking up to 2, then 3. Like message after message is careening into his DMs, a pileup of personal correspondence he’ll only be able to sort through the wreckage of if this takes any longer.

—tomorrow is the last time to submit electronically. Anything after that will have to be manually changed by—

It’s a trick of the eye, an illusion of increased frequency. It blinks at the same rate for one message as it does for one hundred. His palms break out into a sweat. It would be so easy for 3 to flip to 4, for 4 to suddenly become 9+, and he’ll never know just how many messages are waiting for him, how many people are waiting for him until he finishes this damned email.

—stopping by the administration office in-person. Please let me know if you need any assistance with the electronic submissions.

Relief bows him over the keyboard, and with a quick flourish, he tacks on, Best, Yamazaki.

One last click sends the message on its way, that particular problem no longer his responsibility— until Dr Matsumoto inevitably makes it his— and he turns his attention down to the current object of his ire. The application flicks open, and—

[Saito.Hajime] Souji has sent me a number of Direct Messages regarding the creation of his character for our upcoming roleplaying event I thought you should be made aware

“Oh,” Yamazaki mutters, tension already flooding his shoulders. “Come on.”

[Susumu Yamazaki] Oh? Is that so? Color me surprised. Just what did he want to inquire about? Perhaps whatever character concept would be personally inconvenient for me to have to deal with on short notice? Maybe he’d like to be the emperor? Or a lizard person? A lizard-person emperor?

[Saito.Hajime] I do not believe his is taking into account your level of discomfort Though he did inquire about the non-human options open to him

[Susumu Yamazaki] Of course he did.

[Saito.Hajime] Also, I do not think the Zokujin are available as a player race Not in the current edition of the rules

[Susumu Yamazaki] No. They’re not.

[Saito.Hajime] However I did take the liberty of discouraging him from looking further into the Kitsune Impersonator school

Yamazaki grinds the heels of his palms over his eyes, fireworks splaying across the dark. The last thing he needs is letting Okita loose in a room full of roleplayers extremely sensitive to ridicule with a skill called ‘Fanning the Flames’.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Good. I would like to be invited back to the next event. So what does he want? There has to be some catch. There’s no way he’d be happy creating a character using just the core rules.

[Saito.Hajime] He asked if it was possible to acquire some information on his clan of choice There was not much present in the books we made available during character creation

[Susumu Yamazaki] 1) How would he know? He wasn’t even there? 2) The Player’s Guide has a sufficient overview of all the available Great Clans. Which one could he possibly have trouble finding information on?

[Saito.Hajime] Souji was interested in learning more about specific aspects of the Cat Clan

His teeth grit so hard he can feel the fault lines forming. Tell him, he types, pecking each key with relish, to go fuck himself. Each stroke feels good, feels perfect, up until he hits the backspace.

[Susumu Yamazaki] Leave it to Okita to pull something like this. Cat Clan isn’t even one of the listed options for play in 5th edition! Guy doesn’t even bother to show up to our planned group session, but now he wants to ask us to jump through additional hoops to help him create a character from a niche clan for the *meme*or whatever he’s on about now.

[Saito.Hajime] To know it is even an option means that he at least read the material we provided That conveys a certain level of personal investment on his part More than I would have expected Souji to show

[Susumu Yamazaki] Really? You don’t think that he just went, ‘I like cats. I think I’ll say I want to be a cat and see whether or not Yamazaki personally loses his shit about it?’

[Saito.Hajime] I think you are ascribing malicious intent where there is only indifference

[Susumu Yamazaki] Thanks. Definitely makes me feel good about all this.

[Saito.Hajime] Souji often masks his interest by attempting to be mocking or feigning disinterest

[Susumu Yamazaki] He’s also the kind of asshole who likes to take advantage of everyone’s better nature and pretend that he’s interested in something they care about, only to turn around and make a fucking joke out of it, like a total sociopath

[Saito.Hajime] If it bothers you to put in a sustained amount of effort to assist him in the event that he is ‘simply fucking around’ then I would be happy to help him on my own I would hate for him to be truly interested and refuse to engage with him over simple skepticism about his motives

[Susumu Yamazaki] Fine. It’s your time. I can’t stop you from wasting it.

[Saito.Hajime] Your concern is appreciated if not entirely warranted

“It’s just…” A hiss whistles through his teeth as his chair swivels, bringing him level with Saito’s level stare. “I don’t know why he’s even bothering to do this when he doesn’t even want to go. The other guys might be forcing him to go for” —to be honest, he’s not really clear on the reason, and at this point, he’s certain the answer will only aggravate him— “bonding purposes, or punishment, or whatever, but I don’t care if he puts in effort. He can feel free to have a bad time, it doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

Saito tilts his head, thoughtful. “Is it really so hard to believe that Souji might enjoy the idea of pretending to be someone else, so long as it was in a structured, positive, and judgment-free environment?”

Yamazaki swivels back to his keyboard, mouth pulled thin as he types, Stop trying to make me feel bad for Okita. It’s not going to happen.

Saito glances over at his screen and lets out the smallest, nearly imperceptible sigh.

[Saito.Hajime] I do not expect you to

[Susumu Yamazaki] Am I just supposed to forget that he broke Ibuki’s arm? It wasn’t even a year ago! It’s not like he’s changed!

[Saito.Hajime] You are not often so intractable, but on this subject you do insist on itAnd I respect that you feel that way

He scowls at the screen, pulse throbbing just beneath his collar. I’m not being intractable. If it were anyone but Okita, none of you would even—

Knock. It’s a soft little noise at first, but enough to jar him from his thoughts and set his hands hovering over his keyboard. Knock-knock. Knock?

Okita. That’s who it has to be. Clearly using Saito as his proxy isn’t yielding the results he wants. No, now he’s got to come down and twist the screws himself. Got to saunter on over and drink the annoyance straight from the spigot. Because of course that’s who his evening would choose to shape itself around: the single person in this house he can’t stand. That’s what would make narrative sense, at least.

But as he swivels over to scowl at the door, it occurs to him that Okita might knock, but he wouldn’t bother to wait. He’d try the knob at least, rattling it so hard Yamazaki would hear it even through the noise-canceling on his headphones. But this is tentative, almost a question, and that, that seems more like—

“E-excuse me?” A voice filters through the wood, almost as soft as the knocks. “Y-yamazaki? Are you h—ah, in?”

“Ah…” Saito’s mouth curls at a corner, as close as he comes to a smile, and Yamazaki’s tongue trips over, “Y-yukimura? Is that you?”

“Um, yes! It is!” Her feet shuffle on the carpet, boards groaning with every shift. “Is it…? I mean, would it be okay if I came in?”

“Oh, ah…” He scrambles to his feet, scanning their floor in a desperate scan for contraband. They both keep their sides tidy, clothes in hampers and beds neatly tucked, but it would be just his sort of luck for her to come in and stumble over a pair of yesterday’s boxers. “Yes. Of course. Please.”

Saito’s brows raise as he takes his seat again, less surprised than amused, and Yamazaki has just enough presence of mind to hiss, “Don’t,” before the door slips open, Yukimura hesitantly insinuating herself through the gap. Her eyes fix on the toes of her slippers as if she could will them to stillness.

“Thank you for letting me—oh!” Her gaze flicks up, fluttering when it lands on the other occupant of this room. “Hajime, you’re here too!”

“I can leave,” Saito offers, far too quick. “If you would prefer to be alone.”

“Oh, no, not at all.” Yukimura’s cheeks had already been a pale pink when she shuffled in, but now they veer to a vibrant rose. “Actually, this might be better. Ah, I mean…I think. Not that I had planned to, um…”

It’s…sweet, the way she shuffles; one fluffy slipper scratching fruitlessly at the back of her ankle as she tries to wrangle her intentions into words. Yamazaki could watch her do it for hours, one bashful scratch after the other, but he takes mercy on her instead. “Did you need something, Yukimura?”

“Oh, um, yes!” That gets both feet back on the floor, spine so straight even his aches in sympathy. “It’s…the LARP. I thought we might talk about it, maybe?”

