#and was like well. i can eat the rest of those pretzels. she fucking left me two. why not eat them all in that case you fucking ASSCLOWN

[killbaned]

mom turned around while i was in the bathroom and immediately ate the rest of my fucking pretzels that i brought in from work, of course without even fucking asking, it's like i'm being punished by the universe tonight and fucking for what? managing somehow to NOT be a roaring asshole?

do you think the bitch that screamed at me at work earlier is having a similarly rancid night because somehow i don't think so.

#i cannot stress enough i've been using the candy corn to try and cut down on vape usage #and was like well. i can eat the rest of those pretzels. she fucking left me two. why not eat them all in that case you fucking ASSCLOWN #the dog gets an excuse he's a fucking dog with more brains than impulse control! #i can't even say fuck it and go back out to buy something bc everything is now closed i'm just #on god i ever have roommates that aren't people im already friends with and they ever eat something of mine and do it without asking #and i may fucking kill them (in minecraft) #if we're friends to begin with we will settle it in a fucking duel to the death like gentlemen

[13uswntimagines]

Where Do I Fit? (Preath x Little!Reader)

Request: angsty little!reader with Tobin, where Tobin was rs caretaking fir way before Christen(like since college?) and they tell Christen but she isnt okay with it at first but accepts it by gettung r stuffies to apologise?

“It’s not like that Chris,” Tobin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. Her elbows rested on her knees. The two of you had been trying to explain this for a better part of an hour, and Christen still didn’t understand. 

“Then tell me what it’s like Tobin, because from what you’ve said it sounds like your adult friend pretends to be a toddler, and you give her baths and feed her bottles. Do I need to continue? It’s some kinky shit-...” Christen said exasperated, frustratedly running fingers through her hair. How Tobin thought she would be ok with this? She was at a loss for words. 

Tobin shook her head, blinking up at her girlfriend “It’s not sexual Christen. It just-“  

“What, makes you feel good?” Christen spat, crossing her arms defensively across her chest. 

“Helps me deal with stress and anxiety, in a more positive way,” you mumbled, shifting anxiously on the couch next to Tobin, shivering at the glare Christen sent your way. You weren’t in love with Tobin, actually, you had a girlfriend of your own (who also happened to be little). Tobin was your safety blanket, and you just wished Christen could understand. 

****

Tobin had been your mama since college. An arrangement that had been made after she found you curled up under your dorm room bed, so stressed you didn’t know what day it was much less what stuff you had to get done. Instead of running away, she had pulled you into her arms and rocked you until you were done crying. 

After a little research and some explaining about why you regressed and how long it had been happening on your end, Tobin wholeheartedly embraced the role of Mama. And together you became more comfortable. She made you bottles and helped you keep track of school and soccer. As your best friend she decided it was her duty to protect you, and you were too fucking adorable when you were little to pass up. 

Then your Mama started dating Christen, and after a few months of them being serious, it was decided that you had to tell Chris. That you could propose that she join in your little arrangement. You got along well with the woman, and she was pretty nurturing to you anyway (especially at national team camps) making sure you ate and didn’t stay up at all hours of the night with your girlfriend and the youngins. 

****

Christen paused mid-pace, turning to look her girlfriend in the eye. “I don’t know how I feel about having a third person in our relationship Tobin,” She said calmly, crossing her arms. 

“Baby, I promise you it’s not like that. Y/n may be my baby girl, but I’m not romantically attracted to her. She’s my best friend, and this helps her,” Tobin pleaded, begging for the woman she loved to understand. She didn’t want to lose her and she didn’t want to lose her baby girl. You were a very sensitive little, absolutely petrified of her getting bored and abandoning you one day. She had made so many promises, and she couldn’t bear the thought that she might have to break them. 

“So what, she’ll call you whenever she’s little and you’ll just fucking drop everything to go ‘help’ her?” Christen’s eyebrow quirked up. 

You frowned. You had been hoping that this conversation would end in you having another mommy, so technically you would be calling them, and you were always mindful of overstaying your welcome. 

“I wouldn’t abuse that,” You huffed. 

“But you can’t control when you're little or whatever right? As long as you’re involved in this thing, she will always come first, and that’s not a healthy relationship,”  Christen asked viciously, turning her attention to you for the first time. You sunk into the couch, fighting the natural descent into little space that came with such looks. With looks only Moms could muster. 

You opened your mouth to respond, only for Tobin to jump in first. “Babe, we’ll figure it out. I was act-”

“Well then, I’ll be back when you figure your priorities out,” Christen scoffed, grabbing her keys and her purse and slamming the door behind her. 

Heavy silence stretched across Tobin’s apartment, both of you staring at the door. 

You hadn’t been expecting things to be rainbows and butterflies, but you didn’t think it was going to come down to an ultimatum. Little you or the love of Tobin’s life. It wasn’t a fair choice, but you knew exactly what needed to be done, no matter how much it hurt. 

“I was afraid that would happen,” You sighed, staring at the door, gulping to try and stay big. Trying to force yourself to hold back the painful emotions that were rattling in your chest. Someone had to be the mature one. The realistic one. 

“Y/n,” Tobin said softly, her voice ruff with unushered tears.

You shook your head, patting her knee, but never looking in her direction. If you did you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together anymore. You wouldn’t be able to do what needed to be done. You had promised yourself that you would never get in the way of her love life, and you were about to follow through on that. “It’s fine Tobin. I understand,”

“I love her,” Tobin said, sniffling, and you felt a little piece of your heart crack. Didn't Tobin love little you too? Just not enough. You swallowed hard, again pushing those feelings down. This wasn’t about you, and Tobin deserved to be happy. 

“I know. Go after her, I know how to let myself out. I’ll go to Lindsey’s and text the group chat to see if anyone wants another little,” You shrugged. Lindsey could handle you and your girlfriend for the night, and the group chat was sure to be able to give you good advice, at least until you figured this whole thing out. They hadn’t let you down yet. 

Tobin made a strangled sound at the mention of the group chat. At the idea that one of her friends could ever replace her as your mama. She knew that it was the logical next step (you and little Em were a handful on your own, together you were little terrors), but she couldn’t help the little twinge in her heart. 

“I’m sorry,” She said, bringing her hand over yours and squeezing tightly. She hoped it could convey how badly she felt about this whole situation. She never thought Christen would react so badly. 

You bit your lip, avoiding looking at your mama. “Don’t be. You were the best Mama ever. Now go,” You mumbled, kissing the back of her hand and shooing her towards the door. She didn’t even spare a glance in your direction as she left. 

You stood from the couch, walking to the guest room that always served as your nursery. You collected your little things bag, Roary (you could never leave him behind), and your Batman blanket before heading towards the door. You paused in the doorway, turning to glance over the room one more time, allowing yourself to reminisce for just a second. How you wished this night had gone differently. You sighed, shaking your head and closing the door behind you. You would find a new caregiver, but Tobin would always be your mama. 

****

You were miserable. Completely, totally and utterly miserable. Hovering somewhere between adult you and little you, curled up in the corner of Lindsey’s couch, staring listlessly into space. Even your girlfriend cuddled into your side, running race cars gently over your legs couldn't cheer you up, and Lindsey was starting to get worried. 

“I don’t know what else to do, short of calling Tobin,” Lindsey said quietly, watching you from where her and Kelley were hovering by the door. It was one thing handling her little handful, and a complete other trying to take in both of you at the same time. She didn’t even know where to begin with you, hence why she called in reinforcements. 

You had known Kelley and Alex for almost as long as you had known Tobin. You trusted them, and if anyone could get you out of your funk, your aunt Kelley could. 

“You tried pudding?” Kelley asked, biting her lip. You were curled into the couch, Emily cuddled into your side, sending glances every now and then towards the stuffed triceratops you had left on the other couch. Pudding was little you’s favorite cheat food, and if that didn’t work she wasn’t sure what to do next. By now the entire team was aware of what was going on between you and Tobin, and none of them were surprised that little you wasn’t taking it so well. 

“And ice cream, and hot pretzels and Mac and cheese. I even tried warm milk,” Lindsey nodded. She had seen you upset before, but never this bad. She was literally at her wits end, and Emily wasn’t even being her normally bratty self. 

“Damn,” Kelley sighed, rubbing the back of her neck anxiously. How Tobin was going to fix this mess she didn’t know and how she was going to aid your obviously miserable self she wasn’t sure either. 

“Yeah, and she forbade me from calling Tobs,” Lindsey mumbled, patting Kelley’s shoulder. Kelley was known to have a magic touch with littles, but Lindsey was skeptical anyone besides your mama could pull you from this funk. 

“From the text she sent the group chat I’m not surprised. I’ll see what I can do,” Kelley nodded, shooing Lindsey towards the kitchen to heat up some Mac and cheese. She would get you to eat something even if it killed her. 

She slowly made her way over to you, gently patting Emily’s shin when she was close enough. “Hey Emmy, your mama wants to see you in the kitchen please,” 

The blond little blinked up at her, big Emily suddenly very present in her eyes. She didn’t like how much pain you were in, but you both trusted Kelley. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Emily nodded once, seemingly satisfied that Kelley would help. 

Emily leaned up and kissed your cheek before toddling off towards the kitchen. Maybe mama would get her a cookie. 

Kelley took her spot, watching you carefully, as though you were a puzzle she was trying to solve. “How you holding up bug?”

You shrugged in response, tucking your legs tighter underneath you and crossing your arms. 

“Not too good then huh?” Kelley filled in, scooting a little bit closer to you, taking a breath of relief when you didn’t curl into an impossibly tighter ball. 

You nodded once. While big you understood why Tobin couldn’t be your mama, little you was devastated that she had chosen someone over you. That she didn’t love you anymore (big you knew this was just as hard for her). 

Kelley’s eyebrows furrowed. You usually hovered around 2 and a half or three when you were little, but this version of you was far smaller. Small enough for you to go nonverbal. The only person to see you this small was Tobin, and as far as Kelley knew the last time this had happened you were still in college. 

“Well, I don’t know about you, but Roary was telling me that his tummy was hurting. Does your tummy hurt?” She asked you softly, holding up your favorite stuffed triceratops and wiggling him in front of your face. 

You shrugged again. Yeah your tummy was a little grumbly, but you were sad and all you wanted was for mama to scoop you up, but she couldn’t. 

“I know you’re upset bug, but not eating isn’t going to make you or Roary feel better, ok? Aunt Lindsey made Mac and cheese and it’ll warm you up ok?” she tried again, nudging your cheek with Roary’s nose. You bit your lip in thought. You did love Mac and cheese, and you didn’t want Roary to turn into a grumpasaurus. 

“Otay,” you mumbled, reaching for the defender (who despite her short stature was still an inch taller than you). She smiled tightly at you, handing you your stuffed Dino and picking you up to head towards the kitchen. At least they were getting you to eat. 

*****

Christen sighed from her place on the couch next to Tobin, glaring at the cellphone that had gotten far more attention than she had tonight. All she wanted was a date night with her girlfriend, and Tobin had spent the whole thing glued to her phone, nervously biting her lip. 

“Alright, who have you been texting all night?” Christen asked, pulling away from Tobin and wrapping the blanket tighter around her. 

The midfielder turned forward blinked and sat back to look carefully at her girlfriend. “Lindsey,” Tobin said, biting her lip. 

Christen’s eyebrows furrowed. “What’s up with Linds?” 

Tobin sighed. “Y/n went to stay with her until preseason starts. Emily’s there too and she wanted to hang out with her girlfriend,” 

“So what, why has Lindsey been texting you?” Christen asked. She was usually good at following Tobin’s train of thought, but she was lost. 

Tobin sighed again, shaking her head. “Y/n is having a really hard time, and I know you think it’s just some weird kink or something, but little Y/n doesn’t understand what’s happening. She doesn’t know what she did wrong and Lindsey needs some advice on how to handle her,” 

Christen’s back straightened immediately at the mention of your name. She thought she had made her opinion clear. “How can you say that like Y/n is two people. Like she isn’t manipulating you into doing what she wants?” Christen said, throwing her hands up in exasperation. 

Tobin took a deep breath trying to figure out how to explain it. How to make her girlfriend understand that it was so much more than you pretending to be a kid for a little while. “Y/n isn’t two people, and she isn’t manipulating me. That’s evident considering she forbade Lindsey from calling me,” Tobin started calmly, picking at a stray thread on her pants. She opened and closed her mouth several times, trying to find the right words to explain it. “It’s not a sexual thing for her. It’s about trust. When y/n is little she doesn’t have to worry about everyday things, she can trust that I’ll take care of her. That no matter what happens, someone will be there to protect her. That no one will abandon her…” her voice cracked. 

