Just thinking about how instead of Pepper Potts politely telling Christine to leave in the beginning of Iron Man 1 it’s Tony Starks sarcastic teenage daughter instead.
I laughed as JARVIS yelled at her for trying to mess with the tech in the living room. “That my dear, is Jarvis. He runs the house.” I took a few steps forward looking at the tramp wearing nothing but my dad’s button up shirt. “Ms Potts hung up your clothes in the closet, she had them dry cleaned and pressed.” I pursed my lips. “She got you a car too, if I had it my way I’d just kick your ass out, not sure why she even bothered but here we are.”
She smiled at me and my mouth soured. “You must be Tony’s infamous daughter.” She walked towards me.
“Famous daughter, actually.” I corrected
“Oh well, excuse my ignorance.” She feigned politeness. “I didn’t realize I was in the presence of so…much.” She gestured vaguely towards me.
“And I didn’t realize I was in the presence of so….little.” I shot back level toned, a sly smile on my face.
Her smile tightened, as brittle as glass. “I can see where Tony gets it.”
“Yeah.” I shrugged folding my arms, “The charms genetic, so is the ego unfortunately.”
JARVIS cleared his throat politely over the speakers, “Miss Stark your father has requested that no verbal altercation escalate to physical ones before noon.”
“See?” I titled my head towards the ceiling, “Even the house thinks you should leave.”
Christine scoffed, eyes flicking around the room like she was suddenly aware of how small she was in it. “You’re just a child playing guard dog.”
“And you’re a guest who overstayed.” I shot back. “Big difference.”
She rolled her eyes and scoffed again.
God does this woman need a throat lozenge or something?
“I don’t need this. Or your attitude.”
“No.” I agreed. “You need pants.”
She fell silent.
Before she could respond, footsteps echoed down the stairs lazy, unhurried, unmistakably him. Tony appeared, sunglasses on indoors like a crime against nature, coffee in hand.
“What’d I miss?” he asked, glancing between us. “Because I’m sensing… hostility. And not the fun kind.”
Christine straightened instantly. “Tony, I—”
“—was just leaving,” I finished sweetly.
Tony paused, looked at me over the rim of his glasses, then back at her. A beat. Then a sigh. “She’s not wrong.”
Christine’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
Tony took a sip of his coffee. “Pepper already handled logistics. Car’s outside. Clothes are packed. And my daughter?” He gestured vaguely toward me. “Has a terrifyingly accurate read on people.”
I smirked.
Christine’s eyes flicked to me one last time, sharp, and humiliated before she spun on her heel and marched out.
The door closed. Silence settled.
Tony looked at me. I looked at him.
“…You were kind of mean,” he said finally.
“You raised me,” I replied.
He smiled, tired but proud. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I did.”
“Sweetheart I told you every 8,000 miles we gotta change the oil on this thing.” Dean dropped his tool box on the ground with a clank.
I wiped the sweat from my brow with a sigh and strained eyes. “Yeah yeah. Look I’m doing good if I remember to get gas before I’m on E for like a day.” I shrugged.
Dean just stared at me with furrowed eyebrows. “God damn. Remind me not to leave Baby for you in my will.” He sighed.
He popped the hood on my car and looked for a minute.
The heat this time of year was sweltering. Jeans clung to my legs from sweat.
He tuned around to face me. “Looks like we need to get 6 quarts of oil and a filter.”
~~
Dean navigated through the isles, passing through numerous things that I couldn’t be held at gun point to tell you what they are.
We made it to the oil section.
I looked around and snickered at the bottle named ‘Lube it all’ -deep lubricating oil
I grabbed the bottle and held it up. “Hey look, we can change my oil then get freaky.” I grinned.
Dean turned around slowly with wide eyes. “What-?” He looked at what was in my hands, and realized, “Well that would certainly cause interesting aftermath. Maybe we should a hit a different store on the way home if you want something like that.” He teased
He turned back around towards the oil shelf and I walked behind him, stood on my tip toes and whispered in his ear, “Hmmm I don’t think we need any lube. I’d say I’ve got no trouble in that department.”
His shoulders tensed and grabbed a giant jug of oil and a then a little one. Then grabbed a filter. “You’re trying to kill me.” He stated with red cheeks.
I grinned.
~~
Dean was under my car, legs the only thing out. I could hear his grunting as he got the plug free on the oil canister.
“Hand me that towel please.” I heard him say.
I looked around quickly, spotting the towel and grabbing it. I bent down and handed him the towel and I smiled.
He was sweaty, but hot. How does someone sweat and still look hot. “Only you.”
He smiled “What?” I heard him laugh.