She’s changed her mind, that’s what this is about. After two hours of listening to all of them talk about clans and rings and whether a lion was really Toudou’s fursona, she’s finally realized that it’s just some silly kid’s game. It’s Yukimura, so she’ll dress the reason up, nice enough that even gilt might shine like gold, but that will be the long and short of it: it’s a childish little pretend game, and Yamazaki is a loser for liking it.

“Oh.” Might as well yank this bandaid off before it can bond to the skin. “Sure. Of course. Why don’t you, er…take a seat?”

His hand sweeps out before he completes the crucial mental math needed to know: there’s only two chairs in this room, and him and Saito are sitting in both of them. He jumps to his feet, offer already on his lips, but—

But Yukimura simply smooths her skirt over her thighs, settling down on top of his comforter in a way that is…distracting. To say the least. And it’s not made any better with Saito’s eyes boring into his back.

“Oh, um, is this okay?” Her eyelashes flutter uncertainly, gaze darting from him to the door to his seat and then back again. Enough time to realize he’s staring like some sort of idiot. “If you’d prefer that I move, I don’t mind st—?”

“No! It’s—it’s fine. I wouldn’t even mind if you…” Slept on it. His teeth snap shut around the words. That’s not exactly the sort of suggestion a teaching assistant should be giving a student, even if the class had run its course. “Make yourself at home.”

“Ah…” Her smile stretches thin. “…Thank you.”

Despite the invitation, she’s rigid, a wary little statue perched at the edge of his mattress. Her heels hook on the frame, hands pressed tight over her kneecaps, bent like she’s ready to spring, to hop off at the slightest hint of his displeasure. Gargoyle, Okita might call her, savoring the nasty flavor of the insult— or at least he would until Saito hummed, without a spout for water flow, she’d really only be a grotesque.

But Yukimura isn’t here to emulate architectural features. No, she’s here to let him down gently, even if it seems she could use some assistance doing so.

“Ah, Yukimura…” Yamazaki clears his throat, forcing the bile back down to his stomach, where it belongs. “You know, if you aren’t interested in participating in the event, it’s all right. You won’t be hurting anyone’s feelings.”

The amount of personal disappointment Saito can pack into a single cluck of his tongue would give his mom a run for her money. But if guilt is the target he’s aiming for, Saito misses it by a mile; instead, Yamazaki’s annoyed. Here he is trying to smother the sickening free fall of rejection, not letting a single twitch of it show on his face or the slightest tinge color his tone, and somehow it’s not enough. That somehow by refusing to push her, he’s letting everyone down, and—

“No, that’s not— I don’t mean that at all!” Yukimura waves her hands, as if that alone might clear his misunderstanding. “It’s the opposite. I mean, if there is an…um…opposite for something like this. It’s just…I know what I want to do! But I wanted to talk to you about it first. Oh, ah” —her gaze darts behind him, to where Saito sits— “the two of you, I mean. Since both of you will, um…”

She shrugs, helpless, but Yamazaki can hardly help her. It’s taking all he has to just gape, to parse that not only does she want to come with them, but she has a…a concept. A character she wants to play, one that’s complicated enough she wants his input, and he’ll look stupid if he pinches himself, but that’s the only way he could possibly prove he’s awake.

So it’s Saito that chimes in with, “Of course, Yukimura. We would be happy to provide whatever assistance you need.”

“Oh, really?” She perks where she’s perched, mouth as round as her eyes. “That’s…good! Great, even.”

“So, what are you thinking?” It’s a struggle to keep his excitement from tugging on his words, dragging them out of his register like an overeager puppy. “I know you hadn’t made up your mind when we were all working on characters, so—”

“Ah, actually…” Her shoulders round, barely obscuring the shy pink spread over her cheeks. “I, er, sort of knew what I wanted to do then, but I just…I thought that maybe it wouldn’t be okay? So I tried to come up with something else, but…”

But this is what she wants to do. What she really wants, because she has an opinion about it. She cares what she plays. It’s terrible how much he likes that about her.

“Anything you want would be fine,” he rushes to assure her, too breathless. “There’s very few things that aren’t allowed.”

At least, things Yukimura might think to do. When Saito finally strong-arms him into give the same talk to Okita, there would need to be more than a few caveats. Strictures, even.

Saito nods.“The event organizers are quite open to most concepts their players create. If you have conceived of something outside the usual bounds of play, I’m sure they would be happy to work with you to—”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing— nothing like that.” The look that filters up through her lashes is shy, hopeful even as her head ducks against her shoulder, as if she’s bracing for a blow. “I just…I thought…I mean, it was really Kimigiku who said it first, but I think I agree that it would be, ah, best if I made a character that would give me an excuse to stay near more experienced players, since I’m, you know, new, and, um, not really good at acting yet, and, ah…?”

“Ah! Excellent idea, Yukimura. There are plenty of well-established players that enjoy teaching newer ones.” Shimada would be an obvious choice— he’d been the one to take him under his wing, shinobi-to-shinobi, back when Yamazaki first joined— though his steely Hiruma scout was a difficult sell for companionship. Enomoto too, though as an organizer, it would be hard to say if he’d be playing his Kitsuki investigator or a more plot-bearing role. “Do you think if I were to email Ootori now, he might be able to get us a list of—?”

Saito clears his throat, pointed. “I think Yukimura might already have some idea of what mentors she would prefer.”

“Oh…?” Yamazaki glances at her, catching the quick bob of her head. “Ah, sorry! I didn’t think you knew anyone but Saito and myself. But if there’s someone else…?”

He hardly thinks he’s earned the weary glare Saito slings his way. At least until Yukimura stutters out, “It’s just…I thought…?” Her eyes dart between the two of them, brow pinched tight over her nose. “I thought maybe…I might play the, um…daimyo’s daughter? If that’s okay, that is.”

For as acute as his hearing is, Yamazaki cannot have possibly heard that right. “…Excuse me? Which…?”

“The, uh…Crane Clan princess.” Her lips purse, thoughtful. Too thoughtful, really, when he can’t even knock two brain cells together to get a spark. “Or I guess she’s not really a princess, but…um…?”

“The Doji daimyo’s daughter,” Saito says, devastatingly even. “The one that Yamazaki and I are sworn to protect.”

“Yes!” She smiles so bright she can’t possibly understand what she’s asking. “That way I’ll have a reason for sticking close to you two!”

He can only stare, mouth working useless at a muffled, “W-what?”

“Oh, I just…I didn’t want to impose on you two by making some new character and forcing you both to shoehorn her in to accommodate me. But I…” Her hands flutter, flustered under his gaping gaze. “I could do that, if…if that’s better? Or I mean, you don’t have to do anything for me at all, I could just, um…?”

“What?” Yamazaki asks again, slightly louder. “Do you really want to…? I mean, the daimyo’s daughter…?”

“Yes! Unless it would be a problem?” Her teeth worry at her bottom lip, and— and he can see it now, the pucker of red that would be painted over it, bright against the white of her teeth. Heat flares up his neck, head ringing with sudden rush of blood flooding over his ear drums. “Ah, I didn’t even ask if there was someone already playing her character! There probably is. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed—!”

“There isn’t,” he blurts out, more exorcism than information. God, what he wouldn’t give for a good slap, just to rattle his brain back into working order. He’s never been one to believe in percussive maintenance, but he’ll make an exception, just this once “She’s just…just lore.”

“In my opinion, it’s the perfect solution.” Saito’s mouth lifts at a corner, practically a smile. “As expected from you, Yukimura.”

“O-oh.” Hands clap to her cheeks, but it does nothing to cover how pink floods her from collar to hairline. “It’s nothing, really. I wouldn’t have even asked if Sen and Kimigiku hadn’t told me I should.”

“It is a good idea.” He means the words as he says them, and yet somehow he can’t help but add, “It’s just…I don’t see why a daimyo’s daughter would be following around a shinobi. Her father pressed him into another service nearly three years ago, so why would she…?”

Care. That’s the crux of it. For all that hime-sama had meant to him, a shinobi is eta, less than a person, worth no more than the dirt at the bottom of her slipper. That she had even deigned to notice him was proof of her generous nature, but to care for him beyond what a girl does for her most loyal hound, enough that she would risk herself and the reputation of her family to come to his side? That could be no more than a fantasy, a story he might tell himself in the last moments before death claimed him, and she—

“Kimigiku had a good idea for that too, actually.” Yukimura’s tremulous smile finds its footing, growing more eager with each word. “What if there was someone who was after her? An assassin, or maybe…some other clan who would like to hold her ransom? That way she’d have a good reason to be in disguise.”