That’s exactly what she had done, isn’t it? Abandoned her best friend?. 

Christen pulled her into a hug, letting her sob into her shoulder. It was hard to see Tobin this upset, even if she didn’t fully understand why. 

“My relationship with her isn’t like the one I have with you. She loves Emily,” The words were muffled by Christen’s shoulder, but the forward heard them loud and clear. 

Her eyebrows furrowed. She had done some research after Tobin had initially told her, but this was turning out to be way more complicated than the online forum suggested. If Emily was involved too, and you were dating her, then why did you need Tobin? 

“Why can’t Emily be her mama?” She asked softly, honestly trying to understand this mess. 

Tobin leaned back, wiping her eyes. 

“Cause Emily’s little too and that would be dangerous. Lindsey takes care of Em like I take care of Y/n,” 

Christen nodded as she took in the information. That made sense. If you couldn’t necessarily control being little, then it was possible you would both slip at the same time (or one could trigger the other). That did seem like a pretty bad idea for a long term solution. 

But if Lindsey was there, then what was the problem? 

“I just don’t understand how I fit into this whole thing,” Christen said after a few minutes, finally looking Tobin in the eyes, searching for the answer. 

“You don’t have to deal with her when she’s little if you don’t want to. I just didn’t want to hide it from you,” Tobin shrugged, running a hand through her hair (the weight on her chest lifting just a bit now that Christen actually seemed to be willing to talk about this). 

“If she’s here, I’m not just going to ignore her,” Christen scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. Tobin’s lips ticked up just a bit. She wasn’t sure if Christen realized she had basically said you were going to be around, but Tobin was pleased with the new development. Maybe Christen just needed to logic it out a little bit more to become more open to the idea, but she wasn’t going to force her into something she wasn’t comfortable with. 

“It’s still the Y/n you know, just a little bit more carefree. A little more silly and cuddly. You don’t have to be around her, but if you wanted to… she was gonna ask if you wanted to see what being a caretaker with me was like,” She said, leaning in and nudging under Christen’s chin with her nose. 

Christen frowned, pouting a little, the real reason she had been so against the idea initially finally rolling from her lips. “She wasn’t trying to take you away from me-“ 

Tobin was shaking her head before Christen even finished her sentence. “No, she was trying to include you,”

You had been open to the idea of being little around Christen (hesitant, but open especially if it meant including the woman your mama was head over heels for. 

The silence stretched between them for a few long seconds, broken only by Christen’s sigh. 

“I fucked up,” She mumbled, pinching the space between her eyes, completely missing Tobin’s blinding smile. 

“We fucked up, now let’s go fix it,” Tobin said, kissing her girlfriend’s cheeks and standing, extending her hand for the woman to take. They would make this right together. 

*****

Kelley would say that you were tolerating dinner. You were reluctantly opening your mouth for the airplanes of Mac and Cheese she was sending your way, glancing longingly at Roary (who was eating his carrots in his very own seat across from you). 

Lindsey had gotten up a few minutes ago to answer the door but had yet to return. That was why you were taking turns having Kelley feed you bites of dinner with Emmy. 

Kelley lifted the next bite up to your lips, but you pulled your head away. “No tank you,” 

Kelley sighed, leaning forward to make eye contact with you. “Baby, you’ve only had two bites. You need to eat a little more for me please,” 

You rapidly shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. You didn’t want to eat the stupid Mac and cheese. You wanted your mama to love you again, but she was off loving Christen. 

“It otay, I eat Mac for you,” Emily said, patting your arm and placing a very sloppy kiss on your cheek. She didn’t like it when you were upset, and if she got more Mac and cheese out of it, then that was fine with her too. 

Kelley glared at the younger defender. You didn’t need any more encouragement to not eat, especially when you were this fussy. “I don’t think it works like that Em”

She looked back into your direction(ignoring your girlfriend’s pout), making her voice soft and sympathetic “Come on Y/n, 5 more bites please,” 

You whined loudly, shaking your head rapidly and kicking your feet a little in displeasure. The tears were now falling heavily down your very red face. “No want it!!”

“Alright bug,” Kelley murmured, pulling you into her lap, and letting you cry it out. You buried your face in her shoulder, heartbreaking sobs wracking through you. Kelley rubbed circles into your back, and carded her fingers through your hair, trying to soothe you. When that didn’t work, she carefully transferred you into a very familiar lap.

*****

You clung to Tobin as though your life depended on it, fisting her sweatshirt like you thought she would disappear at any second. You probably thought she would, Christen noted. 

It was truly a pitiful sight so see, and each little sob from your lips was like a knife in Christen’s chest. She hadn’t known what to expect when Lindsey said you were taking it hard, but it most certainly wasn’t this. It made her apology gift seem incredibly inadequate. 

“No babydoll, I’m never leaving you again. I promise,” Tobin said into your hair, rocking you to try and ease the wave of tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“But you wove Christen,” You said, though your voice was muffled by Tobin’s shoulder and your tears, Christen heard the words loud and clear. She shared a look with Tobin over your head, and she knew that she was the only one who could fix this mess. 

She knelt down next to you, carefully rubbing your back, encouraging you to look at her. You obliged, rubbing your bloodshot eyes as you pulled away from Tobin. 

“Tobin can love both of us darling, and I see that now. I’m sorry that I couldn’t see that before, but if you’re willing, I’d like to try helping your mama take care of you when you’re little,” She said softly. 

“No make me go bye bye?” You asked, sniffling. 

“No little one,” Christen reassured, bringing her thumb up to while away a stray tear. “No I brought a friend, but they don’t have a name yet. Do you think you can help me out?” She said, holding up the stuffed dragon they had picked up for you as an apology. 

You gently grabbed the purple stuffie, holding him very close to your nose, and examining him carefully. “Spike wants ta know if we go home?” You said after a few seconds, poking your tongue out the side of your mouth. Christen and Tobin laughed lightly at your expression. 

“Yeah, let’s go home,” 

#uswnt imagine #uswnt imagines #uswnt x reader #preath x reader #preath imagine

[johobi]

Falling, Falling, Gone

Word count: 5.8k

Pairing: Taehyung x Reader

Warnings: None really, it’s my first ‘SFW’ fic, though there is some extremely bad language in here. And there might be an erection because I can’t help myself.

A/N: This is the fourth and final ‘drabble’ for the drabble game I ran ages ago. Prompt: “The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you.”

Music inspo: Don’t Be So Serious, Baby Don’t Stop, Waste It On Me

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23477485

Taehyung. Captain of the soccer team. Master of your heart. You'll never tell him for fear of rejection.

So why the fuck are you about to do it in front of dozens of his peers?

Banana and peanut butter become pulp in your mouth as you glare out the kitchen window. It's so grey out there. Greyer than it has any right to be. As if your dour mood has polluted the very atmosphere. Rain lashes the exterior in leaden pellets, each one compounding your headache like a rap on the head. Don't be so serious, your bluetooth speaker croons as you chew and chew, unblinking. The bridge of your glasses slip further down your nose but you don’t correct them. Don't be so serious.

Oh, but it's all so serious. 

Your final portfolio lacks in ways your mentor is incapable of articulating, and you only have so much time to fix it. Your college life is coming to a close. There are frighteningly few opportunities out there and they’re sure to spurn a sham like you. What do you do now? Where do you go from here—

"God, you listen to such depressing music," a husky voice sounds. It’s thick with sleep and horribly attractive. You hear his feet next; big and bare as they slap the tile floor and disrupt the ambience. 

Yes, dismal is an ambience. 

Before you glimpse the interloper himself, his fingers pilfer your next mouthful of toast. His other hand has your phone and is skipping through your carefully curated playlist of moody tunes. With all the scant energy you can muster, you glower at him. 

“Taehyung.” 

Soccer captain. Campus celebrity. Doofus.

Unlikely friend and unlikelier crush. But life is strange, and he is both these things. Indeed, he proclaims himself your best friend to all who will listen. As for the matter of your tender feelings, however, he is oblivious. And will remain so.

Taehyung is long-legged and limber-bodied, but round of face and feature. A kitten in a tiger’s pelt. Will mew for affection and roar when angry. Has quite literally nudged your hand for pets and raged at referees in the same afternoon. There is usually no in-between. 

Your scowl goes unseen. He sidles past like the oblivious buffoon he is and continues to tamper with Spotify.  Smears his peanut-buttered thumb around your phone display. Ugh. You brush back your hood and fix him again with extra scorn.

"Actually, douchebag, it’s good music for thinking. And I have a headache. I hardly wanna listen to something like—no, don't you dare put fucking Party Rock on right now. Tae!"

It’s too late. The lanky idiot is already gesticulating to the beginning beats. Your phone is an unreachable hostage in his flapping hands. You’re about to lunge for it but he preempts the attack by smothering you with your own hood. “Tae.” Your whining sounds all the more pitiful muffled. “Everyfing hurfs. ‘m hungover. Pleathe.” 

Taehyung relents after further, strangled pleas. Unwraps you with a grin that grows like the sunrise. For a moment, you’re dazzled. “Sorry. No more torture,” he chuckles all low, hair in his eyes. His locks are long and always untamed. An aureate crown befitting of his celebrity status. 

One swipe and he’s muted the racket and returned your phone. You turn the sticky thing over in your hands, rueing the day you met the overgrown imp. “How did you get it this dirty…?”

You go ignored and Taehyung gets closer. He scrutinises your hunched and hoodied appearance with a thoughtful hum. “Headache?” A rounded nose and two brown eyes come into focus. "Hungover? How? I didn't see you go out last night."

Averse to such study, you shy away. "Well, I did." You did not. You stayed home and guzzled $4 Prosecco while lamenting your trash portfolio. But you aren’t about to regale him with that pitiful tale. The sheerness of shame prevents you. Taehyung would be so sweet about it, too! So buoying, with his sunny smiles and fervent encouragement: "Why were you crying over that?!" He'd ask. "Your work is amazing. Seriously amazing. I love everything you do!" He'd gush. "People will be stumbling over themselves to hire you!" He'd continue, naively. And that hurts the most, because he just doesn't get it. Taehyung is a sponsored, collegiate athlete that's graduating into a guaranteed draft. He is—and always has been—praised widely as up-and-coming. The kid has had scouts scrapping for him mid-way through high school!

You, however, are small fry, swimming in a shoal of other unknowns, leaping for the hook of internship. Your dreams of animating for Disney died long back. They dwelled with Walt now.

But you don’t resent Taehyung for any of it. Ever. He’s a paragon. Born for the limelight. Has sweat and bled oceans for it. And for some reason he insists that you, too, are deserving of that same renown. Why? He’s ridiculous. Far too kind. And—Christ, he has a big dick.

"Taehyung, can you please not shove your tiny fucking penis in my face while I'm trying to eat? I'm nauseous enough as it is."

The soccer captain rests a foot on the seat next to you, giving you ungainly insight into his crotch. Taehyung, as he often, inexplicably is, is clad only in his boxer-briefs. This would be alarming were it not so goddamn commonplace. He is allergic to clothes.

According to him, he’s a naturist. 

According to you, he’s an attention whore.

Taehyung points to his elevated foot, but it's a little difficult to ignore the bulge he's brandishing. "Do you understand the concept of inappropriate proximity and your current state of undress?" You rattle on, words slurred half by OJ, half by fluster. He simply points again, and with more insistence. Relenting, you follow the line of his finger to his pretty, if gigantic, foot. Then notice the ink around his ankle, black and fresh. "Oh, wow, you got a tattoo? Cool!"

"Yep! I didn't ever really think about getting one 'til I saw yours. They were so cool I became kinda obsessed with getting one. So I finally did it last night."

‘Til he saw yours? Your stomach flutters. It's not the nausea. You smother it with more orange juice. "Well, that's awesome, Tae. You'll probably want more eventually. I would've gone with you if I'd known you were gonna go alone."

Finally, he lowers his leg. It’s a small mercy. But then, for no discernible, earthly reason, Taehyung begins flexing his many defined muscles. His calves in particular catch your attention. They’re so goddamned thick. They ripple. Fucking soccer players. "Hm? Oh, I wasn't alone. I went with some guys from the team." He ogles his reflection in the microwave door.