“Oh I said that out loud?” I laughed. “I was just thinking about how it was possible to be sweating and dirty and still look as hot as you do right now.” I teased
“Don’t think that compliment makes me forget about the fact that your car is way overdue for a servicing.” His hands moved under the car, his biceps flexing as he worked.
“Oh come on!” I groaned. “You’re no fun!”
I followed him as he got out from under the car, wiping his hands on the towel.
He straightened up fully, pushing his hair back with a towel and giving me that look the one that said he was pretending to not be amused but failing miserably.
“I’m plenty fun,” Dean said. “I’m just responsible. Someone’s gotta be the adult around here.”
I crossed my arms “Since when is that your job?”
He snorted tossing the towel on the open hood. “Since you started treating your gas gauge like a suggestion.”
I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling as he leaned against the car beside me. The summer air heavy and warm. For a moment, neither of us spoke. Just the hum of cicadas and the faint smell of oil and heat.
“Cars good now,” he said finally, softer. “You’re good for another few thousand miles.”
I looked up at him grinning.
“Why are you smiling like that?”
I shrugged feigning innocence, “Am I not allowed to appreciate a man at work?”
Dean scoffed “You’re a distraction. There’s a difference.”
I stepped closer, “You were the one who decided to work in this heat.”
“Yeah.” He said, stepping closer and towering over me. “And you’re the one who decide to hover.”
“I was being supportive.”
“You were being a distraction.” He shot back. “I could’ve dropped a wrench on my face.”
“Oh please!” I laughed. “You love the attention!”
He tilted his head and grinned. “Careful. Confidence like that gets people stuck doing their own oil changes.”
I gasped, “You wouldn’t.”
He smirked, “Try me.”
I rolled my eyes and leaned back against the car. “Fine but when I break something and I have to call you, I’ll remind you that it was your fault.” I stood back up and pointed at him.
“Uh-huh.” He said, popping the hood closed. “And when that happens I’ll charge you.”
“With what? I’m broke!”
He looked me up and down, clearly amused. “I’m willing to negotiate.”
“Dean.”
“Kidding.” He said quickly, holding up his hands. “Mostly.”
I shook my head laughing, “You’re impossible!”
“And yet,” he said grabbing my keys, “You still let me work on your car.”
I followed him towards the driver side of my car, “Because you secretly like taking care of me.”
He paused shoulders tensed. He glanced back with a half smile, “Don’t get it twisted. I just don’t trust you with heavy machinery.”
“Rude.”
“Accurate.”
“You’re lucky I’m charming.” I pushed his shoulder
He laughed. “Oh you keep telling yourself that.”
“Oh Dean I don’t need to!” I said sweetly “You already remind me every time you show up.”
He opened his mouth to fire back but I shoved him back into the car, he fell into the seat with a thud.
“Hey!” He started, blinking with surprise.
I planted my hands on either side of him, grinning. “What? You said I was dangerous.”
Dean stared at me for a second, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet.” I said leaned in just enough to make a point. “You’re still letting me lay on you.”
His smile softened, eyes flicking down to mine, “Yeah.” He admitted “Guess I am.”
For a moment the teasing faded.
Then he cleared his throat and pushed me off him softly. “Alright let’s get some food. Before you cause real trouble.” He mumbled the last part.
I mimicked him, clearing my throat “Yeah food sounds good.”
He didn’t turn around as we walked into the house, but something was different now. Something potentially catastrophic.
Summary: Stiles and you are best friends, so close that you turn to him every time your crappy family treats you horribly, and he always somehow makes you feel safe and loved. You’ve loved him for years because of it, but he doesn’t feel the same; or does he?
Warnings: !childhood abuse!, !alcohol use!, !language! !angst! !fluff! If you look close enough slight !self h!arm! not really though.
••••••••~••••••••~••••••••~••••••••~••••••••
Your POV:
Another day another fight. Every single time I get home from school, yelling, screaming and arguing can be heard from the driveway as I walk up to the front door. Maybe I should just avoid going inside the house all together and just head straight for Stiles’ house? That same thought comes to mind every time I come home.
Unfortunately I need to make some sort of appearance at home so my parents don’t take their anger out on me for not telling them where I’m going, and some days I need to be home to do chores and make sure nothing needs to be done so they have no reason to get mad at me.
If I do everything right and make the house spotless and perfect they’ll love me, right? They won’t get mad at me? Is a thought I’ve told myself for years, ever since I got in trouble when I was 6 for not having the trash in the house picked up.