“Disguised?” Saito settles back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “As a kunoichi? Or as someone else?”

“Kuno…?” Yukimura blinks, turning those guileless eyes onto him.

“A female shinobi. Er, ninja, I guess.” He raises his hand, but there’s no bag to tug, no strap to hold onto while he flounders. Instead he has to settle for his collar, the echo of his mother’s voice clucking, keep that up and you’ll stretch the darn thing out. It only makes him tug harder. “Mechanically, there’s no difference. It’s just, uh…flavor, I guess.”

“Oh.” Her mouth rounds into a perfect circle. “Then I guess…no? I thought that— well, Kimigiku thought that it might make more sense if I…ah, I mean, since she has been traveling by herself, that she might be trying to pass herself off as a boy?”

It’s the perfect idea, slotting right into the extensive backstory they’d hashed out three years ago— adventurous hime-sama, separated from her two most stalwart protectors just as the pillars of the Doji clan shook beneath the weight of an ailing emperor. A daimyo’s daughter gone missing in the chaos of the capital, right when her marriage would legitimize either of his son’s claims.

Silence stretches between them, long enough it starts to buzz, to ring. Like static, only interrupted by the ragged pull of his breath, and the relentless pounding of his heart.

“You…?” His tongue tangles, mouth too dry to right itself properly in his mouth. “That’s…?”

“Very clever, Yukimura.” A corner of Saito’s mouth lifts, spreading into the faintest smile, and— ah, of course he’d enjoy this, the sadist. It’s not like it’s his heart trying to escape through his rib cage. “Quite impressive.”

A blush flares across the highest arches of her cheeks. “Oh, it’s not me that…I mean, it was really Kimigiku who thought of everything. She even had a costume I could borrow, if I wanted. Do you want me to show you?”

Against all reason, Saito’s brows lift, and it’s all the encouragement Yukimura needs to fish through her pockets, pulling out a slender screen covered in cherry blossoms. She scrolls, excitement practically palpable, and yet all Yamazaki can stumble out is a “But…?”

“It’s a good hook.” Saito gaze darts toward him, pointed. “A very good one.”

Meaning: Ootori’s going to love it. With the emperor barely clinging to his mortal coil, a conflict between his sons would be imminent. The reappearance of Doji Hogyoku’s prodigal daughter at a secret meeting in support of the youngest imperial son would cause the exact sort of political upheaval that man salivates over, and all he has to do is sign off on a player’s participation. The fact that it would create a good amount of personal drama for Yamazaki in particular— well, that would just be the cherry on his sadist sundae.

“I know it is,” he snaps, shoulders hiking up to his ears. God, the smile that’s sure to spread over that cherubic face— it gives him shivers just thinking about it. “It’s just…”

He’ll never live it down. For hime-sama to show up— no, for her to arrive in his care, a personal friend he’s allowed to take her roll—

“O-oh.” Yukimura’s hands fall to her lap, grip limp where they wrap around her phone. “I’m sorry. I’m overstepping, aren’t I?”

That’s exactly what she’s not doing, but his head’s too scrambled to say so, not before her shoulders round, framing a rueful smile. “It’s really okay if you don’t want me to play her, Yamazaki. I know she’s really important to you. I can just come up with—“

“No! No.” His hand flies, like he could somehow physically stop her from running off with the wrong idea. “That’s really not it at all. Saito’s right, it’s a great idea. I’ve already, uh…”

He’s not sure what’s worse: the hopeful look Yukimura gives him as he stammers to a stop, curiosity shining out of every eyelash— or the casual way Saito kicks his chair, dislodging what he’d hoped he could keep to himself. “I’ve already played around with a potential build for her. I’ll, ah…email it to you.”

Saito’s glare burns where it bores into his neck, but he can stare all he wants; Yukimura doesn’t need to know how long this character sheet has sat on his hard drive, unused. Never meant to be used, not unless Ootori asked for it, the metatextual third member of the Crane Clan trio, the one both of their characters had been built around. The one whose absence left them less than whole.

And now here is Yukimura, squinting at her screen, about to fill it.

“Oh.” Her eyes pulse wide, scrolling through the overview. “You’ve filled out the whole thing!”

“I don’t expect you to use it! I mean, not as-is, if you don’t want to.” He shifts his squirming into a shrug, not casual enough to be normal. “You can do whatever you like, it’s just, ah…someplace to start. If you want it.”

“I do!” Yukimura’s smile peeks out from behind her screen, the sun emerging from behind the clouds, and an inconvenient warmth rolls through him from head to toe. “I mean, I have a couple of ideas that I thought I might want to use, but this…this is super helpful. It must have been so much work.”

“Less than you’d think,” he manages, faintly. “I’m glad it helps.”

She nods, emphatic. “It really does. Do you think I could take a couple minutes to look through this on my own, and then maybe…?”

There’s uncertainty in the way she lifts her gaze, a hesitation in the way her voice rises, as if she’s waiting for someone to finish the thought— and it’s not until his chair jolts under him, aided by the firm application of Saito’s foot, that Yamazaki realizes that it’s supposed to be him.

“Ah!” The sound slips through his teeth long before he’s composed an acceptable interjection, but now she’s looking at him, expectant, and the pressure alone squeezes out, “Did you want me to help you, Yukimura?”

It’s worth it for the way her whole face lights, for the way her whole body pitches forward, eagerness leaking from every pore. “Yes! I mean, if that’s okay.” Her eyes dart over his shoulder, curious. “Do you mind?”

Saito shakes his head. “It would be our pleasure.”

“Great!” The sun itself couldn’t put out the wattage Yukimura does now, so bright Yamazaki nearly squints. Oh, he’s never going to live this one down. “Is after dinner okay?”

“Yeah,” he manages faintly as she springs to her feet. “Perfect.”

The door’s barely closed behind her before the pressure of Saito’s stare bores into him, the pregnant silence only honing his unspoken words to a point.

“I know,” he grunts, head falling back against his chair. “I know.”

“It’s a good idea,” Saito says after the world’s most judgmental pause. “I’m sure Ootori will feel the same.”

A groan filters through his fingers. “I know that too.”

“It will solve more than a few logistical issues this session’s agenda has presented.” Yamazaki hardly knows what’s worse: the ribbing he’s about to take from every player in their party, or the fact that Saito has done his own math on the matter, and whatever amount he’s derived has made his tone downright sympathetic. Gentle, even. “Her part would have to be filled sooner rather than later, and I would rather have it be someone of our own choosing, rather than having it assigned to one of the admin—”

“I know. I’m going to DM Ootori about it in a minute. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled.” For more reasons than logistics, but that’s the last thing he’s ready to hash out right now. Especially with someone whose personal philosophy is that all is fair in LARP and roleplay— as long as it’s interesting. “It’s just…”

There’s too much ‘just’ to make a tidy little list; so many it’s impossible to separate them from their Gordian snarl into discrete, presentable bullet points. So instead the silence stretches as he struggles, trying to cut it down to its most salient points, the ones that Saito might not only understand, but appreciate, and—

“Complicated?” Saito offers simply.

Yamazaki sighs. “Yeah. Really fucking complicated.”

[Susumu Yamazaki] If you have a moment.

[The1andOotori] for my favorite shinobi? any time

[Susumu Yamazaki] I wanted to update you on our progress with character building. Or rather, if one player wants to progress with one of their current concepts, I think it may require Story Master permission.

[The1andOotori] oh? intriguing if they’re your friends, Susumu, i’m sure that i’ll be happy to accommodate them the others have been just fine right? we were a little thin on lion clan people anyway good to have some more

[Susumu Yamazaki] Please reserve your praise until after I’ve explained their idea.

[The1andOotori] ominous! i like that in a concept anyway lay it on me. promise to react with suitable horror maybe even clutch my pearls

[Susumu Yamazaki] She is an inexperienced player and concerned with her ability to roleplay well with people she is unfamiliar with. So she wanted to pick a character that would allow her to stick close to more familiar and experienced players.