How can you avert your eyes when his pecs dance so compellingly? It all becomes a bit too much. "Okay, what are you doing? Seriously, what? I know you're into yourself, but this is ridiculous.” He stops. Snorts. Thank God. “If you were with the guys, why did you come back here last night? I thought you’d go back to your dorm."

Finally Taehyung sits, but he’s spread-legged and that’s perhaps worse than what he was doing just now. He’s 6ft of pure, hewn sex and just so fucking casual about it. He reclines. "Some of them took girls home last night so I needed somewhere to go and you're always an open door." Finger guns follow a cheesy wink.

You scoff, but he's right. You’d do anything for the big-hearted clown. Open door? You'd be the doormat under his soccer cleats, licking them free of dirt— "You're lucky Areum isn’t here right now. Don't think she’d take kindly to having some almost-naked oaf clambering into her bed."

"You say that, but she’s tried to hit this several times.” Taehyung is smug, brows high on his forehead. Yours lower harshly. “Tell her I slept in her bed last night. She’ll cream herself thinking about it later, I guarantee you."

“You’re gross. And can you stop—why do you keep flexing? There’s just me here.” You peer about for emphasis. Taehyung is again admiring his form in some burnished surface. “No-one is looking. Or cares.” Contrarily, you’re doing both those things. But he needn’t be privy to that. 

"This is serious. I need to work on my angles.” He contorts himself into something of a pretzel to peek at his back muscles. “We're holding a hook-up auction at our dorm to raise money for a graduation blow-out. And I'm on sale. Do you think I need to work on my back?"

You ease into a squint. "When you said serious, I thought serious words were about to follow."

"I am being serious!" Again Taehyung flexes, biceps bulging by his ears like an overfed turkey’s thighs. "How much do you think I'm worth?"

The world.

"I dunno. I'd take you for free, I guess, if you were the last one left."

Taehyung is unperturbed by your acerbic wit. It ricochets off him like rubber bullets would a muscle-bound ox. He is your greatest adversary. The bastard lacquers his lips until they’re plump and glossy and boasting a smirk. 

He’s always doing this. 

Always moistening himself. 

"Oh yeah? Well, I think you'll be disappointed." A boxy smile emerges. "I got girls and guys already approaching me about it. Some of the guys literally just wanna buy me for mentoring. I mean, that’s more effort than kissing, but—" He shrugs. The thought goes unfinished.

"That makes sense. You are a God among these mere mortals, Taetae." It's not sarcasm this time. Taehyung senses it. The grin he returns is life-affirming. You're so close to reaching across the table and squeezing his hand. Telling him you're proud. Telling him you most likely, maybe, love him. But you notice you've dragged your sleeve through peanut butter—”Ah, shit,”—and you can tell him how you feel some other day.

Some other day.

"Some of them just wanna make out too, of course, and, like, I'm happy to comply. It's all for charity." His altruism knows no limits.

"Charity, huh?" You snort. Taehyung's mouth grows more square at your incredulity. "Who else is up for bidding, then?"

"Mostly guys from the team and dorm. There are some mutuals who just wanna get in on the action, too. Uh, you know Kim Namjoon?" He measures your reaction. When you give none: "Jeon Jungkook?"

Disinterest mellows your features. "Oh, right. Cool."

"So you don't like Jeon Jungkook?" Taehyung's eyes are eager, his body poised. Anticipating.

"What? No. What gave you that idea? I've talked to him, like, twice." Your face crumples as you towel your soiled sleeve. The peanut butter smears into a tragic, shit-brown stain. "Damn, that's never coming out."

"He's gonna be so disappointed. He might even cry." Taehyung heaves a hammy sigh and clutches at his breast. There’s nothing the captain enjoys more than clowning his subordinates.  "Kook likes you so much. He's really into your whole androgynous fuckboi thing you got going on. He literally said, 'She's like a mystery, man. I'm not sure if she's a girl or a guy and—like, I'm not like that, but that's hot.'"

If your eyes could roll past the bounds of their sockets, they would. "Wow, what a poet. He sounds like a douchebag and I'm even less interested now. Fuckboi? Is that really the vibe I give off?" You don't fuck full stop. Nor were you aware you could dress like you do. 

"I dunno. You just seem kinda like a gremlin to me. Or like that weird guy from Death Note," Taehyung is quick to reassure you. Cool. You’re fucking overjoyed that he perceives you that way. Not as a goddess, or his beautiful, sexy soulmate, or the princess that wanders the spires of his captive heart. No. A gremlin. Or L.

"Well, you got me there, son."

"What about Kim Namjoon?" Taehyung presses, urgent again. He picks at your bread crusts with one hand, head cradled delicately in the other. The boy could be a world-class model, too. His loose, dark curls hang like a Van Gogh nightscape, framing the planes of his unmarred face. It hurts to look at him. It hurts to be looked at.

A self-conscious shuffle. "What about him? I don't know who that is." You flick away his foraging fingers but he draws you into an impromptu game of thumb-war in retaliation. It's the only thing to extract a smile from you today.

Taehyung looks sceptical. "He's the physio student with our team! You literally talked to him all day during this season's semi-final." His lengthy digits best yours easily. But though the match is won, he doesn’t withdraw his hand. Instead he encroaches further. Thumbs your wrist. Encompasses your knuckles in a soft, warm palm. He’s clasping you like an enamoured suitor might their bashful sweetheart, and it’s very strange. What is he doing? His mind looks to be elsewhere, now.

"Uh...—oh. Oh." Yours ambles back to you. "Yeah, he was really nice, but you know my rule. No—"

"—dating in final year. Yeah, I know. I'll tell him that if he asks about you again." Taehyung has returned, too. His hand is gone. Your gooseflesh ebbs with it.

With a cough, you sober. "I think the auction's a bit stupid, really, Tae. You sure you wanna do it?"

"Stupid? Why?" He shimmies in close, smug on his face and intolerably naked the rest of the way down. His skin is hot and golden and just far too close. "You're only saying that because you're jealous, right?" He tickles your chin to keep you honest and your eyes on him. You seize and squeeze the offending hand because he might be right and now you’re embarrassed. "The thought of me making out with someone else is ruining you," he goes on to say, brazen as the smirk defiling his cherubic cheeks.

"Some rather large conclusion-jumping going on there," you smile, sweet as sugared cyanide. Your vice-grip tightens until he’s pouting in repentance. "I meant it's stupid to put yourself in a potentially uncomfortable situation if you don't want to kiss that person." 

"I'm just joking!" he whimpers like the overlarge puppy he is and you free him of his snare. Because you would die for this big, soppy boy and his big, soppy eyes. “You’re so grouchy today.”

‘The joke won’t land if it collides with the truth, Taehyung,’ you muse. You expect him to know this despite never having apprised him of your situation. You’re jealous and cowardly and completely unreasonable. You want him for yourself but you never want him to know that. 

If he wants your candour he should be a telepath. Simple.

Irritated by your own nonsense, you lash out at the unsuspecting boy. "You know what? I was joking, too. I remember Namjoon, he was hot. And smart. I think I'll cheat on my dating ban this once and bid on him. He has super nice lips, so." 

Taehyung simply smiles. "Oh, okay. Cool! Glad you’re gonna come along." 

Your threat proves ineffective because he doesn’t like you like that. Wouldn’t give a shit if Namjoon rawed you on stage while you stared him down. You stall on that thought because it’s kinda hot. “It’ll be great. Can’t wait to get my tongue down his throat.”

“Hell yeah! I knew you liked him.”

Yep, Taehyung is oblivious to your pining. As he should be. Because outwardly, your pining consists of nothing more than the odd, lingering look here and there. The balled-up sketches of him he will never see. A secret smile if you’re feeling particularly sentimental. Other than that, you're steely. Poker-faced. Rarely blind-sided by his allure, especially now that you've acclimated to his penchant for exhibitionism. 

 "Thank you in advance for your patronage." Rising from his seat, Taehyung comes to a stand behind you and leans. Encircles your shoulders with his terribly athletic arms and puts his lips to your ear. You're like a feral cat in the arms of a senseless child. You're bristling. "If he turns out to be a jerk and tries something he shouldn't, I'll protect you." For a moment, you're touched enough to unclench a little. "With these guns." And then you choke between his straining biceps and vie to repay him in kind.

----

The common room of Taehyung's dorm has been crudely transformed. Some questionable construction has taken place in order to build the catwalk centrepiece. Sofas and tables line the walls, thrust from the limelight. You've occupied the drinks table for the last 45 minutes, from the second you entered this place. You harbour an intense dislike for the chaotic energy of Taehyung's dorm. Machismo rages noisily between these walls and you much prefer less testosterone-drenched environments. Nevertheless, despite it all you're here on an endeavour this evening. One your idiot, rampant mouth has obligated you to. To buy time with a guy that's perfectly nice and all, but isn’t Taehyung.

Kim Namjoon makes eyes at you from the head of the runway, awaiting his musical cue. The beer you just slurped down bubbles up. You have to look away. Unfortunately, when you do, Taehyung is immediately there, his face in yours, his thumb and fingers pulling at your cheeks. "Hey you, don't get too drunk, okay? I don't trust a single man here. Especially not nice-as-pie Namjoon." 

Nice-as-pie Namjoon has chosen some Bruno Mars track by the sounds of it. The auction-goers' excitement ramps up considerably.

Unable to move your captured face, your eyes sweep the room. "Not even your own teammates?" you scoff cynically, swatting at his hands until he’s baited into a game of slapsies. "Now who sounds jealous?" 

Taehyung stops for a moment, thoughtful. "You know, you're right. I'm extremely jealous. I want Namjoon all to myself. He gives the best massages. And a happy ending when I ask nicely." And then he's back to rough-housing you, slapping your upper arms to alternating beats. "You look cute tonight. Your outfit, I mean," he offers up out of nowhere, so quiet you almost lose it to the bass. "He's lucky."

But you look exactly the same as you did earlier that day. Exactly the same as that afternoon in the cafeteria when he ribbed you for raiding Billie Eilish's Good Will donations. "Um, thanks. I guess." You're genuine, but don’t sound it. You can't look at him for fear of revealing the dopey grin that has hijacked your face.

"You're welcome, buddy." A large palm flattens your hair. His fingers get all in there, ruffling it until it probably looks more akin a bird's nest. Is Taehyung trying to sabotage you? Also, buddy? "Look, Namjoon's walking." 

You turn and see that he is. Strutting, moreover, albeit awkwardly. It's obvious that the lanky boy is unaccustomed to the same attention the team he services is. Nevertheless, there are whoops and hollers aplenty for the handsome blonde dork, and you, too, catch yourself smiling. How can you not, when he pokes at his dimples so? The others seem captivated, too, though less by the  finger-hearts and more by his form-fitting tracksuit. 

“I’d wrap my car around a tree if he was the tree,” one auction-goer confides to her friend. “And then I’d wrap my legs around—”

“Yeah, we get it Lisa.”

Lisa quiets. 

Namjoon’s endless legs sidle to a stop at the catwalk's end, directly opposite you. His bespectacled eyes meet your bespectacled eyes. For one, long second, the interest is palpable.  But then he breaks, and casts his gaze down to his FILAs. 

"Okay, he's, like, in love with you, I think," Taehyung whisper-yells, hands aflurry in applause. "Are you gonna bid?"

Shouts puncture the cheering either side of the room.

"$10!"

"$20!"

Neither of them are you.

The evening’s auctioneer - Taehyung's partner-in-slime Park Jimin - echoes each cry that rings out, giggling into a tinny karaoke mic. "$20 for our team physio?! Is that all you got ladies and gents? Do I have to remind you this guy can grope away pain with his magic hands?"

Namjoon spins toward Jimin's makeshift podium of an upturned bookcase and menaces him with his eyes. Well, it would be menacing were the man not as threatening as a ribbon-wrapped basket of newborn sloths.

The striker backpedals. "Okay, the massage might not be included, but don't let that deter you! He kisses like a pro!"

Screams of how do you know that, Jimin?! erupt and the throng grows ever more wild. Namjoon is redder than the cup you're strangling.

"Are you gonna bid?! You're gonna miss your chance!" For some reason Taehyung is still here, harassment game still strong. He should be preparing to walk next, but sees fit to pester you instead. And because of that, he's caught you in your lie, bare-faced and blushing.

No, you are not going to bid on Kim Namjoon.