And by trash I mean the empty beer cans, bottles, whine bottles, and broken glass from when dad threw his dinner plate at the wall. Or the ashtray full of cigarettes from my mother because being high or stoned is the only way she can cope with my father. But yea let’s ask the 6 year old child to clean up broken glass. I still have a scar on my finger from slicing it open on one of the bigger pieces of the broken plate.
I remember that evening vividly, after I sliced open my finger I wrapped it up with a paper towel and taped it tightly closed. The next day at school Stiles’ dad, Noah saw my finger, he asked me what had happened and I told him, but conveniently left out the part of my abusive parents. He took me to the ER where I got 9 stitches, leaving me with a ragged scar on my inner left pointer finger. I hated it, hated the way it looked, it reminded me of how unloved I felt in my house.
As I walked inside my house I was quickly met with the smell of nicotine and beer. Don’t gag don’t gag. I walked in and made eye contact with my dad. He didn’t even say hello, just glanced my way then back at my mother.
“You know maybe if you didn’t nag me all the goddamn time I wouldn’t be so pissed off every day.” My dad scolded my mother. He was obviously drunk. Again, I swear one of these days he gonna die of alcohol poisoning.
I blocked out the rest of the very loud, very stupid argument and walked to my room. I made sure it was spotless and that everything was perfectly in its place before quickly packing an overnight bag. As I made my way down the steps and towards the front door my dad yelled out.
“Where are you goin’?” He grumbled.
“I-I’m going to Stiles’ house.” I quickly turned around to face him. ‘You better show some respect and look at me when I’m talking to you.’ Those words from my dad drilled into my head, over and over again, so I always made sure to show respect, well his version of respect anyway.
“You know you go over there all the goddamn time.” My dad stated obviously,
“Yes.” I nodded softly.
My dad scoffed “You don’t think that makes you look like a whore to outsiders who see you going to his house every goddamn day?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I-I don’t really think his neighbors think that, most of them know me, and they know me and Stiles are friends.” I tried not to stutter but my anxiety made it difficult.
“Are you talking back to me?” My father took a few steps closer to me.
Eyes widened
Chest heaved
Breath shallow
Adrenaline spiked
“No sir, I promise, I wasn’t trying to, I’m sorry if it came off that way.” I rambled out as steady and as fast a possible.
“You better not be or I’ll remind you what happens when you do, you hear me? You don’t want another bruise do you?” He threatened.
I swallowed hard. “No sir.”
After a few moments he walked back toward the kitchen, I took that as my cue to leave and as I was leaving he called out.
“You dress like a whore!” He yelled.
Tears pricked my eyes, I was literally wearing jeans and a band t-shirt, a loose fitted band t-shirt at that. Nothing about my outfit was provocative. Luckily Stiles’ house was about a ten minute walk. As I walked my thumb brushed over the scar on my finger. Over and over again my thumb scratched and rubbed at it. Nervous habit, or maybe it was me trying to claw the godforsaken reminder out of my skin.
One knock, two knocks, the door opens and I’m greeted with Noah. I plaster a fake but convincing smile on my face. “Hey Sheriff.” I walked inside and hugged him.
“Hi honey, Stiles is upstairs in his room.” He told me. I figured he was, if he wasn’t I’d just wander the house till I found him.
I walked down the hall to Stiles’ room. I plastered on another fake smile but this time it wasn’t convincing, Stiles knew, he always knew. Every fake smile, change in tone of voice, my body language, he knew.
“C’mere.” He walked towards me with arms open before pulling me into a tight hug. I dropped my bag and wrapped my arms around his waist. One of his hands wrapping around my shoulders and the other holding the back of my head to the crook of his neck. “What can I do?” He whispered softly.
“Do I dress like a whore?” Was the words that came out of my mouth in a broken voice. Stiles pulled back enough to make eye contact quickly.
“Why the hell are you asking me that? No, god no, you don’t dress like a whore, and I swear to god if your dad told you that I’m gonna kick his ass.”
“No offense but I think he could take you, I appreciate the thought though.” I half smiled truthfully this time, it was the thought that counted, and coming from him it counted a lot.
“Well then I’ll call Scott.” He quipped back.
God I loved the way his arms felt around me, the way he cared, the way he loved me, his eyes, god his eyes… then i realized i was staring at his eyes intensely. I looked down and cleared my throat. “I appreciate the effort and I’m sure Scott would come, but it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.” Stiles deadpanned seriously. “Your dad’s an asshole, you’re amazing, and definitely not a whore.” The word ‘whore’ almost sounded distasteful on his tongue, like he didn’t even want to say whore and my name in the same sentence.
“I hope it’s okay, I brought clothes to stay the night.” I glanced at the bag I dropped when I hugged him, hoping he didn’t notice me staring at his face like a lovesick puppy.