[The1andOotori] that’s pretty clever

[Susumu Yamazaki] She is.

[The1andOotori] so she wants to stick close to you and hajime? i think we can manage that did she have some idea of what she wanted to do?

[Susumu Yamazaki] She wants to be Doji Hogyoku’s daughter.

[The1andOotori] HIME-SAMA??? sorry, just surprised that’s…good with you?

[Susumu Yamazaki] Saito and I have agreed she would be an adequate player to embody her role.

[The1andOotori] wow okay yeah that’s fine wow it actually takes a load off my plate. we were going to have to cast her for this session marie already volunteered but i can tell her we got it covered wow

[Susumu Yamazaki] My friend can pick another role if you it would be too difficult for you to change plans now. I know this is short notice.

[The1andOotori] no no this is good i’d rather have hime-sama be someone you like

[Susumu Yamazaki] I’m sure Marie could also do an admirable job with hime-sama. If that would make things easier for you.

[The1andOotori] uh huh okay if you had your pick of hime-samas do you want marie or your friend?

[Susumu Yamazaki] …

[The1andOotori] no judgment. your choice

[Susumu Yamazaki] I think hime-sama’s personality would come more naturally to Chizuru.

[The1andOotori] there it is then i’ll want to talk to all of you after check-in Saito too i think you guys will be interested in what we’ve cooked up

Yamazaki doesn’t so much sit back in his chair as wither into it, hands clapping over his eyes. “There. I did it.”

A chair squeaks— Saito must be turning to him. “You’re going to have to tell her.”

His shoulders stiffen so fast they ache. “I can’t do that. It would be— be metagaming. She should only know what hime-sama knows.”

He’d also rather die than explain that particular bit of backstory to Yukimura, but he doubts Saito will find that as compelling an excuse.

When his hands tumble to his lap, like dying leaves from a tree, Saito is staring at him. “Who is to say she doesn’t?”

“Excuse me?” He straightens, righteousness flaring beneath his chest. “The Daodoji are circumspect. He would never let her think— no, not even let her suspect—”

“I understand,” Saito assured him. “But what if she hopes…?”

Yamazaki licks his lips, his mouth impossibly dry. “No. That’s not possible. She doesn’t…hime-sama thinks of him as her loyal retainer. And it will stay that way.”

“Unless Ootori changes that.” Saito gives him a pointed glance. “Or Yukimura.”

His heart flutters uselessly in his chest. “She won’t.”

Saito hums, unconvinced. “I could tell her if you want.”

Yamazaki glares. “I certainly don’t!”

“Hm.” Oume settles back in her chair, a slender finger pressed against her pursed lips. “Cutting the deadline a little close this year, aren’t we, Mr Yamazaki?”

“Ah…” Yamazaki’s hand spasms around the strap of his bag, guilt pulling his polite smile thin. “Professor Matsumoto had a few contestations in progress before he left for Japan. I’m given to understand the thirteen hour difference made the process go…slower than either party liked.”

Oume gives him a look over her half-moon spectacles so eloquent the lit department could write a dozen papers about its themes and allusions without even scraping the surface of her meaning. She might be in Administration now, but fifteen years as the former provost’s personal assistant had left her fluent in the sort of subtlety that would make government agencies green with envy. "And that is why you are here, handing me a handful of grades on a…post-it?…at three forty-five?”

“Uh…” He swallows, neck so tight he’s half afraid he’ll gag on his own Adam’s apple. “Yes. But to be fair, I at least put it on a Large Note?”

Her finger twitches; the note’s struck across it, wide enough the stickum spans the whole length, delicate blue lines running in parallel. The movement angles it just enough to read his neatest print, each name and grade change logged with precision, and her mouth wobbles at a corner. “Whatever Ryojun pays you, it isn’t enough. You can tell him that, from me.”

He won’t— even an undergrad knows better than to get between an academic and their funding— but he appreciates the thought. “Sorry again for the late changes. I tried to get them over as early as I could.”

“I’m sure you did, Mr Yamazaki.” There’s a hardness to the set of Oume’s face, a sharpness Yamazaki’s not used to seeing. With a keystroke, she brings up her university inbox, mouth pursed as she clicks Compose. “Don’t worry, I know exactly who to blame.”

It’s a sign— not one of those simple ones, like Caution: High Voltage or Slippery When Wet, but the kind that had skulls and thunderbolts and reads, This Will Kill You and Hurt the Entire Time. His sign really, telling him it’s time to clear out before he can get caught in the splash radius of whatever cursed energy she’s about to lob across the pacific.

He clears his throat, just soft enough to catch the edge of her attention. “Have a happy New Year, ma’am.”

Pale eyes flick up toward him, her mouth sparing him the smallest of smiles. “You too, Mr Yamazaki.”

Yamazaki steps out into the hallway, making it nearly three strides before he lets go of the breath he’s holding, deflating like Toudou’s most recent attempts to make something edible. Next semester, he’s going to sit on Dr Matsumoto’s luggage until the final grades are filed.

“Ah, Yamazaki!”

His whole body starts, jerking to attention, but when he looks up it’s straight into the second button of a maroon parka, left open over its zipper. He has to take a step back— and crane his neck— to even catch a glimpse of the friendly smile hanging above it. “Haah, Shimada. I didn’t see you.”

How a man as big as that can move so silently, he will never know. He appreciates it in the LARP, but here on campus— well, there’s a reason big dog owners at least put collars on them. People usually like a little warning before a Great Dane bounds up into their business.

Shimada’s mouth twitches. “I take it Oume is perhaps not in her best mood?”

“If that folder you are holding contains final grades in it, then I would not expect a warm reception,” he confirms, sternly. “I didn’t think you’d be the sort that would sit on them this late.”

“Oh, no.” A manila envelope has never looked so reasonably sized as it does in his hands. “These are the class descriptions for next semester.”

His brows raise. “Weren’t those supposed to be in a month ago?”

“Yes.” There’s another twitch of that wide mouth, this time in the other direction. “I have a feeling she’ll be just as happy to see these as she would be if this was full of grades.”

Yamazaki has no answer but a grimace.

“Oh, I talked to Ootori last night.” Shimada’s tone is curious, but only politely so. “I heard you’re bringing your friends this weekend.”

“Ah…” He can only hope Ootori didn’t get specific about just who was coming. The last thing he needed was everyone pressed to the glass when they showed up, trying to get a glance at the girl he let play hime-sama. “Yes. My housemates, actually.”

“Oh, that will be nice.” Shimada’s smile widens. “Itou probably hasn’t seen them in a while. No doubt he’ll be excited for them to see him in his biggest role—”

Yamazaki stiffens. “Ah…what was that?”

Shimada blinks. “Oh, didn’t you hear? He’s getting to play Hantei’s younger son. Daisetsu.”

[Yamazaki Susumu] I think we may have made a grave miscalculation.

[Saito.Hajime] How so?

[Yamazaki Susumu] Itou is going to be there.

[Saito.Hajime] Yes?

[Yamazaki Susumu] And we’re bringing Okita.

[Saito.Hajime] Oh Well Shit

#yamachi #hakuouki #my fic #modern au #college au #If the Mind Is Willing #LARP au #i'm having the realization that i do indeed need to build like 12 character for the next few chapter to flow properly and like #freestyle screaming over it. i have bought the 5th ed sourcebook and i have a feeling I will be picking at this #for a few months whenever I wanna stop thinking about my bigger projects 🤣#next chapter is also going to involve OCs and BOY is that gonna be SOMETHING #maybe i can finally find a place to squeeze in souma and nomura 😅

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brunchable · 2 years

Text

Chapter III - Under the Influence || Surgeon!S.S. x Nurse!Reader.

Words: 3.2K

Genre: Hospital Romance, Love Triangle/Square, Sexual Tension.

Warnings: None.

Pairings: Stephen Strange x Reader.

A/N: sorry it's short, there's so much going on IRL right now. i'm so tired and I get distracted easily nowadays.

Reblogs, comments and hearts are very much appreciated <3

Previous || Next

The apartment that Stephen occupied did not have a cosy or welcoming atmosphere; while it could have had a beautiful view due to the large glass windows that he had installed, it was dreary and lonely. You look at the many displays that are situated near, and as you move about, your fingers go over the shelves. He had a great number of awards—he was born to be a doctor; you believe that he deserves to be where he is right now.