"Uh, oh no, I forgot my purse," you grumble around the rim of your next drink, gulping it down like the bottom is your way out of this God-awful situation.

Then what are you doing here?

"It's right there." Taehyung pokes the cross-body bag hanging traitorously by your side.

"Oh, is it?" You reach for another cup even while burdened with one. Anything to sidetrack this conversation.

Taehyung intervenes with a firm hand. Swaddles your knuckles ‘til the shaking stops. You’re shaking? Beer slops over the sides, unnoticed. “___?”

Stupid, warm hand. And why are his fingers so fucking delicate for a footballer? He should model jewellery. Wedding rings.

Yours.

His ringless fingers close around your wrist when you persist in avoiding his gaze. The ruse is almost up. Fuck. There’s nothing left to do but to look at him. 

You do, ever so timidly. “What?”

"What are you doing?" Puzzlement becomes him well. Why is he so goddamn handsome? "If you aren't gonna bid on Namjoon, why did you come?"

Silence, but for the pump of background Bruno Mars.

‘You. I came for you. You were the plan all along. Not him,’ your mind screams.

You, however, just stare.

"Going—going—gone! Sold for $70! Come claim your kiss!" Jimin can hardly stop himself from squealing. For a guy that beds girls on the daily, his sincere excitement over simple lip-locking is amusing.

Taehyung's teammates hail him from the drapery behind the catwalk but he won't yet go. No, he insists on searing holes into the side of your face while you watch Namjoon get sloppy on-stage with some girl you don't know. They're really getting into it. Damn, he forgot about you quick. In  their fervour they edge towards the bounds of the catwalk, too absorbed in one another to notice. Thankfully, voyeuristic bystanders are on-hand to catch them before they fall.

"Kim Taehyung! How many times do I have to call you?! Get over here before I kick your fucking ass," Jungkook roars across the hubbub, halfway through the room. He  enacts the violent gesture for emphasis and knees some unsuspecting girl in the ass. Immediately the macho facade drops and he's all doe-eyed and buck-toothed, prostrating himself before the girl who actually seems grateful to have been assaulted by one Jeon Jungkook. Between his hushed apologies, Jungkook shoots Taehyung a look something murderous. And then he sees you and throws a shy wave, the kind a little kid might when cajoled by his parents.

"Ew." The word comes up involuntarily, like bile.

A deep cackle emanates from beside you. "Okay, guess I'm up." Taehyung squares his shoulders. His mouth, too. He's a very angular boy. "Better get my kit on. Cheer for me!" With a pat to your shoulder, he makes for Jungkook. Leaves you with an insidious dread. His soccer kit is your weakness. 

No, he is your weakness.

"Next up - and I'm sure most of you here tonight are anticipating this guy - our very own Team Captain and soon-to-be Major League Soccer player, Kim Taehyung!" Banshee-shrieking reverberates at Jimin's announcement. "Stick around, he'll be out in a few minutes!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. You turn from the catwalk and fully embrace the drinks table, supporting yourself with two hands and God's grace.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

No way.

This wasn’t an actual plan. Just a fantasy.

You're not gonna tell him like this.

You're not gonna tell him ever.

All you have to do is just say you turned out to support him. You rarely get to go out with him anyway, what with his ever-growing entourage. Taehyung would appreciate that, and he'd never have to know that you came here for cornier purposes.

You're not a big gesture kind of girl.

Nah, you aren't gonna do this.

Distantly, you wished Areum were here. She'd have slapped some sense into you, maybe even literally.

No. Wait.

The devious cow would've talked you into doing it. For sure. She has a flair for the dramatic.

"Sorry, can I just—thanks." Someone with offensively bony elbows bulldozes you aside and passes a drink to her companion. An apology is on the tip of your tongue but evaporates into the ether upon seeing the twosome in question. Both were complicit in the casual bullying you endured during your high school years. They don't appear to recognise you now. Not that they even spare your pitiful person a glance.

"Who's up next?" the worst one queries, cup snug to her bosom.

"Taehyung," the lackey answers, glee upending her petulant features. "Kim Taehyung."

An elbow jabs you again as the girl struggles with the clasp on her clutch. Her overlong claws impede her. "Oh shit, already? I thought we had more time. Shit."

"Nope. It's go time. Hurry up, girl, competition's gonna be fierce." The other one watches her digital acrobatics to get into her purse.

Oh God. She has so much money. There's no doubt in your mind she'll trump everyone present.

No. Oh, no.

Not her. Not with him.

Your mind flits through premonitions of the future. They’re all  rather grim. The last one is that of a wedding. A marriage between this dreadful bitch and your most cherished of friends, Taehyung. It's garish and tacky - she's denied him input, of course - and the ceremony is filled with faces that once mocked you mercilessly. None of Taehyung's friends are there; indeed, he is no longer even part of his team. Her possessiveness and his undying loyalty have put an end to his blossoming career. He looks sad beneath a mask of happy. Eyes that once blazed with the embers of ambition are doused by despondency. He is a husk.

And their first meeting is this auction, this cute anecdotal encounter of oh, I just had to have him, and when I kissed him I knew.

Just a glimpse at this dystopian future disturbs you silly. Conviction, while tentative, burgeons in your heart.

You can't let her have him. Anyone but this noxious cunt.

And suddenly you've money in hand, too. Bills you withdrew specifically for this purpose, and yet would sooner have left them crisp and cold in your purse than followed through. But public humiliation is endlessly preferable to damning Taehyung to a kiss with this serpent. Because it won't stop there. It won't just be a kiss but an appeal for more. She’ll say it’s no strings attached, but she doesn't attach strings. She weaves webs. You recall her high school boyfriend. He was a well-performing, jovial guy that always waved hi. And she consumed him, heart-first, ‘til he was naught but a sunken-eyed zombie. He took a leave of absence that never ended.

Sexy, dangerous synth sounds from the speakers either side the catwalk. Ah, shit. Not that song. Any song but that one. NCT U’s Baby Don’t Stop. Of course Taehyung picked that. It fills the air with a fatal drum beat and in he comes through the curtains, strutting like he is the rhythm. The room, rather than become uproarious, falls eerily quiet. Everyone breathes as one entranced being, and no one moves but him. Halfway down the catwalk he body-rolls with the fluidity of wind-rippled satin, burgeoning from his chest and snapping at the hips. Prospective bidders gasp, as do you. And then his thumb is in the hem of his shirt, luring it upwards, exposing his olive expanses inch by mouthwatering inch. You see his abs near every day, but in this context, backed by that song, you find yourself as winded as everyone else. His stomach tautens for show, feeding into loose-waisted shorts that sit far too low. Even you haven’t been privy to this much. And especially not the alluring trail of hair that thickens at his waistband.

Someone shatters the stupor and screams, “$80!”

“Geez, you’re a horny bunch.” Jimin’s laughter peals. “We already have $80. Any advance on—“

“$100!” Some breathless sap cries next. “Oh my God, look at his thighs!”

And look you do. Taehyung grooves at the catwalk’s end, shirt back in place but hiking up the hems of his shorts instead.  You almost glimpse groin. He’s absolutely shameless, straining the muscles of his thighs until they’re lewdly pronounced. They’re veritable tree trunks. His calves, too, defy belief. Rock-hard and rounded and begging to be bitten. The party-goers crowding round his feet must think similarly. 

What distracts you most, however, are Taehyung’s straying fingers. They skirt his crotch in a salacious manner, stretching the material where it shouldn’t. Accentuating things they shouldn’t. You may pass out.

All the while his eyes are down, maybe closed. You want to see his face more than anything. The playful smirk on his plump, wet lips and the focus in his brows. 

“$120!!” You almost lose your head to a cash-strangling fist beside you.

It's her. Pointy-elbowed bitch.

But you aren't thrusting your student loan up just yet. You're in the middle of an almost holy, revelatory experience. Taehyung is still undulating and provoking the crowd, who are no longer hushed but whooping like chimps in heat. His shirt is off and helicoptering overhead. He allows one overcome girl at the sidelines to verify the thew of his biceps and bags himself another bid. You, however, do nothing but gawp, bills clutched to your chest and your eyes affixed to the glorious grin that breaks across his face. His eyes open onto you and then it's you you see at his wedding, standing afore him, bouquet instead of a wad of cash. You want to be the one. Now is the moment, while he's watching you envision this.

"$200,” you splutter. Volume is difficult when your voice is a quivering inconstant.

"What was that? Did we just get another bid?" Jimin wavers too, out of disbelief. "Did someone say $200?!"

The room is a clamour of confusion but Taehyung watched you mouth the very syllables. The shock is such that it softens his salacious movements to a dance more modest. His eyes are wider than you've ever seen them; mouth too. It hangs agape and downturned, as yours does. Because you're not quite sure whether you said something else altogether. Maybe you hurled a cuss word out of frustration? Did you momentarily black out and proclaim Hitler did nothing wrong? Nothing else can account for the scrutiny with which he punishes you with now.

Or.

You actually did bid, and that's why he's walking over, to the very drop-off of the catwalk, no longer any swagger to his step. "What are you doing?" he calls down, the music still strong and now strangely inappropriate. You simply watch the mole beneath his bottom lip move, dumb.

Louder, now, you call again. "$200!"

"Oh! It was a bid! ____?!" The flame-haired MC shares his puzzlement with the rest of the reacting room. All heads turn toward you.

But yours turns nowhere but Taehyung, your expression an open book of long-hidden liking. You watch, suspended by dissociation, as he lays a palm flat against his chest. "Me?"

It could all still be explained away. A joke. You drank too much. You just wanted to see the look on his face. Instead, you grant him the minutest of nods. A simple tip of the chin. "You," you whisper, whether it's heard or not.

Taehyung sees it in the shape your lips make. And then his gaze sweeps back upward, his chest heaving far too much for a man standing stationary.

"What's going on?" The disgruntled echo each other.

Jimin is quick to make sense of things and keep it rolling. "Okay, so, a bid of $200! Anyone else?"

A new song comes on; it's gone on too long. Something with a cantering beat that's adequately sentimental.

So if love is nothing more than just a waste of your time—

Clambering atop the platform, you counter someone's desperate bid of $220 with a measured breath. "$250." You hold Taehyung at fingerpoint. "You."

Waste it on me.

For a pants-shitting second, nothing happens. Your outstretched arm gains a tremor that could crumble it. Taehyung sifts your soul with his big, dewy eyes and then he's walking. Stalking toward you. Knocks the money from your hands and seizes your shying face with both of his. The last thing you see is his nose mole before his mouth joins with yours. His grip is like a vice and his lips are no gentler. They pry you open with little effort and then you're flooded with wet heat. Taehyung is insatiable in pursuit of your tongue. His hands drop to draw in your waist, your chest, every inch of your overclothed form. He's underclothed but burning hot, planes of honed skin beneath your fingertips. It's all so right. Feels so good. Taehyung moans that much into you when he chances a breath of air. Applause starts up as the music swells. It's so cliche but you've never had a cliche of your own before and your gloom-ridden ass needs this.

"Going—"

"I didn't know. I wish I had. This would've happened sooner," Taehyung gasps between desperate, too-short smooches. It proves too difficult to resist the pull of your mouth and he captures it again, sloppier. Slower.

"Going—"

"It doesn't matter." You pull the oxygen in, impatient. "Doesn't matter." Your fingers are a tangle at the nape of his neck, tugging on his lustrous locks. "Make up for it."

"Gone! Sold for $250!"

The two of you won't be parted for a moment. Not even when dismounting the platform. There's ruckus around you but it's so distant when his lips are on you. You sink into him like you would a scalding bath. "You don't have to pay that," Taehyung tells your cheek, smearing his saliva-slick mouth back to yours. His greed for you manifests against your stomach, and you ache in return. "This is a freebie."

Your passionate clinch takes you to the sidelines, away from prying eyes. Most of them, anyway. "What about this?" Your hands are suddenly in unseemly places.

"Th-That's also free. Everything's free. Oh, God."

#taehyung #kim taehyung #taehyung fluff #taehyung scenarios #v #v fluff #v scenarios #taehyung x reader #taehyung x you #v x reader #v x you #bts scenarios #bts fluff #bts x you #bts x reader

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Strangers (Part 4)

Summary: Sam has returned into Dean’s life for some reason and the reader is there to try and help Dean through having Sam around again...