I walked over to his bed and sat down at the foot of it. My hands sat in my lap as my fingers subconsciously started picking at the scar on my finger, again.
Pick
Scratch
Pick
Scratch
I was pulled out of my thoughts when Stiles pulled my hands away from each other.
“Stop it, stop that.” He scolded softly. “You do this every time, the scar’s just gonna get worse if you keep picking at it.” He held my hand firmly in his as he knelt down in front of me.
I couldn’t make eye contact, if I did I’d see the beautiful face staring back at me full of love and worry and then I’d start crying. Crying because he cared about me so much but also crying because I couldn’t believe someone could genuinely care for me that way. So instead I closed my eyes tightly holding back tears. “I just want to get my mind off of it, I need something to do.”
“Hurting yourself isn’t the way to go though.” He said softly. “Please stop hurting yourself, please.” His voice cracked. “Let’s do something else.”
About an hour later Stiles had convinced me to try out video games, I’ve always watched him and Scott play, but today he’s convinced me to pick up the controller. And I sucked horribly. A few more hours went by of us playing and somewhere in the time frame Noah brought us some pizza.
“This game is horribly designed.” I said trying to sound convincing enough that it was the games fault I sucked.
“Yeah, it’s the games fault.” Stiles acknowledged, I could hear the undertone of sarcasm. Then I looked back at the game to see him another kill. That had to have been the 20th time.
“You play too often, no wonder you’re better at it.” I set the controller down and crossed my arms. I had lost yet another match.
Stiles mimicked my action of setting the controller down and then turned to me. “You’ll get the hang of it if you played more.” He reached forward and grabbed the last slice of pizza.
“Hey I called dibs on that one!” I reached out for the slice but Stiles held it up.
“Well I got to it first!” He teased.
“You’ve had like 3 more pieces than I’ve had, give it!” I moved my body forward trying to reach across him and reach the slice that was in his hand. I used my other hand and planted it on his leg to push myself upwards but he pulled my arm out from under me causing my body to fall into his lap. I looked up at him, and the smug look on his face made me wanna smack him, especially when he took a bite out of the pizza. “I hate you.” I frowned and crossed my arms looking up at him.
“You love me.” He teased. He took another mouthful of the pizza before turning the slice towards my face “Here.” He said muffed by the pizza.
“Classy.” I rolled my eyes and took a bite of the pizza, slowly.
He pulled the pizza back as we kept eye contact. I few seconds passed and we both hadn’t stopped staring. I sat up slowly and leaned in. I glanced down at his lips and he did the same. My mouth connected to his. shit
I pulled back abruptly. “Shit I’m sorry, fuck I’m so sorry.” I got off the couch and walked towards my bag. My heart pounding in my head.
It took Stiles a moment to register what just happened, when he did he followed me off the couch standing in front of me “Woah wait hold on, you can just kiss me then leave.”
I stood there and stared at him. “What do you mean? You’d want me to stay?” I scoffed “Stiles I just kissed you, I can’t- I just ruined us, I ruined my relationship with the one person that’s ever cared about me.” My voice cracked.
“You didn’t ruin our relationship.” Stiles said softly
“Yes I did because now you know I like you, Stiles I’ve liked you for years-.” He cut me off
“You’ve what?” His eyes widened.
I glanced up at his confused and surprised face, but he didn’t look mad. “I’ve had a stupid crush on you for years.” I whispered. “But I know you don’t like me back.”
He furrowed his eye brows. “What? Who told you I don’t like you back?”
“No one.” I mumbled. “But it’s obvious you don’t, I mean you’ve had a crush on Lydia for so long, it just made sense that you wouldn’t like me like that, especially because I’m me, little miss emotional trauma and always needing you.”
“Well maybe I just told you I had a crush on Lydia so that you wouldn’t think I liked you.” And then he said the next five words that made my head spin. “Because I do like you.” He closed the remaining distance between us and intertwined his fingers with mine. “And I hate that you think I could never even view you that way, because you’re amazing, smart, resilient, and kind. Any guy would be lucky enough to be liked by you, I’m just glad you chose me, and I’ll always be here when you need me, because I want to be.”
At this point I was on the verge of tears spilling from my eyes. “Stiles.” My voice cracked. Seventeen years of friendship, seventeen years of him holding me while I cried, seventeen years of him listening to my problems, seventeen years of confiding in each other when we couldn’t with anyone else, seventeen years of being there for one another, leading us to now.
“Now if you’re gonna kiss me again, don’t pull back and freak out.” He smiled and teased.
“Shut up.” I laughed slightly before kissing him again.