You thought it was the delivery person for the meal when the doorbell rang, but Stephen was stern with you when he told you not to open it for anybody else. Once again, the doorbell was rung by the individual who was on the other side of the door. If that were the delivery guy, wouldn't he have simply left it at the front door?

You approached his bedroom with reluctance, doing your best to refrain from prying as much as possible. You were still able to hear the water flowing inside his private bathroom. On the other side of that door, he’s naked. You cleared your throat as well as your intrusive thoughts.

“Hey Strange?” You yelled at the entrance of his room. Soon after you called out his name, the pitter-patter came to an abrupt halt.

“Yeah?” The deepness of his voice came through the door.

“I think dinner’s here. Should I open the door?”

“No! I’ll do it. Give me one second.”

You left to sit patiently on the high chair by the counter where your best friend from the Presbyterian rang you, “Hey Priya~”

“Hey (Y/N)~ How’s MGH treating my bestie?” She asked you through the phone and you instantly sighed, “Was that a sigh? Are you not settling in well babe?”

“No, I am. It’s just—a lot has happened in the last few days, I can’t even begin to…” You trailed off and did a double take as you spotted Stephen on your peripheral vision strolling out of his bedroom with a maroon towel tightly wrapped around his waist and a smaller towel in hand to dry his hair off, “...describe.”

Your eyes couldn’t help but drift lower from his broad shoulders, down his chiselled chest and down to his defined apollo’s belt. Sweet Lord almighty. As much as you wanted it to be a delusion, drool was definitely accumulating within your mouth. Priya was on the other line wanting to catch up with you tomorrow night but you were too distracted to even hear it. When the corner of Stephen’s mouth twisted up ever-so-slightly, you tore your attention away from his physique. Did the temperature in his apartment become warmer or was it just you?

“Sorry Priya? I didn’t catch what you were saying.”

“I said, do you want to join me and the girls tomorrow night? We miss you.” She repeated the invitation as Stephen walked around you, watching you like a hawke—curious as to who you’re talking to.

“I would love to join you tomorrow night, where are we meeting?” You accepted your best friend’s invitation, raising your brows at the man as he disappeared into the hallway to attend to the door.

“PHD Rooftop Lounge at Dream Downtown. 10pm, sharp. Oh, and wear something sexy—Leana’s boyfriend’s birthday so they’ll be a lot of bachelors.”

“Did you invite me to catch up or to hook up?” You called her out for asking you to dress to impress.

“Both. I am dying to know how you are, the men are just there to make the evening more exciting.”

You chuckled, “Geeze, Priya—We’ll catch up tomorrow. I have to go.” You said your goodbyes after seeing Stephen come back with a brown paper bag with food inside it, “Do you mind? Do you always walk out half naked when you have guests around?”

“Rarely, but with you, I don’t mind at all.”

"Well I do. It making me—" ravenous, "—lose my appetite."

"Keep telling yourself that." Stephen retorted briskly—It was impossible not to notice the manner in which your eyes swept his figure, as if you were already caressing him in your mind with your hands. Draping the smaller toilet over his shoulder , he began taking the contents out of the brown paper bag, "I hope you like Thai food."

You rolled your eyes at him, "Yeah, I do." You sat up taller and pushed your lips together in a straight line, expressing your awkwardness. It would be so much simpler to just shut your eyes rather than try to avoid staring at him, particularly given how magnetic his physique was—but you'd look ridiculous if you did that.

Stephen stifles a breathy laugh as you stubbornly refuse to take another peak, "Alright, I’m going to get dressed before you get a heat stroke.” He teased referring to your cheeks that were flushed with hues of pink.

You scoff, “Too much audacity can kill you know, you should be careful.”

It didn’t take long for Stephen to come back wearing a plain white t-shirt and black Nike sweatpants. You were texting Priya on the phone when he came back and opened all the containers.

“Who were you talking to just now?” Stephen asked out of plain curiosity as he passed you a fork from the drawer.

“Just my best friend.”

Stephen nodded and slid the bowl of Green Curry with rice towards you, "So, what did Charlotte say to you?"

You seemed to wrestle with your thoughts while taking a relishing bite of your food and drawing the spoon from between your lips slowly. Mesmerizingly. Stephen coughed and dragged his attention higher to your eyes.

"She basically just wants me to stay away from you." You shrugged, sorting the proportions of curry with your rice.

"Are you going to do as she asked?"

You look up at him for a split moment then back to your container, "Um yeah?"

"You know she's asking you the impossible right?" Stephen asked, twirling his noodles around his fork without even glancing at you.

"Oh really? How so?" You narrowed your judgeful eyes, assuming he was putting you up for a challenge.

"First off, we work in the same unit. Secondly, I don't think I can keep myself away from you." Stephen lifted his eyes, he held your gaze with eyes that somehow reassured you. You felt the connection in the pit of your stomach, a warm, coming-to-life tingle.

You give a little shake of your head while laughing in a reserved manner due to your scepticism, “Do I have to get a restraining order?”

You were hoping that Stephen would respond to your statement with a chuckle or a smirk, but instead he didn't alter his look at all, “I mean it.”

“You’re asking for drama Strange, and I don’t want to be a part of it,” you placed your spoon down on the counter firmly, “Sort yourself out if you want to come after me.”

As you prepared to leave his apartment, he followed you both with his eyes and his body as you grabbed your bag and made your way out of the apartment.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going home—thanks for the dinner but I really did just lose my appetite.” You said to him as you opened his front door. You glanced at him for a short second expecting for him to stop you, but he didn't, so you stepped out and closed the door behind you.

As you made your way towards the elevators, you simultaneously called an Uber to take you home. You were sorry that you made the decision to go with him; while everything he said sounded and felt wonderful to your ears, you were well aware that it was all a trap. He is probably tired of Charlotte and is just searching for a brand new toy to play with.

When the elevator doors opened, there saw a lady dressed in scrubs talking on the phone. Long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, and a beauty mark on the left side of her face, just below the cheekbone. You both gave each other a friendly grin as you entered and entered the elevator, and as the door closed behind you, you observed that she had turned to the right, towards the direction that you had just come from.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You wore your white 1994 Chanel set worn by Claudia Schiffer in Chanel Spring 1994 Haute Couture. Your hair styled in a claw clip updo to show off your golden hoop earrings. You sprayed yourself in Love by Killian before walking out of the bathroom to join your friends.

A party wouldn't be a party without one of your exes being there and even better, his current girlfriend is your friend, Leana—you weren’t bothered since you and Nathan ended a long time ago and you knew that Leana had always had a thing for him. You were just shocked that the boyfriend Priya mentioned was Nathan.

"Don't sit next to me (Y/N), you're making me look poor." Priya joked as she playfully scooted away from you.

"You're doing me a favour staying away cause I look like a roach beside you." You retorted back to your friend, and lifted your glass before drinking it.

"Oof–that was smooth, girl." Priya chuckled, hitting your thigh gently.

"So when did both of you happen?" You asked Leana and Nathan who sat on the couch across. They looked at each other with sheepish looks on their faces.

"Just recently. I wanted to tell you personally but I wasn’t sure how you would take it." Leana bit her lip and gazed at her lap.

"Please, you don't need to feel guilty, me and him are history with no hard feelings. Isn't that right, Nate?" You smiled at him with an obvious message that he should just agree with you.

"Yeah, for sure. No hard feelings at all." Nathan gave you a hard stare before turning his head to his new girlfriend who had the look of relief.

"What about you (Y/N)? You seeing anyone yet?" Lucy asked, wiggling her brows, knowing that you moved because you wanted to work with Chris. Nate discreetly tuned in and waited for your answer.

"Ugh no. I don't have time to commit myself to anyone right now." You rolled your eyes while taking another drink from the middle, “Nice to meet you all anyway.” you smiled at Nate’s friends.

"Speaking of, where is your other friend Nate?” Leana asked, counting the boys with her eyes.

Nate rolled his eyes, “He’ll be here, dude’s always late and loves to make an entrance.”

“Apparently he’s very attractive,” Priya quoted with her fingers, “According to Leana.”