Masterlist

Pairing: Doctor!Dean x patient!reader

Word Count: 2,000ish

Warnings: language, mention of surgery/injury

A/N: I hope you enjoy!

____

“Hi,” said Sam, giving you a quick wave. He stared at Dean who was already on his feet. “I need a place to crash for the night. If that’s okay.”

“What happened to the apartment, you were sharing with that girl, Jessica.”

“She died a few years ago,” he said.

“You kill her?” asked Dean. You got up, still holding your box of swiss rolls and Sam frowned. “You’ve been out of touch for three years. It’s not an unreasonable question.”

“I didn’t kill her,” said Sam. “I saw...it was a serial arsonist. I saw who did it and he ran with a bad group. I’ve been in witness-”

“Witness protection? Are you serious? I’m the fucking easter bunny while we’re at it,” said Dean.

“De, I think he’s telling the truth,” you said, nodding towards him. “He’s obviously upset.”

“You’ve been in witness protection? This whole time?”

“Yes,” said Sam. “Things have been happening lately. A lot of things. These guys are no longer a problem so I can come home. Except for the fact I don’t have a home anymore and had to drop out of college.”

“I filed a missing persons report on you.”

“I know.”

“I hung up flyers, search parties, fundraisers.”

“I know.”

“I drove to the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night because I thought I got a tip about you.”

“That was me. I had to relocate after that.”

“I looked for you for so long. Even when mom and dad gave up, I didn’t. There was no foul play but the cops told us it was unlikely we’d ever find you. You probably walked out and didn’t want to be found. I was so angry at you. They told us you were dead cause someone hurt you or you walked away. Those are two very different things,” said Dean. You dropped the box on the couch and grabbed his hand, Dean pinching his nose with his other. 

“I can leave if you want,” said Sam.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” said Dean. You rubbed his back and he walked over, giving his brother a hug.

“Finally got a girlfriend?” teased Sam as he returned it.

“You two are gonna get along great. You can swap stories,” laughed Dean. “Oh, I need a drink. Also how’d you get in my house?”

“My handler had a key made. They took it from your locker at the hospital,” he said.

“Lovely.”

“I know it sounds…” said Sam as he glanced at you. 

“Crazy is kind of our thing,” you said. “I’m Y/N.”

“You look familiar,” he said.

“My ex boyfriend tried to kill me. With bleach. In my drink.”

“Oh yeah. He was fucking nuts,” said Sam.

“Yup. That’s been our fun for the evening,” you said. “He got out. He’s dead now. It’s fine. Better than fine cause I’m gonna eat a whole box of swiss rolls and not feel bad about that.”

“Yeah, I will get along with you just fine,” said Sam, giving Dean a look. “Not sure about you though. I wanted to-”

“S’okay,” he said. “I’m just...happy you don’t hate me after all.”

“I wanted to call you so many times. It was too dangerous though. I couldn’t put you in that position,” said Sam.

“I’m getting kind of used to that,” said Dean. Sam smiled and you walked over to them both. 

“I crashed date night, didn’t I,” he said.

“Just a bit,” said Dean.

“Well I am really happy to meet Dean’s little brother,” you said, giving him a hug. “You don’t mind if Sam hangs out with us, right?”

“No, never. As long as you’re cool with it,” said Dean. 

“Of course,” you said.

“I appreciate it but honestly I’m wrecked. I could use with a shower and a bed,” said Sam.

“The guest room is right down the hall,” said Dean, pointing the way. “You hungry?”

“Nah. I’ll keep out of your guys hair,” said Sam. “Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” said Dean. Sam started to head for the hallway when Dean grabbed his arm. “I’m really happy you’re home, Sammy.”

“Me too.”

He smiled before he left, Dean taking a deep breath as he locked up the front door again.

“So you got a brother,” you said.

“Yeah. I probably should have brought him up at some point,” said Dean. You shrugged and rested your hands on his hips, Dean smiling softly. “I thought he was dead.”

“I’m glad he’s not,” you said. “I’m gonna have to back out on the being roommates thing though.”

“What?” he asked.

“Sam needs it way more than I do. I can stick around my parents until my apartment is ready. Seriously, it’s okay. He’s gonna need a lot of help. Trust me. He’s gonna want you,” you said.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. My parents aren’t that bad. Someday we can be roommates though?” you said.

“Okay. I’ll take a raincheck for now,” he smiled. 

“Tonight’s not so bad,” you said. He nodded and you pulled him close to your body, Dean’s arms wrapping lazily around you. “You doing okay?”

“I’ve been the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, the most terrified I’ve ever been in my life and the most relieved I’ve ever been in my life tonight. I honestly don’t know where to begin,” said Dean.

“I got a box of chocolate with your name on it that might be a good place to start.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” he said. “You okay too?”

“My night’s ending on a good note. I’m good Dean. Let’s get back to our date. I was in the middle of cuddling you if I remember.”

One Week Later

“Howdy handsome,” you said, the elevator doors at the hospital opening to Dean standing there in his navy scrubs.

“Gorgeous,” he said, giving you a quick kiss as he stepped on. “You already have your follow up with Mace?”

“Yeah. I am progressing well I guess. We’re switching my immunosuppressant to try something that doesn’t make me as tired and won’t make me as susceptible to illness,” you said.

“That’s good. I know you’re on the strong stuff right now. Mace is pretty good about finding the right med combo by the second or third try,” he said. “Transplant meds are tricky.”

“I’ve learned. How’s your day going?” you asked. “Saving lives?”

“Easy going day. Took out some tonsils on a teenager, did an appendectomy on a toddler, did a bone reset on a kid that broke her leg. Nothing they won’t all recover from 100% percent.”

“That sounds good,” you said. “When do you get off?”

He snickered and you whacked his arm.

“Such a boy,” you said.

“I have one more surgery for the day but I’m heading home after that. Our parents are coming into town. They’ve been in Florida cause their vacation plans got screwed up with the pandemic last year so they rescheduled and of course it’s this week and there’s tropical storms so they can’t get a flight out and they finally are getting home today. It’s been a nightmare. I’m supposed to cook dinner so that’ll go wonderfully.”

“You’re a good cook!” you said as the doors opened and you walked with him down the hall. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. They excited to see Sam?”

“Yeah. They feel bad about...they thought he was dead. Like it hasn’t been long enough to legally declare him that way but they were going to. I’ve always had a somewhat tense relationship with my dad. We fought a lot about Sam after he disappeared.”

“I think no matter what happened before, dinner’s gonna go good for you guys tonight,” you said.

“You’re coming right?” he asked. 

“You want me to?”

“Yeah. I...you make me feel...safe,” he said as he stopped walking. You smiled and grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together. “You don’t have-”

“I’d love to. I really like Sam and I want to be there for you. I like that I make you feel safe, makes me feel good,” you said. He rubbed the back of his neck but you caught the smile on his face. You gave him another kiss, a whistle coming from further down the hall.

“Get a room, Winchester,” said a guy as he walked by with a laugh.

“Better be a soundproof room,” you said, the guy stopping in his tracks.

“Okay, I approve of this one,” the guy chuckled. Dean rolled his eyes but he was biting down a laugh.

“Y/N, this is RN. Lafetite or Benny as well call him. He’s Donna’s boyfriend,” said Dean.

“Oh yeah, she was great,” you said. “She removed my appendix.”

“That woman knows her way around a blade,” said Benny. “You had the digestive transplant done a while ago, right?”

“Yeah,” you said, Dean making a face beside you.

“Badass,” said Benny. “I worked with Mace some on you.”

“You’re a surgeon too?” you asked.

“No, no. I’m a surgical nurse,” he said.

“They’re pretty important,” said Dean. “The really good ones could perform minor surgeries themselves like Ben. I keep trying to convince Benny here to go to med school and join the rest of us.”

“Oh you know you’d miss me too much, Deano. You me and Novak are the dream team of pediatrics,” he said.

“Sure we are,” said Dean with a laugh. “Y/N and I were having a little get together on Sunday, watch a little football, food. Round up the usual suspects?”

“I can get the crew together. I’ll bring my beer dip and some of those pretzels. Very easy on the digestive system,” said Benny to you.

“That’s considerate,” you said. “It’s okay. I’m alright with most stuff. I just got to watch the grease a bit.”

“These are really not greasy at all. I’ll give you the recipe sometime,” said Benny as his phone went off. “I think we’re late for pre-op.”

“When are we not?” said Dean. “I’ll see you tonight, sweetheart.”

“See you later, Dean.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Dean that night as he rushed in the house. You and Sam were working the kitchen, Dean checking the clock. “They’re gonna be here in five minutes.”

“Go wash up. Sam and I can cook a few pieces of chicken and make mashed potatoes,” you said. You were nearly finished anyways, the chicken baking away in the oven. Dean made a thud down the hall but shouted back that he was fine before you heard the bathroom door shut. “He always been a worrier?”

“Pretty much,” said Sam as he got out the plates. “He seems different. Good different. More easy going.”

“It’s all I’ve ever known from him so I don’t have much to go off of,” you said. 

“You might have something to do with it,” he said. He smiled and finished up with setting the table. “You’ve never met our parents Dean said.”

“No. We’ve only been together a few months,” you said.

“This’ll be an interesting evening then,” said Sam as the doorbell rang. He suddenly looked nervous and you rubbed a hand up and down his back.

“It’ll be okay,” you said. “Trust me.”

“I see why he likes you,” said Sam. “Here goes nothing.”

______

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean x reader #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #au #doctor!dean #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader

[mxchellesworld]

𝟑 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐝 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐑𝐞𝐢𝐝 𝐱 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐀𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐬 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐒𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐞𝐧𝐯𝐲.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: mentions of sex and masturbation 

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

***

It had been a few days since you’d seen Cat and Spencer. After lunch you decided it was time to make your way back home. A quick exchange of numbers and the promise of seeing each other soon and you were back to your mundane routine of getting adjusted to the city. The short uber ride to your apartment, which they insisted they paid for, was spent answering texts from your friends and confirming you were still alive after they left you. 

You spent the rest of the day doing laundry for the week and cleaning bits of your apartment. It was still pretty bleak, with empty walls which you longed to fill with pictures and art. Your room was a bit more lively with knitted blankets your aunt made long ago and the light of the warm lamp in the corner filling the space. 

Sunday was bland with the task of getting groceries. You decided to walk since the store was a block away. You made your way down the streets in a simple sweater and leggings, foregoing any makeup. Walking into the store the older lady at the register greeted you with a kind smile. 

Picking up a basket you made your way down the isles trying to get your things quickly to get back home and sleep the day away. While searching the snack section you stood in front of the popcorn deciding between buttered or kettle. You heard footsteps and saw a worker make his way down to restock the shelf. 

He was tall and you noticed the way his shirt rose as he reached the top shelf. Spencer could probably reach that no problem, you thought to yourself. He caught you staring and turned to you with a smile. 

“Having a movie night?” he asked walking closer. You could smell the scent of his cologne, strong but not overpowering.  

“Not really haha, but don’t get me wrong a catch up day of my favorite show is definitely on the list,” you replied returning with a small smile. 

He leaned in reaching for one of the boxes, subtly boxing you into the space. 

“Well this is my favorite kind,” he said handing you the box, “Ya know perfect to amount to eat alone.. or share.” 

“Oh,” you said surprised with a chuckle trying to play off the heat rushing to your cheeks. 

You were about to respond when you heard a voice from the end of the aisle, “Y/n.” 

Think of the devil and he shall appear.

Spencer was walking over to you holding his own basket filled with essentials like milk and bread. He looked like he did on Saturday, wearing those grey sweatpants which made you thank the stars above. On top he had on a simple tshirt and cardigan combo making him look extra cozy. 

“Hey Spence,” you said looking past the employee. 

“Did you get the popcorn baby?” he said looking the worker up and down. 

You furrowed your brow seeing what he was playing at, “Yeah yeah, he was just giving me a recommendation,” you turned back to the worker, “thanks again.” 

The worker nodded, red in the cheeks from facing Spencers death glare, before he walked away and rounded the corner. 

“What the fuck was that,” you both said at the same time. 

“He was just trying to help,” you said waving around the box of popcorn. 

“Come on princess you’re smarter than that. He was obviously trying to flirt with you.”

You scoffed before answering, “What don’t tell me you’re jealous.” 

“Oh I’m not,” he said with a smirk, “I’m confident in the fact we’ve proved who you belong to.”