“Im fine, yeah, aside from the not sleeping the jumpyiness and the constant overwhelming crushing fear that something terrible is gonna happen.” -Stiles Stilinski
-You lived next door to one another. And just as Mary was a hunter by her family heritage, so were you and your family. Once John started training the boys to be hunters you eventually started tagging along and traveling with them. Because of your family situation it wasn’t safe for you to be at home so when you turned 18 and Dean offered for you to come with him from town to town you went in a heartbeat. Now years later it’s you, him and Sammy in the Impala fighting the otherworldly creatures.
How you started dating:
-Sam definitely gets the credit for getting the two of you to admit your feelings for one another. Although Dean won’t admit that his brother was the reason why the two of you are together.
-You both had harbored feelings for one another for years. But of course you guys were equally stubborn, and scared to ruin the relationship you both and built over the years. So you didn’t actually officially start dating until after Dean reunited with Sam (season 1); because Sam played the part of the wingman and pushed you both in the direction of admitting your feelings to one another.
What kind of boyfriend he’d be:
-Definitely very protective. In the series he’s obviously very protective of Sam so it would make sense that he’d be even more protective of the love of his life.
-But with that said he’d also be the type of boyfriend to say “You wear whatever dress you want sweetheart, I can fight.” So he’s protective but not controlling.
-Oh yeah, his pet name for you is sweetheart. I think this, because Lawrence Kansas is in the Midwest and Midwesterners definitely view sweetheart as a term of endearment. Other pet names would be, doll, sweet girl, pretty girl, my woman; things like that.
-Unfortunately being the son of John Winchester, Dean grew up with little to no affection. Which left him not really knowing how to show affection. When you first started dating Dean didn’t really say I love you, and was kind of awkward with physical touch. Things like hugging and holding, sweet nothings, thigh grabbing, anything along those lines. Eventually you talked to Dean about it and he opened up to you and told you how he felt. It came down to the fact that he just didn’t know how to do those things the right way. It’s not that he didn’t want to show you affection he just didn’t know how. After that conversation you pretty much showed Dean that it wasn’t awkward to do those things and you pretty much taught him how to show physical affection. You also showed him that it was okay for people to love him. It took him a really long time to believe that he was worth you taking care of him.
-Dean definitely has rejection sensitivity, and very co-dependent with your guys’ relationship. He’d always making sure that the two of you are on good terms and that he hasn’t done anything wrong (again with the way John raised him, he was never able to do anything right in his dads eyes. And he had to earn his father’s love so he thinks he has to earn yours.)
-Once he got comfortable with physical touch, he did it all the time, whether it was holding your hand, waist, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, or when at a table he’d grab your thigh, especially when driving the impala he’d have his hand on your thigh, occasionally going a bit higher. He always had to be touching you.
-I feel like if you were dating Dean you make mixtapes of his and yours favorite songs
-He would definitely let you drive the impala, at first he’d be terrified of you scratching Baby but he’d eventually get comfortable with it.
-We all know how much Dean loves pie. Every town you visited you’d try the local diners pie. So much so you started a little Polaroid book filled with Polaroid pictures of every pie you both tried and rated them in the book, so if you were ever passing by that town again you’d know where and which pie to get.
-One of the gifts he’s gotten you was a pocket knife engraved with his and yours initials and the date of your first technical ‘date’
-When Cas pulled him back from hell it was difficult. Very difficult. Most nights he either couldn’t sleep or if he did eventually fall asleep he’d have night terrors. Once he freaked out and thought you were Alistair and pinned you against the wall, once he came to and woke up he was terrified; of himself. He couldn’t believe he’d hurt you like that. After you convinced him you weren’t mad he broke down crying, he’d been gone for 40 years from his perspective, he’d missed you desperately. Every night he held you tightly and just tried not to loose it at the thought of ever being away from you for that long again.
(If you have any other ideas that you want me to add, my messages are open ! Also this is literally like the first thing I’ve ever written besides some fanfics on wattpad a few years ago so please be kind🤞🏼)
First off, I enjoyed the movie. I know some people didn’t, but I’d also like to note one thing. So obviously we know Bruce Banner’s hulk had the purple stretchy pants because he knew if he hulked out that he needed pants that could grow with him right? So that meant he wasn’t flashing everybody if he ‘hulked out’. With that said HOW DID ROSS’ PANTS STAY ON???? Like he didn’t know he was poisoned by Sterns, and the first time he hulked out he was wearing dress pants. And if you’ve ever felt or worn dress pants you know that those suckers do not stretch. So in conclusion how did Ross’ pants stay on and not completely rip off?
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