“You thought that?” Nate turned his head to Leana who shrugged her shoulders innocently.

“It’s just a thought.” Leana nudged his side, playing cute to prevent the man from getting upset. Nate chuckled and shook his head, swinging his hands around Leana and pulling her close.

“Okay… how about we single people give you two some space.” Priya held your wrist and pulled you up with her, “Let’s go girls—you boys can come dance with us if you want to.”

“We would love to.” One of them said and the three of them followed Priya, Lucy and Amy and you to the dancefloor where other guests were enjoying themselves. At the same time that your normally reserved demeanour vanished, you could feel the alcohol working its way through your veins. You gave your body freedom to move in time with the beat of the music, rolling your body against Priya and whatever of Nate's pals was positioned behind you.

You open your eyes at one point when you feel a tingling sensation in your neck, and you see Nathan staring at you from across the room. However, he quickly diverted his attention when Leana questioned him about something. You returned to dancing, making the foolish decision to accept another drink from the wait staff. Your movements slowed when the air in the room changed. It kind of just . . . lit up. You turned to look at the other guests and noticed that the majority of their attention was focused on the door leading to the rooftop lounge. Because Stephen was standing there, watching you with a sly smile on his lips while one of his arms was propped up high on the door jamb—he wore a black leather jacket with a button-up long sleeve inside.

“Holy mother of—” You muttered, taking a moment to stare along with everybody else. There was no other way to acknowledge his entrance, but to make everyone speechless and motionless. The way Stephen swaggered his way into the party was like a lion lazily making its way through a pack of hyenas. He towered over everyone and everything. Cocky. So cocky and confident and stupidly hot. Outrageously hot.

“That’s him,” one of Nate’s friends nearby said. “That’s the friend Nate keeps talking about.”

“God, Leana wasn’t joking—I’d let him step on me.” Lucy said as her eyes undressed him.

“Dibs.” Amy blurted out mindlessly.

“Screw that. I already called dibs.” Lucy nudged Amy.

The muscle in Stephen's cheek twitches, indicating that he heard what was being spoken, but he didn't take his eyes off of you, and you began to... become sort of irritated about it. You were infuriated, that's for sure. Who claims a human being as their property? What if he had feelings for one of them as well? That had nothing to do with you and it should be none of your concern. Was it? You watched as further mutterings made their way to Stephen, and his grin only became stronger as a result.

Now, as he approached you, his steps became uncertain. Did he have second thoughts about approaching you? Because of the presence of all these people, watching? You didn't give it another consideration before setting your drink down on a nearby waiter who was carrying an empty tray before walking purposefully towards Stephen. Tongue in cheek.

It's possible that the significant levels of alcohol that were present in your circulation were a factor in your actions at that time, but the primary motivation behind them was likely indignation. These women were completely unfamiliar with him. It seemed as if the odds of him being with another woman were rather high. Trying to hook up. It's possible that the sudden, overwhelming impulse to be the one to reach him first propelled you ahead. You find it funny that he is hesitant to approach you when there are other people watching, but there was no way in hell that you were going to allow him to be hesitant to approach you at a party.

He was being objectified in the centre of the room, yet he gave off the impression that he didn't care in the least. Okay, maybe you have some feelings of jealousy as well. There was a chance that someone else was putting dibs on him, not just your friends, but you tried not to give too much thought to the idea. You decided to lick your lips instead, picking a landing spot for your mouth. You were standing roughly five feet away from Stephen when his look shifted, and you could see that he understood what you were trying to convey.

His gradual uncertainty dissipated, and on a dime he sprang up to the level of a raging flame. Those bright blue eyes darkened as you came closer, and that strong jawline with the bristling chin tightened. Ready. A guy who is used to being desired and knows exactly how to respond to this situation. He whispered your name right before you pushed up on your toes, clamping your lips onto his, right there near the entrance of the rooftop lounge. You were instantly knocked over by the desire of his muscular lips, and then he twisted you, forcing your back against the inside of the arched doorway, opening his mouth on top of yours, and licking into the kiss with a choking moan.

Despite the fact that your thoughts were jumbled and the languid heat had rendered your arms lifeless, you eventually came to the conclusion that you had made a significant mistake. You were Eve in the Garden of Eden, and you’d just taken a bite from the apple.

Jesus Christ, he tasted incredible. Musky and masculine and grounding. Did he push you up against the entryway too forcefully? He had never before had such an intense desire to stick his tongue into the lips of a lady, plus he could taste the sweetness of all the cocktails you’ve drank. He had never been overcome by the sense of haste, hunger, or any of the other a thousand unidentified feelings that caused him to pull down your chin with his thumb in an attempt to get closer to you. Stephen's eyes pop open, only to be met with the sight of yours securely closed. To such a degree. He felt the groan growing there as he stroked his thumb down to your neck and would have given everything to be able to taste it. Because seducing women was such an easy ability for him, he could definitely keep doing what he was doing — maybe he should just call it a night and bring you home from the party and take you to bed.

Stephen experienced his heart beating at a much faster rate than it ever had before. But now that you've said it, he can't help but wonder: Had you simply kissed him to kiss him? Simply because you want to do so? He noticed how you had stopped dancing the moment he entered into the room and how you had gravitated towards him like if you were being attracted by a magnet. Had he taken things the wrong way? Were you doing this only to make someone else green with envy?

Even though it was difficult for him, Stephen managed to break the kiss by pushing both of your foreheads together as you both battled to get your breath back, “You really want to make things hard for me huh?” he spoke to you in a hushed tone, unable to prevent his eyes from wandering to your swollen lips as he looked at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him slightly, thinking about two meanings to his remark, “What do you mean by that?”

“Staying away from you.”

“A kiss is just a kiss unless you put meaning behind it, and you so happen to be in my line of sight. I mean what I said when I want you to sort yourself out.” You told him, at this point you don’t even know what you were talking about. You don’t know if you’re intoxicated by him or by the alcohol.

“I have something you want, you have something I want. Remember what you told me before?” Stephen asked you, what you told him in the storage room never left his mind.

‘To bargain, you need to have something I want.’ Your own voice echoed in your head as you remembered those words and suddenly you had the urge to bang your head against a wall.

The tip of Stephen's nose nudged yours, his lips dangerously close that you could feel the heat of his breath, “So, (Y/N), do you want to bargain?”

TAGS: @goldencherriess @severuined @praetorrara @emotionsareforuglypeople @bxsotted @siredlust @sherlux @tis-vereon @greatburger @lykaonimagines @strangeions @dragonqueen89 @kylosbitch @lovecleastrange @patbrdac @brookymsa @downtownshabby @lucimorningst4r @diabaroxa @reader6898 @mando-is-the-way @faithinhome @bobateadaydreams @strangeobsessed @mochuchi @mischiefmanaged71 @marcelin3 @thewinterpoet2 @evelynrosestuff @lokislov3 @diabaroxa @singhfae @frostandflamesfanfic @withalittlehoney @keistange

#stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch imagine #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #benedict cumberbatch x reader #benedict cumberbatch #benedict cumberbatch x you #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x you #doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #dr strange x reader #dr strange x you #Spotify

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pink-sparkly-witch · 2 years

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Can't Fight This Feeling, Pt. 3

Summary: A night out for Benny’s birthday turns into something more when an encounter with Y/N’s ex, Rick, has Dean finally finding the courage to tell her how he feels.

Pairing: Mechanic!Dean Winchester x Female Reader (Finally!)

Bingo Square: Quote B

Warnings: Angst, alcohol consumption, mentions of possible cheating, fluff, language, flirting, confrontation, kissing.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: This is written as a submission for Tell Me A Story Bingo hosted by @supernatural-jackles. The square filled is Quote B which is highlighted in bold. This hasn’t been beta’d. Any mistakes are my own!

You can catch up here!

My Masterlist AO3 Ko-Fi

Y/N got out of the cab and walked towards the Roadhouse. It was Benny’s birthday, and he was having a get-together with his friends. When he came into her office last week and told her about the plans for tonight, he specifically mentioned Dean was going to be there. She found that strange for two reasons: first; she didn’t know why he thought she needed to know that, and second; Benny and Dean were best friends, so, of course, he’d be there.