You rolled your eyes before he spoke again, “Plus I know a boy like him could never satisfy a greedy little whore like you. Tell me, are the handprints still there?”

You opened and closed your mouth not being able to answer him. The laugh he let out told you he new he had won. 

“I think I’m done shopping,” you said walking past him. 

“Alright princess have a good rest of your day. But don’t think Cats not hearing about this, and she won’t be very happy.”

You felt your insides heat up at the thought of Cat knowing. What she would do to you. 

“Uh huh bye Sir,” you said stressing the title. 

You made your way to the older lady who you saw when you walked in, “Find everything alright?” she asked kindly. You nodded and pulled out your wallet to pay. 

God she had no idea. 

_

That interaction replayed in your mind from that night into your days at work. Neither of them had texted. Maybe Spencer forgot and never told Cat. The wait for something to happen was torturous. 

Your friend had noticed you were spaced out. Looking longingly at your phone during your breaks or lunch. It wasn’t like your feelings were hurt much for being ignored but more so the ache between your thighs was having a reaction. As you predicted trying to use your fingers or that sad vibrator in your bedside drawer was doing nothing to aid your release. 

You were out at the cafe around the corner from the office you worked at having lunch with one of your coworkers. She was going on about the night she had with the guy from the bar over the weekend. 

“Then he bent me over the couch! God it was so good,” she all but moaned. 

“Uh huh.” 

“I swear we were up until like 4 am going round after round,” she continued. 

“Right.”

“After that we sacrificed a goat on Saturn.”

“Oh wow,” you said looking down at the unlit rectangle next to your sandwich. 

“Y/n,” she said snapping her fingers in front of you. 

“What,” you said raising an eyebrow. 

“You’re being really shitty right now. I’m trying to tell you about how I literally got my back blown out and you’re staring at your phone like it’s gonna unlock the key to your future,” she said exasperatedly. 

Welp she wasn’t entirely wrong. 

“Abbie I’m sorry. I’m just waiting on a text. But please tell me more,” you said nodding for her to continue. 

“No, I wanna know fucked you stupid this weekend to make you act like a lovesick puppy,” she said putting her elbows on the table to rest her face in her palm. 

You internally debated telling her. I mean so far she has been the nicest and most welcoming to you, definitely bff material. But on the other hand you didn’t know if you were allowed to bring them up to other people. Technically it wasn’t a rule and what they didn’t know didn’t hurt them. 

You took in a deep breath before spilling your guts,” So basically after I noticed you guys were gone I accidentally walked into a sex club then later that night I fucked the owners and now we’re in a throuple type situation.” You ended with an awkward smile and waited for her reaction. 

“Oh the bdsm club? Isn’t it like the Library something?” she said casually. 

You sat there blinking for a while, “Out of everything I said thats the part that caught your attention.”

“So you had a threesome, very nice, we’ll get to that part. Tell me about the club.”

“Uh ok. We’ll it’s called the Underground Library and it’s what you’d imagine any bdsm lounge would be like. Red lights and sexy music playing in the back. There’s a bar and uh playrooms where you can watch others.”

She hummed taking in the information and sipping on her latte, “So the sex?”

“God it was so fucking good.” You both laughed and you spent the last few minutes of your lunch break telling her about what they did to you. Safe to say you knew your panties would be a mess by the end of the day just replaying those memories in your head. 

_

It was finally Thursday, you were so close to the work week ending and having a night with Abbie. The plan was for her to help you do a little shopping for your home then redecorate and spend the rest of the night sipping on wine with a pizza. Absolutely perfect. 

The day went by yet again without a notification from the people you wanted. At this point you came to the conclusion the incident was forgotten and left in the past. 

Friday you woke up around 10 and let yourself lay in bed, answering emails and lounging around until noon for you to get ready for your day with Abbie. After a while you got up to make a quick breakfast and make a list of items you planned on buying. 

You thought about getting a throw for the couch and some nice curtains. Maybe some wall decor. You were so excited to finally have a place to yourself and style it to your liking. 

Having roommates in college was fun but the solidarity of being able to walk around your own place basically naked and sing as loud as you wanted was liberating. 

Noon rolled around and you made your way to the bathroom to take a shower. The water pressure on your shoulders was breaking through to all the stress of the week and you instantly felt it melting away. 

You hopped out, wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel and looking in your closet for what to wear. You settled for jeans and an oversized flannel, putting some comfy booties on your feet. You looked at your phone to see Abbie had texted and she would be on her way in 45 minutes. Using the remaining time you did your hair and makeup, just the basics for your day out. 

Your phone dinged with a simple text that read “here”, you grabbed your purse and the list on your kitchen counter and made your way to the elevator. 

You saw her little red car right in front of your building. The sound of music playing through the speakers could be heard from a few feet away. 

You pulled the door open and she greeted you with a big smile, “Hey! You ready to spend away that paycheck,” 

You laughed before answering, “You know it.”

The trip was made with nothing but laughs and a horrible mix of you guys singing to the radio. 

_

After a few hours and trips to multiple stores you guys stopped at one of the vendors in the mall to get some soft pretzels. Looking around you saw a fancy lingerie store and an idea popped into your head. 

You tapped Abbie on the shoulder to get her attention, “Hey I know you’re dead on your feet but theres one store I wanna go to. Do you wanna just grab a table? I’ll be like 20 minutes tops.”

“Yeah no prob Y/n/n,” she said holding her hand out for the bags you had in your hand, “this cinnamon twist is calling my name.” You both shared a giggle before you turned and skipped over to the store.

A woman wearing a dark purple sweater greeted you, “Hello darling, are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Nope I’m just taking a look around, thanks,’ you said with a smile. 

Walking around you saw a display of a matching set. It was baby pink and lacy and it left little to the imagination of the mannequin. Perfect. 

You looked over the table finding the set in your size and walking to the dressing rooms. Quickly you basically ripped your clothes off, speeding to get the fabric on your curves. It was stunning, complimenting your skin and hugging your curves. 

You pulled your phone out and hit the messaging icon. If they weren’t gonna text then you had to bite the bullet and put on your big girl panties to do it first. 

Typing in each of their contact names you made a groupchat and hit the camera option. You lifted your hand to get a flattering angle and gave the mirror your best pout. 

“Do you think it’s a good color?” Sent. 

One last glance in the mirror and you knew this was going home with you. Changing back into your clothes you slipped your phone in your pocket and made your way to the register. 

“Just this for you today honey,” the woman asked. 

“Yup,” you said pulling out your wallet. You heard the chime of a text and a smirk came across your face. Finishing the transaction you were excited to see what their reaction was. 

Walking back to Abbie you saw her on the phone and raised your brow in question. She started to get up and you took some of the bags from her hands. Once she was done with the call she put her phone in her purse and looked over to you. 

“Change of plans. Sam, the guy from the club, called and he’s coming over to mine tonight. So raincheck on the wine and pizza?”

You waved a hand dismissing what she said, “You’re all good, go catch that dick.” She laughed and pulled out her keys as you guys made your way out of the mall. 

In the car you pulled your phone out to check the message. It was from Cat. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe your little friend from the grocery store can help you pick.” 

So Spencer did tell her. 

You quickly replied, “You know green isn’t a good look on either of you.”

Another chime. “Why would I be envious? Last time I checked you came on my fingers, in my bed.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at her words. You tried to think of a response but this time Spencer responded. 

“Come to the lounge at 7. And wear that underneath your clothes.” 

“Yes Sir.” was all you said and the conversation ended. 

Looks like you and Abbie both had other plans for the night anyways. 

𝐚/𝐧; 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐢'𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐢𝐭. 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐮𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐚𝐫!!

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #cat adams x reader #cat adams smut #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #chellewrites

[schnoogles]

For the fluffy holiday fic prompts: Jonsa and #3, secret Santa! 🎁🎅

omg YAY!! thanks so much for the prompt love💕💕

so this kind of got away from me here LMAO but i hope you like it!!

send me a prompt!

“Come on, Jon! Just pull a name out!”

Jon Snow sighed at his friend. The Starks always played Secret Santa every Christmas. And unlike Theon, Jon normally doesn’t stay with them during the holidays, he goes back home to his mother’s. So he’s never played with them before. 

Unfortunately, with his starting grad school this year, Jon couldn’t afford the flight home to his mother’s, and Lyanna couldn’t afford the flight to Winterfell. And since he already spends most other holidays and breaks with them, this year, he finally accepted the Starks’ invitation to spend Christmas there. 

“Yeah, Jon. You have to, I’ve already put your name in,” Robb’s younger sister, Arya, said smugly, “If you don’t pull a name, it sucks for whoever’s left in the hat.”

Sansa, Robb’s other sister, wiggled the Santa hat with the last slip of paper in front of Jon’s face. She smiled at him. “Give in, Jon. You know you want to.”

“Whoever has my name could always draw again?” he suggested hopefully. 

“Nonsense,” Catelyn said, “Jon, you’ve practically been family since Robb brought you home for freshman spring break. Don’t feel awkward about this, it’s all in good fun.”

Other than his own mother, Catelyn Stark was probably the best and kindest mother in the world. Jon couldn’t say no to her. 

--

Jon wished he said no to Catelyn. Of all the names he could have picked. Of all the names! He had to pull Sansa’s. And it wasn’t like there was anything wrong with Sansa. Quite the opposite in fact. She was great. Perfect, actually. And that was the problem. Sansa Stark was perfect and had everything. What could Jon “poor undergrad” Snow possibly get her that she’ll like? 

--

Sansa feels stupid. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out what to get Jon for Christmas. Of course with her shit luck, she’d pull the name of the one person who she’s most nervous about pleasing. But it’s fine. It’s fine. She can just ask Theon to switch with her. He’ll do it, no problem. Besides, he owes her.

--

“Bro, just get her some jewelry or something. Sansa likes pretty things.” 

Jon rubbed his temples. Robb is absolutely no help. But Jon should’ve expected that. “I can’t just get her jewelry, Robb. I don’t think she even wears any. This has to be a good gift!”

“Why?” asked Robb, with a mouthful of butter toffee pretzels. 

Before Jon could even think of an answer, a snort came from the hallway. When Jon and Robb looked, they saw a smirking Arya leaning on the doorframe. 

“You’re really asking why?” Arya rolled her eyes and then laughed at her brother. “Wow you’re stupid.” She walked away and left an offended Robb and a stressed Jon.

He groaned. “What do you even get someone who already has everything she could possibly want?”

--

Sansa crossed her arms as she glared at Theon. He hadn’t stopped laughing. “Are you done yet?”

“Sorry, babe. Dunno how to help you here,” he chuckled. 

“You could switch with me!”

“Nah, I like who I have.”

“You owe me!”

Theon stopped laughing. “Wh- for what?”

“For saving your ass when-”

“Nuh-uh. Nope!” Theon wagged his finger at her. “You don’t get to keep using that one. I’m sorry we dated the same asshole, but talking the cop out of arresting me for keying that car was forever ago!”

Sansa huffed. “Fine. But can you at least help me? I have no idea what Jon likes! He’s such a… minimalist. What do you get someone who doesn’t want anything?”

“Wow you’re really desperate aren’t you?” Theon looked at her sadly before giving her the biggest shit eating grin. “I mean. Knowing Jon, there’s only one thing he’d like to unwrap for Christmas. You know, tall, red hair, blue eyes, goes by the name Sansa-”

“Theon!”

He laughed. “What? You like him, Sans! Just make your move!”

She sighed. “Please be serious about this?”

“Alright, alright.” Theon thought for a bit. “I heard Tiles are all the rage now. You can get him that?”

“What’s are Tiles?”

“It’s like… like Find My iPhone, but like ‘Find My Whatever it’s Attached To’ instead.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah.” Sansa nodded. “Jon’s pretty forgetful, that should be good, right?”

“Yeah! Like they’re very handy. He can attach it to like -uh- his backpack? Uh… clothes- no. Uh.. a baby…”

Sansa looked at him like he was stupid. Which, fair.

“Oh! Oh, keys! Keys are what people usually attach them to.”

Maybe asking Theon for help was a bad move. Sansa doesn’t understand how she became such close friends with this idiot. 

--

“Oh!” 

Jon jumped and turned around. “Sansa? What are you doing up?”

She smiled wryly at him. “I could say the same thing about you.” When he did nothing but smile abashedly at her, she continued into the kitchen and got a mug out of the cupboard. “So,” Sansa said, after realizing Jon wasn’t going to say anything, “What’s someone like you doing up way past his bedtime?” As she continued on making her tea, she looked up to Jon, waiting for an answer. 