She’d never told Benny about her huge crush on Dean, but she had a feeling he knew anyway. Dean was just her type. Smart, funny, just on the right side of cocky, and great company. It was always a good night whenever they went out as a group.

Dean was a ladies’ man, though, a one-and-done kinda guy, at least he had been since Lisa. Plus, she knew from being his date at his friend’s wedding last month that he only saw her as a friend. The problem was trying to tell her heart that and get over him.

Y/N had hoped, right up until the end of the wedding, that he’d kiss her. For real, this time. But he was nothing but a gentleman. Thanking her again for being a great friend and saying that his offer of owing her whatever she wanted in return still stood. She’d never cash in on it, though, because what she wanted was him.

It’d been two weeks since then, and things had returned to a relative sense of “normal” for them. Friendly flirting, teasing each other, her bringing him pie from the bakery down the road, him bringing her lunch from the Mexican place she loved across town. Back to being friends. He’d even taken a customer’s number, and she thought she overheard Benny and Dean talking about when he would ask her out. Once again, validating all the reasons she thought he only saw her as a friend.

Swinging the door open, Y/N walked into the bar, her eyes scanning the crowded room. It didn’t take long to see Benny playing pool with Castiel. She smiled to herself and headed over to the bar to order a drink and add money to the tab she knew would be behind there for their group.

“Hey, Y/N! How are ya, sweetie?” Ellen asked.

“I’m good, Ellen. How are you?” Y/N answered the older woman.

“Can’t complain! You here for Benny’s birthday?”

“Yup, you know I can’t miss a night out with that big goofball!” Y/N smiled. “Can you do me a favour and stick this in with the tab? And tell me if it’s getting low, and we’ll top you up,” Y/N handed a fifty over to Ellen, who put it in a tumbler behind the bar.

“Alright, done! Now, what ya drinking?”

“Better start easy with a beer. Can’t have you kick me out before that lot makes asses of themselves like usual!” Y/N and Ellen laughed as she put a bottle on the wooden bar.

The night was well and truly underway. The pool tournament was in its semi-final round with Benny and Sam currently battling it out and Y/N and Dean playing next. Charlie was currently hitting on a girl at the bar, Meg and Castiel were making out in the corner, and Donna was watching Benny with the biggest heart eyes she’d ever seen. The Deputy Sheriff was the best damn thing that had ever happened to Benny. They were good for each other.

Benny was a good man, a gentleman of the truest form, and many women had taken that for granted in the past. His intentions were pure, and he was too kind and generous for his own good. He was one of those rare guys who’d do anything for those he cared about. She always joked that if she ever needed to hide a body, she knew who she’d call - and he’d show up, no questions asked and, no doubt, with his buddy Dean Winchester right behind him with another shovel.

Y/N and Dean were sitting quietly, watching the pool game unfold, knowing one of them would be playing whoever won this game. Of course, she was rooting for Benny because she didn’t stand a chance against Sam. At least if she played the Cajun, there was a slim chance that victory and bragging rights could be hers. Then again, she didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance at winning against Dean either. Unless she could distract him by strategically bending over the table, using her feminine assets to her advantage.

“Hey, uh- Listen,” Dean spoke, tearing her from her thoughts. “I just wanted to say thanks again for Garth’s wedding and… you know…” the mechanic rubbed his neck nervously.

“Don’t mention it. I was happy to help. It’s what friends do, right?” Y/N replied a little colder than she meant to and sighed with guilt when his eyes squinted with what looked like hurt.

“I told my mom we broke up. Said we were better as friends,” Dean continued. “So, uh… you’re free from me, I guess,” he chuckled. “You can get back to dating. You know, if you want to?”

She wasn’t sure why it sounded like a question, but she nodded anyway. “Thanks. You want another?” Y/N gestured to his almost empty beer bottle. She needed to get away from him. She could feel the beginning of tears sting the back of her eyes and needed to get away from this conversation and from him. She thought she’d be fine tonight, but when he brought up that night and being friends, it upset her more than she knew it had a right to.

“Uh, yeah. I think Charlie was supposed to be getting more drinks, but it looks like she’s busy,” he grinned and nodded his head towards the bar where the redheaded mechanic was flirting shamelessly with a brunette woman at the bar. Shaking her head with a murmured “typical, " Y/N headed to the bar to get more drinks.

She ordered the beers first and returned to her friends, placing the bottles on the table. Dean went with her to help carry the whiskey tumblers, and she wanted to scream at him to leave her alone and give her some space, but she couldn’t do it. Not without him asking her what was wrong.

“Wow! Tequila? It’s like that, huh?” Dean raised his eyebrows when he saw the small glasses filled with golden liquid.

“Yep,” Y/N sighed. “Excuse the bad song pun, but tequila makes me happy, and God, do I need to be happy right now!” she scoffed, lifting the salt shaker, licking her hand and sprinkling the white grains on the wet streak left behind. “I was gonna have both of these, but you’re welcome to join me if you like?” she asked Dean, holding the salt shaker out for him to take. She didn’t know what possessed her to ask him when she so desperately wanted away from him, just being polite, she guessed, but the smile on his face meant she couldn’t take it back now.

Not one to turn down a challenge, Dean licked his hand, eyes on hers the whole time. Sprinkling the salt on his hand, Dean picked up the shot glass and held it up, waiting for her to tap it. “Cheers, sweetheart,” he smirked, eyes raking over her body.

Dean had been in love with her for a long time and had always found her incredibly attractive. He loved seeing a different side of her at the wedding, looking stunning and being flirty and touchy-feely with him. And tonight? Well fuck, she looked gorgeous.

Y/N wasn’t the type of girl he usually used for a one-nighter. She was the type of girl he wanted to settle down with. Funny, intelligent, kind, fun, beautiful. What more could a man want? Benny had always encouraged him to make a move whenever she was single. He’d asked again this week when he was going to ask her out, but he wasn’t what she needed in her life. She’d been screwed over far too many times by far too many guys for him to fuck things up even more for her. She deserved the fucking world, and he knew he couldn’t give her that.

Dean always screwed up in relationships, always putting his needs first and not thinking much about anyone but himself and his family. At least that’s one of the things Lisa told him when she ended things all those months ago. Dean thought he was a good boyfriend. He always made time for her and them as a couple. He also made time to be the role model and father figure her son had desperately needed.

He’d tried so hard to keep the spark they’d felt at the beginning alive, but she didn’t offer the same. He often found that it was her who didn’t make the time for him. She cancelled plans with him in favour of going out with her friends or colleagues. Sometimes staying out very late, occasionally all night. Dean didn’t like to dwell on that for too long. He knew there was a good chance she’d cheated on him. It was obvious to everyone, and she wasn’t subtle about it, but that was enough for him. He didn’t need to hear the words and make it real. Keeping his mouth shut saved his heart and pride, so he never called her out on it.

“Cheers!” Y/N grinned and tapped her glass against his, bringing him back to the present. Licking the salt from her hand, she made sure her eyes never left his as the tequila slid down her throat and when she sucked seductively on the lime wedge. Dean almost groaned when her perfect, pink little tongue peeked out to catch the drip of juice that escaped from the corner of her lips. He held her gaze the entire time and followed her actions, slamming the shot glass back on the bar just in time for her to hold two fingers up at Jo, ordering another round of shots.

Tonight, just got a whole lot more interesting! Dean thought.