Jon blinked at her. “Uh…”

Sansa chuckled. “That bad?” She finished making her drink and leaned on the counter, lightly blowing on the cup. “Well, I’m up because I’m a light sleeper. Especially when I’m stressed. Loud noises tend to wake me up.”

Jon suddenly felt incredibly guilty. “Oh gods, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize I was being loud-”

“No no,” Sansa cut him off. “Sorry, that was poorly worded. Lady got up and had a late night snack.”

“Ah.” Jon  nodded in understanding and took a sip from his own mug. Hmm, she’s a light sleeper. Maybe I can get her a-

“Yeah, and my white noise machine doesn’t help much either.”

Nope. Jon sighed. What could he get for her? He cleared his throat. “So, what’s got you so stressed.?”

Sansa looked down at her mug. “A mix of a lot of things actually. This time of year always makes me feel a little melancholy.” 

Jon scrunched his eyebrows.

“The ghosts of boyfriends past,” she explained. 

Right. Jon’s known her for four years and she’s had a total of three boyfriends. Each one worse than the last in his humble opinion. And that had nothing to do with his crush on her, no sir. 

“Yeah, Theon mentioned one earlier and it just got me thinking, you know?” Jon nodded at her to continue. “I’ve always loved the idea of some pretty prince charming sweeping me off my feet and showering me with gifts. Guess I realized, I don’t want any of that. Gifts are meaningless if there’s no thought or love behind them, you know?” She looked down embarrassedly, suddenly mortified that she just shared so much with him.

Jon gave her an out. “I still can’t believe you and Theon dated the same person.”

Sansa snorted. “Theon will date anything with pretty hair and a heartbeat.”

Jon cracked a smile. “Not ugly hair and a heartbeat?”

“Oh, gods no. He’s shallow like that.”

They both giggled. 

“So…?” Sansa raised an eyebrow at him.

Oh, right. My turn. Jon cleared his throat. “Oh, um, yeah. Stress keeping me up too.” And then Jon suddenly had a thought. Is it considered cheating though? Oh well. “I have absolutely no idea what to get my Secret Santa if I’m honest. You -uh- got any ideas on what you’re getting yours?” He took a discreet sip from his mug. 

Nope. “Yeah, I have an idea, I think,” she replied vaguely. “Something meaningful, you know? Can’t tell you though, sorry! It’s Secret Santa. But anyways, Jon, don’t sweat about the gift! This is supposed to be fun! Besides, you know us, we don’t need any fancy schmancy gifts.” How about you take your own advice, Sansa. “Now, that can’t be all you’re stressed about.”

Jon laughed in his drink. “Always so perceptive. No, you’re right. I mean- I am stressed about the gift, but I’m also just… I can’t help but think about my Mom, you know? Sure she has friends back home that she could spend Christmas with, but I can’t help but feel guilty for being here, while she’s at home alone right now. And I just really miss her.” He shrugged and took another sip of his drink. “So, whatcha got there? What kind of tea is it?”

“Oh, er, it’s chamomile. It helps me sleep.”

“That sounds nice. Maybe I should try that and see if it’ll help me sleep too.”

Yes! Maybe I can get him a pack of-

“Too bad I’m more of a hot water type of guy.” He smiled at her and took a sip from his mug. “Never really found the need to drink much of anything else at home.”

A fucking minimalist. 

--

“So,” Arya said, “You got anything yet?”

“Nope,” came a muffled reply from Jon. 

“Sucks.” He groaned in his hands and Arya felt pity. “Tell you what, I’ll let you in on a big Sansa secret.”

Jon perked up at that. “What?”

“She doesn’t give two fucks about gifts.”

“That… that doesn’t help, Arya.”

“No, I’m serious. Look,” she said forcefully, “Sansa’s had friends and boyfriends who’d always give her the most lovely and expensive gifts, right?”

“... Still not helping.”

Arya sighed. “What I’m trying to say is those boyfriends? Look around Jon, are they in her life anymore?”

--

It hit her like a shit ton of bricks. Well, actually. It was more of a passing thought as she was watching her third Christmas movie of the day. 

So, with her parents’ permission and Theon’s help, she got to work.

--

Arya groaned. “You know, it’s called ‘1 hour photo.’ Meaning that the photos won’t be ready for one hour.”

“I’m sorry! I’m just anxious and I wanna get started as soon as possible.”

She rolled her eyes at Jon. He enlisted her help to buy all the things he needed for Sansa’s gift. And to provide some photos. 

--

It was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and Jon found he was really missing his mother. He tried calling earlier, but she didn’t answer. She was either still sleeping in, as that was their usual routine, or she was at a friend’s. He sighed. He’ll try calling her again later on in the day.

Jon got up and joined the rest of the house downstairs. 

--

It was Christmas Day. It was Christmas Day and Sansa was nowhere to be found. She told everyone they could get started on gifts without her if they wanted to, but of course no one was going to do that. So they planned on opening gifts after breakfast instead. 

They were all in the kitchen eating when they heard the front door open and close.

“Sorry I’m late! I’ll join you guys in just a bit!” She shouted from the other room.

Jon eagerly stood up, intent on helping her with whatever last minute thing that she must’ve gone out to buy. But before he could even move, Theon promptly pushed him back down in his seat. 

“Where ya going, buddy?”

“Just gonna see if Sansa needs any help.”

“No worries, I got it.” He proceeded to pour Jon a cup of orange juice. Jon confusedly thanked him and raised the glass to drink it. When he gave Theon a questioning look, Theon explained. “To help quench that thirst of yours.” Arya and Bran snorted into their food while Jon choked on his drink. Robb did neither of those things.

“Wow, you’re such a good friend, Theon!” 

“Just getting into that Christmas spirit, Robb.”

He walked smugly out of the room to see whatever it was that Sansa had just gone out for. When Jon finally calmed down, he looked up to see Ned and Catelyn Stark staring right back at him. Both had their eyebrows up in amusement. Oh gods. I can never come back here again. 

A few minutes later, Sansa and Theon returned. Jon noted there was nothing in either of their hands. He wasn’t the only one who  noticed.

“Didn’t get what you were looking for?” Bran asked.

“Nope,” Sansa replied nonchalantly, “Must be what I get for trying to go to the store on Christmas Day.”

“So you’re telling me we could’ve opened presents by now?” Rickon was shaking his head at his big sister. Hey may be well into his teens, but Rickon was still excited for Christmas gifts.

“Sorry! Tell you what, is everyone done eating? Let’s get to presents right now!”

Catelyn made a move to start clearing the table, but Sansa waved her off. “I’ll do it after we open presents Mom. Don’t worry about it!”

--

Everyone grabbed whichever gift had their name on it. To keep things anonymous, every gift was wrapped in the same paper and the names were stuck on with pre-printed stickers. Ned passed out the gifts to be opened one by one. When Sansa opened her gift she let out a soft gasp.

“Oh,” she whispered softly, “This is perfect.” She began flipping over each page of the homemade scrapbook. They were filled with photos from the last few years. A lot of the pictures were ones she didn’t even know were taken of her and her family. Family dinners, camping trips, random moments on campus with her friends and family. It was filled with small moments that she forgot had happened. There was even a wristband from a concert Robb and Jon and Theon had taken her to.

“What is it darling?” Her mother asked.

Sansa closed the book and held it close to her chest. “It’s a scrapbook. Filled with a lot of really good memories.” She smiled. She wondered who got her such a thoughtful gift. Before she could try to figure out who it was, Rickon interrupted her.

“Wait, where’s Jon’s gift?” He and Ned looked around the tree to see if they had missed one.

“Oh, no it’s okay!” Jon started waving his hands. “I don’t need a gift!” He was actually a bit relieved. He was awkward when it came to accepting gifts.

“Oh no!” Theon declared very loudly in a strange, overly dramatic voice. “Jon doesn’t have a gift? That’s awful!” At some point during that announcement, he had slowly tilted his head towards the stairs.

Sansa slapped her forehead in disdain. Theon doesn’t have a subtle bone in his body.

“Wait yeah, that’s not right,” Robb agreed. “Jon’s Secret Santa: what the heck?”

“No, I’m good!” Jon argued. “I don’t need a gift.”

“That’s a shame. Should I just hop on a flight and head home then?” 

Jon froze when he heard the voice behind him. His jaw slowly dropped and he turned around.

The woman before him tilted her head and smiled. “Hi baby.”

“Mom?”

“Merry Christmas!” Lyanna laughed as her son rushed to hug her. 

“What are you doing here?! How’d you get here? Is this why you didn’t answer your phone earlier? Oh my gods!” 

Sansa smiled softly at Jon. She figured it out. The one thing he probably wanted most this year was to be with his mother. 

“You’ve got some wonderful friends here, Jon.” Lyanna turned around and gestured to Sansa. “This lovely young woman here booked me a flight and picked me up from the airport this morning. If she’s not your girlfriend, then you better get to it!” 

“Mom!”

Lyanna ignored her son then looked at the rest of the Starks and laughed. “You people really go all out for Secret Santa gifts don’t you?”

After the initial embarrassment, Jon looked at Sansa with a mixture of disbelief and awe. And she smiled sheepishly back at him.

“Surprise?”

Jon shook his head and chuckled. “I don’t know what’s more unbelievable. You booking a last minute flight for my mother, or the fact that we both pulled each other’s name for Secret Santa.”

Sansa’s eyebrows rose. “You made this for me?” She asked softly.

It was Jon’s turn to look sheepish. He scratched the back of his head, suddenly feeling bashful. “Uh… yeah. I couldn’t think of what to get you. And then you said how you think gifts are meaningless if there’s no thought for the person receiving it and uh, I know how you love your friends and family and-”

Sansa interrupted him by engulfing him in a hug. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Oh noooo, wouldja look at that?”

Theon had somehow attached a suspicious looking holiday plant to the fishing rod he got from his Secret Santa. And he was now dangling it above Jon and Sansa as he lounged on the couch.

Sansa, too busy glaring at Theon, didn’t notice Jon’s blush. When she turned back to Jon, she opened her mouth to give him an out, but he beat her to it.

“I’m game if you are.”

I am SO game.

Sansa leaned in and Jon met her halfway.

“Wait that’s holly, not mistletoe!”

“Robb, shut up. You’re ruining their moment.”

#jonsa fic #jonsaff #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #idk where i was going with this #brought to you by my friend saying you can attach a tile to a baby #💀💀😂 #I HOPE YOU LIKE IT KATHARINE #💞💕❤️ #my writing #jonsaaaaaa #dreams-for-spring #writing prompt

[igirisuhito]

Title: Blue Ram Relationship(s): Komaeda Nagito/Hinata Hajime Rating: Explicit Summary: Hinata thinks he has his sexuality all figured out. Until one day a pretty woman comes to his workplace in the dead of night. Posted for Day 1 of @tropicaldespair‘s #SDR2Giftober Trigger Warnings: Cross-dressing, Semi-public sex, Powerplay, Sexual frustration, Rough sex, Perving a stranger, I’m sorry all the triggery things are horny

[Ao3 Link]

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Hinata Hajime was a regular teenage boy.

He has high grades and attends an elite school, sure. But like most teenage boys, his spare time was spent playing video games, working his part time job, or jacking off to hot girls on the internet.

As vanilla as a teenage boy could get.

Hinata works as a cashier at a convenience store a block from his house. It's your average suburban Japanese 7/11, an average teenage boy's job.

He works this job most nights, and usually does a longer shift on Sundays. In all honesty, he probably works a bit too much, but tuition for Hope’s Peak Academy is incredibly expensive. He had been enough of a burden to his parents for all these years. Besides, here he can continue to fuel his addiction to cup ramen and kusamochi for a conveniently cheaper price.

And that's exactly what he was doing on this humid Saturday night. The rainy season was finally here, and the warmth was making Hinata's work shirt stick to his skin uncomfortably. The air conditioner in the break room wasn't strong enough to combat heat like this.

It had been a quiet night, likely due to the sheer amount of rain pouring down outside. Hinata was the only one on shift, and even he had resorted to hiding in the break room to read manga. It was difficult to focus due to the loud pelting of the rain on the roof and the dizzying humidity hanging in the air.

Hinata yawned, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes that were lazily wiped away. It wasn't unusual for him to work a late six-to-two shift on a Saturday, but end of term exams had been knocking him around quite a bit. The struggle of juggling both studying and work has been causing him to become more tired than usual.