“No, that’s… it didn’t happen like that at all!” Y/N tried to defend. She lost to Dean in the pool tournament. The two tequila shots at the bar had made her too happy, warm, and fuzzy to concentrate on the game. She tried, she really did, but the second Dean took off his flannel and revealed his tanned and freckled muscular arms, broad shoulders, and rippled lines of his back that were straining his white t-shirt, she just about lost the will to live. She’d been turned on since the first time his perfect ass bent over right in front of her to take a shot. Definitely on purpose. “Don’t listen to her, man! She was drunk off her ass and probably wouldn’t know the truth if it slapped her in the face!” Benny laughed. “Hey! What is this? Pick on Y/N night? It might be your birthday, and I might be tequila happy right now, but that doesn’t give you the right to make shit up! If you remember, I’m not the one who woke up in their front yard in their tighty whities after that night!” she said, and the whole table erupted in laughter. “Yeah, yeah!” Benny laughed. “Remind me - where did you wake up?” he smirked. Oh, she could’ve killed him for bringing that up. “Go on, Cher, share with the group where you were when you woke up after that night. Or, more accurately, with who.” “First of all, there was no sleeping, so I didn’t technically “wake up” anywhere,” Y/N grinned cheekily as the others wolf-whistled. “But I spent the night in our most loyal customer’s house…” She blushed, and a round of shocked faces stared back at her. “What? He was, well is, hot!” “Shut the front door!” Donna exclaimed, grabbing Y/N’s forearm in shock. “You slept with a customer? Does he still bring his car in?” “Yes, and yes!” Y/N grinned. “Look, it was a one-time thing and a week later, I started dating Rick,” she smiled woefully and looked at her blonde friend. “Come on, more tequila and then let’s dance!” she said, grabbing Donna’s hand and dragging her onto the dance floor. Sam, Castiel, Meg, Charlie and her new friend began a darts tournament inviting Benny and Dean to join them, but both declined. The boys watched on as Y/N and Donna had the time of their lives dancing to the classic rock covers the band were playing. Dean’s eyes never left Y/N’s swaying body and rolling hips keeping in time to the beat. “Are you ever gonna ask her out, brother?” Benny asks Dean, his blue eyes following his friend's line of sight to the Y/H/C girl on the dance floor. Benny and Y/N hit it off the second she called him out on his bullshit on her first day working at the garage, and as soon as that happened, he knew she and Dean would be a match made in heaven. They’d just never been single at the same time, and they both had this annoying trait of thinking they weren’t good enough for anyone, let alone one another. “Not this again!” Dean fumed. “No, I’m not. It’s not like that with us. I mean, yeah, I like her… a lot, and sure, she’s beautiful, but we’re just friends. S’all we’ll ever be, right? She doesn’t like me like that. Even if she did, we’d never work. I’d find some way to fuck it all up. I always do.” “Sure, whatever you say,” Benny’s chuckle was laced with sarcasm, and he shook his head in exasperation at his friend. “Come on, man! You’ve seen the guys she dates. I can’t compare to trust funds and doctors and investment bankers,” Dean spat before raising his whiskey glass and swallowing its contents in one. “Those guys didn’t work for a reason, Dean. They were all assholes. You’re not. Trust me, you two are perfect for each other. You just can’t get past your own so-called faults to see it. Either of you,” Benny sighed and gestured to his glass, silently asking if he wanted another.

An hour later, the only ones left were Dean and Y/N. No one was ready to call it a night just yet, but Donna had an early shift the next day and being the gentleman that he is, Benny took her home.

“Don’t look now, but Rick’s over there,” Dean said, instinctively moving closer to her. Was it protectiveness? Possessiveness? He wasn’t sure.

“Fantastic. There’s a great way to put me off my beer and ruin what was a fun night,” Y/N chuckled sadly, reaching for her jacket.

“Hey, hey… look at me,” Dean said, placing his hand on her wrist, stopping her. “Don’t let him ruin your night, sweetheart. He doesn’t deserve that. You don’t deserve that. You shouldn’t leave whenever he shows up. Lawrence is a small town. You’ll never stop running.”

“Right, because you’d stand your ground if it was Lisa that walked in here? Dean, you wouldn’t even go to your friend’s wedding alone because of her,” she scoffed. Glancing up at him, she saw a flash of hurt cross his features. “I’m sorry,” she sighed. “That was a low blow. I’m frustrated and taking it out on you, and that’s not fair.”

“No, you’re right. I would be out that door so fucking fast if Lisa came in here,” Dean spoke honestly, knowing she wouldn’t judge him for his cowardice. “Maybe not if you were with me because she still thinks we’re dating,” Dean chuckled.

“Dean, you’re a good man. One of the best I know…” Y/N started, but Dean’s hand on her cheek stopped her.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, looking deep into her Y/E/C eyes.

“What?” Y/N responded, more than a little confused.

“Rick is coming over here. Do you trust me?” He asked again, softer this time.

“Well, yeah, but-” Before she could say anything else, Dean licked his lips and leaned in. He looked into her eyes for any signs of hesitation. Finding none, he looked down at her lips and closed the distance between them. His lips touched hers hesitantly, unsure if she’d kiss back or break his nose.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but she didn’t pull away. Dean slid an arm around her waist to bring her in closer. He kept the kiss innocent with no tongue, but it felt no less passionate.

“So, you’re dating him now?” Rick’s voice broke them apart. “You moved on quick,” he hissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Y/N spoke as calmly as she could, taking on a mildly irritated tone rather than the furious one she wanted to let loose with. “Weren’t you the one who ended things with me because I was holding you back? Didn’t you want to play the field? And feel free to correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you also the one who shacked up with Bela Talbot not two weeks later?”

“She was a mistake, Y/N. And I’m sorry I did that to you. I don’t know what came over me. I miss you, and I still love you. Please…” Rick looked and sounded genuinely truthful, but she knew he was playing her because he’d been dropped by Bela as soon as the more successful and well-known businessman, Arthur Ketch, had looked in her direction.

“Just stop, Rick. I don’t want to hear it. You and me? We’re over. I don’t love you anymore. I don’t want you. I want more. More than you could ever possibly give me. I deserve more,” Y/N’s said, feeling relief wash over her and her shoulders relaxing for the first time in a long time.

“I-” Rick started, but she shook her head.

“My mind is made up, Rick. We’re over for good. I’ve moved on,” she gestured to Dean, who’d held her hand through the whole ordeal. “And you should too. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a date to get back to,” Y/N left no room for further conversation as she turned her back to him and put her full attention back on Dean.

“I’m proud of you, sweetheart,” Dean said as soon as Rick left. The kiss they shared had shifted their relationship. He could feel it. She’d kissed him the way you kiss a lover. Dean was finally starting to see just how perfect they were for each other, and now they were unattached at the same time.

The unmistakable sounds of Can’t Fight This Feeling sounded from the band up on the stage, and if that wasn’t a sign they were meant to be, Dean didn’t know what was. Bravely - or stupidly, it was yet to be decided, he threw all caution to the wind.

“I dare you to kiss me,” Dean blurted out.

“Dean…” Y/N began to speak, but Dean didn’t want to hear her rejection. Not when he still had something he had to say.

“Come on, kiss me! And tell me you don’t feel this… this thing between us!” he gestured wildly between them.

“Dean… I…” she tried again, but he still wasn’t finished.

“You can’t, can you? Because you feel it too… this pull towards me. And you’re scared. But sweetheart, you don’t need to be, alright? Because I’m in love with you. And if you let me, I’ll be everything you could ever need and want. I’m just asking for a chance here, Y/N.”

Y/N didn’t respond. She just blinked up at him with her long lashes. He was about to get up, walk away and admit defeat when her lips slammed to his.

Dean’s lips were soft, warm and perfectly plump, and she didn’t know if it was the alcohol talking, but she knew she wanted to taste more of him. She reached a hand out and wrapped it around his neck, gently pulling him closer to her.

Encouraged that she felt the same way he did, Dean licked at her lips, requesting entrance which she granted quickly. He moaned low in his throat when their tongues met, and everything around dulled to silence as they forgot their surroundings and got completely lost in each other.

Y/N didn’t know how much time had passed as they made out at the bar, and she didn’t want it to end. Making her mind up, she reluctantly pulled away from him, giggling as he chased after her lips. “You wanna get outta here?” she said shyly, chewing on her bottom lip.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Dean grabbed her hand and helped her stand up. He took her jacket and helped her into that too. When she’d picked up her purse, and they left the table, Dean saw Rick glare over at them. Smirking, Dean placed his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and winked at the asshole who was stupid enough to let her go.

Part Four (Finale)>>

Jensen / Dean Tags: @akshi8278 @deanwanddamons @deans-baby-momma @siospins2 @sexyvixen7 @leigh70 @stoneyggirl2 @hobby27 @candy-coated-misery0731

Can’t Fight This Feeling Tags: @lilred91 @seppys-return-to-madness @im-totally-not-dezi @deanoxwinchester

#tell me a story bingo #can't fight this feeling #dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #au!dean #dean x reader

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