A loud electronic bell and the sound of the automatic doors sliding open broke him from his daze. Placing his manga face down on the table, Hinata stood up from his chair and made his way out of the break room before sliding into his place behind the counter.

Clearing his throat quietly, he put on his best customer service voice. "Good evening! Is there anything I can help you with?"

He glanced towards the door, seeking out the person who was dumb enough to go shopping at 12am in the pouring rain. He was met with a pair of grey eyes boring a hole into him, analysing intensely for any sort of reaction. Hinata's breath caught in his throat.

Standing near the door was a young woman, quite tall for a girl. Her white hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, still dripping with water from the rain. Dark mascara was thickly applied to her long eyelashes, so long he actually assumed they were fake at first glance. Red lipstick had been painted onto her small yet pointed lips and eye shadow of a similar colour was dusted on her eyelids. The bold colours of her makeup contrasted gorgeously against her pale skin. It was surprising that it hadn't washed off in the rain.

A tight black dress with thick straps clung to her body, fabric hugging at her hips and chest in a way that revealed she was lacking in the latter department. Sheer black stockings stretched over her skinny legs, ending in tall red high stilettos that could probably be used to kill a man if she so desired.

Hinata felt dizzy, blood rushing to his face as he brought his gaze back up to where the attractive woman's own was waiting.

"Ah… No… I'm quite alright…" The girl averted her eyes from his. "Thank you."

Her voice was surprisingly deep and sultry, it made her all the more attractive. Though she seemed somewhat shaken, perhaps even nervous?

The lady slowly made her way over to the snacks section, her heels clacking loudly against the floor with every step. Hinata watched closely, entranced by the gorgeous woman he probably had no right to be staring at as hard as he was.

She bent down to pick up a pack of salted pretzel sticks and Hinata just couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek. He had always been more of an ass kind of guy anyway.

During his ogling, he couldn't help noticing a few small tears in her stockings, just below where her dress ended. His mind quickly became overcome with a dirty thought so jarring that it made him realize just how perverted he was being. For his own moral's sake, he forced his eyes away into another aisle, hoping she hadn't somehow been able to feel his stare.

She straightened herself up again and grabbed a cold can of Blue Ram from the fridge nearby before heading to the counter where Hinata waited. He avoided her eyes as he scanned her items.

"T-That comes to a total of 500 yen." He mumbled, finding himself blushing madly now that she was so close, enough so to smell the flowery perfume wafting off of her. Get a grip, Hajime!  

The lady smiled and patted her hands on her hips performatively. "O-Oh dear… it seems I've forgotten my purse!"

What? Are you serious? As if I'm going to fall for that.  

Scoffing silently, Hinata stared down at his shiny black work shoes.

"P-Please don't worry about the cost, m-ma'am." He stammered out.

WHAT?! Stop thinking with your dick! That's your goddamn allowance!!

A toothed grin crawled up on the woman's face as she towered over the other boy, suddenly gaining an air of confidence. "Aren't you a sweetheart! Thank you very much-" She glanced down at his nametag, " Hinata-kun. "

She picked up her items before leaving the store, making her way back out into the pouring rain. She left Hinata red faced and humiliated, wondering if he would ever see her again, hear his name on her lips…

He shook his head, snapping out of his daze. Why did he let that happen? That woman knew exactly what she was doing. It wasn't even like she was a smooth older woman either, she was pretty young! And he just let her walk all over him in those fancy high heels.

He grumbled as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket, adding the missing cost to the till. Now he not only had a hard-on but he was out of pocket 500 yen as well.

With a loud sigh, Hinata made his way to the back room, determined to do something about his newfound problem.

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Hinata found himself still thinking about that mesmerising bitch of a woman 3 days later during a quiet afternoon shift. The rainy weather had eased off for the day, the sweltering sun shining through the poorly cleaned windows. Studying in the barely air-conditioned Reserve Course building all day had already left him in a particularly crabby mood. It seems he can't escape the heat anywhere.  

He truly envied the Main Course students for a lot of things. Their talent, their privilege, their dormitories, their stupid uniforms, their obnoxious laughter as they ate. He especially hated the way they tried to steal stuff from the store despite the fact they could absolutely afford it and then proceeding to complain to the school and get him in trouble with his boss purely for doing his fucking job.

Hinata really did not like the Main Course students.

Which is why his mood grew even more sour now that there were a bunch of them eating here today. Another cackle echoed through the store, causing Hinata's shoulders to tense up in frustration.

The obnoxious laugh seemed to come from this boy with neon pink hair who was sporting an ugly blue jumpsuit. He slurped his soba loudly as he chatted amongst the other two students beside him. They consisted of a boy and a girl, both clothed in the Main Course's rich brown uniform.

The girl had long blonde hair that cascaded elegantly down her back, she didn't seem like she was Japanese, though. Perhaps an international exchange student? And the boy had dark hair styled in a flashy unusual manner paired with mismatched eyes. If his goal was to make people look at him funny, he was definitely succeeding.  

Hinata leaned onto the counter with a sigh, resting his head upon his elbows. His shift had just barely started yet he was already so, so bored. His coworker was hiding out in the back doing god knows what, leaving most of the grunt work to Hinata yet again . Jeez, and the guy wonders why he never bothered to remember his name.

The warm weather pulled at Hinata's consciousness, causing his eyelids to droop shut as he receded into his thoughts. He’d been conjuring up an elaborate fantasy that he found himself regularly indulging in the last few days whenever he had the time to.

It would go down on another rainy evening, the lady would come in wearing white shirt, so completely soaked that Hinata could see the lacy black brassiere underneath.  

There would be tears running down her face, smearing her makeup in a way that she still remained beautiful. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend, all alone and out in the rain, just seeking someone to care for her, to listen to her woes. Hinata would listen, take care of her, maybe wrap her up in a towel and sit her down in the back room.

She would confess that she felt feelings for him when he paid for her food, that he supported her in a time of need. She would thank him over and over again, offering to make up for it with her body. Hinata would politely decline, but she would insist, already unbuttoning her shirt.  

He would take her there, bend her over the table and make her feel pleasure like she never had before. He’d thrust so deeply that she would be crying, cumming over and over again from his well-sized cock. He would grab that little ponytail of hers and pull her face up, kissing her so passionately that he smeared lipstick across his own lips.

And finally he would cum deep inside of her (she would be using birth control, of course, Hinata isn’t ready for kids).

Afterwards, he’d call her a taxi, and she would leave her number, thanking him for the best night of her life. Perhaps she would come back, and they would fuck again and again.

The electronic bell dinged, tearing Hinata away from his sweet, sweet fantasy. The automatic doors opened and in stepped another student donning a Main Course uniform and a face mask.

Hinata rolled his eyes. "Welcome! Can I be of any ser-"

"KOMAEDA?!"

He found himself cut off by a loud screech from the pink haired student. Said student jumped up out of his seat and backed off. "Wh-why are you here! Since when did you come here?"

The dark haired one spoke. "Souda, you behave as if you have just witnessed an apparition. Does Komaeda truly strike such fear into your heart?"

"Of course he does! Nothing good ever happens when he's around! I always end up getting hurt!" The pink haired boy, who Hinata presumed to be named 'Souda', protested loudly.

The blonde girl stood up, slamming her palms on the table. "Souda! That is no way to treat your fellow classmates!"

"A-Ah, you're right… sorry, Miss Sonia…."

The student who had just entered the store laughed in a way that was honestly kind of creepy. It was just way too breathy, too pained.

"No, it's completely understandable! I'm sorry that somebody as terrible as myself has caused made you worry for your safety..."

What was that kid's name, Komaeda?

"I'll make this brief, I only came to get a drink." Eyes crinkling from what Hinata presumed to be a smile, Komaeda proceeded to walk away from the group of students.

The blonde girl, Sonia, if he wasn’t mistaken, gave Souda a glare before hopping out of her seat with an elegant swish of her skirt. She wandered over to where Komaeda stood near the drink fridges, her gait rather sophisticated and regal.

"Komaeda, I noticed you're wearing a face mask today, did you catch a cold?" Sonia asked the other, attempting to strike up conversation, probably out of pity.

The boy reached into the fridge, grabbing a can of drink. "Ah, yes. I was only in the rain for a short while, but this awful luck of mine found a way to get me sick." He finished his sentence with a soft laugh.

"Oh, that's unfortunate! I really hope you get better soon!" Sonia gave him a sad little smile overflowing with sympathy.

Komaeda paused for a second, blinking a few times before tilting his head to the side and looking towards her. "Sonia-san, I'm incredibly grateful, but you shouldn't waste your hope on scum like me."

What the fuck? Who talks like that?

The Main Course boy made his way towards Hinata, placing a can of Blue Ram on the counter. With Hinata's somewhat icy glare, he found himself hoping that his customer service smile was enough to mask the hate emanating from his soul.

Now that he was close, Hinata got a much better look at Komaeda's features. He had messy white hair and sharp grey eyes, standing stark against pale skin.

Wait.

It seemed Komaeda realised it too. He had a frightened look in his eyes, as if he were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"You…"

Gritting his teeth harshly, Hinata closed his hands into fists before swinging one of his arms forward, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy.

"You took my fucking money!!"

Panic set in on Komaeda's face, and hearing Hinata yell was enough to force his primal instincts to kick in. He broke into a full sprint out of the store, knocking down a shelf in the process. This shelf just so happened to come down on Souda, who screamed out in pain as the metal pinned him beneath.

Hinata slid across the counter and took chase, abandoning the store and the mess in his haste. Never in his life had he been this angry about 500 yen. Well, it wasn't really about the money, it was about the fact he'd rubbed one out to a man dressed as a woman, that he had been fantasising about a man dressed as a woman. His pride as a teenage boy had been destroyed in one swift moment.

Fancy dress shoes clacked against the pavement as Komaeda ran down the street, desperate to get away from the angry store clerk mere metres behind him. His stamina was incredibly poor. Hinata's wasn't great, but at least he was forced to participate in PE and maintain his health.

Hinata noticed Komaeda was beginning to slow down and the gap between them shortened. Outstretching an arm, he reached for the back of the boy's jacket, fingers barely brushing the material the first go. With a rush of determination he reached out again, this time getting a solid grip, yanking the boy to him.

He clearly hadn't considered what pulling 65 kilograms towards yourself whilst you're still moving would do, because the next thing Hinata knew he was colliding with the Main Course student and falling forward into the pavement. He hissed as gravel dug into his skin, scraping up his hands and elbows as he landed on top of the other student.  

Hinata grabbed the other boy by his hips, flipping them over and straddling his body to prevent any chance of escape. He glared into Komaeda's narrowed eyes, both boys panting heavily in an attempt to catch their breaths.

"You... hah… owe me…" Hinata barely got the words out.

"I… ah…. haha…. I don't…. know you…" As Komaeda wheezed, he tilted his head back to rest against the pavement.

In an attempt to calm his racing heart, Hinata took a big breath of air before exhaling shakily.

"You… you played that sick prank on me… and then you took my money… and now you have the audacity to say you don't know me?!"

"You… you're the one who gave it to me…" Komaeda shot back, a smirk growing on his face.

It seemed Komaeda's mask had been ripped off in the fall, now loosely hanging from one of his ears. His nose was beginning to bleed, crimson liquid dribbling over his dry lips and teeth. His forehead had been grazed as well, Komaeda really had taken quite the tumble.

Suddenly he pushed Hinata hard in the chest, forcing him off his body. An aggressive cough racked Komaeda's lungs, forcing him to sit up as he choked.

"H-hey… are you okay?" Hinata sat back on his knees, feeling a pang of guilt upon seeing the state of Komaeda's physical condition. Had he really just chased down a sick kid?

Komaeda laughed, an incredulous expression painted on his face as he pulled the remaining loop of the mask off his ear. "Don't get all soft on me now, Hinata-kun. I don't need lowly Reserve Course students worrying about my health."

With his patience instantly running out, Hinata was left fuming. Why on earth did he even ask if that guy was okay?! He was clearly just another stuck up rich prick from the Main Course.

Rising to his feet, Hinata wiped some of the dirt off his hands, wincing at the open wounds that had been left from sharp gravel tearing through his skin.

"If I get fired it's your fault!" He spat back, unable to think of anything else to say to save his dignity at this point.

Clenching his hands into fists, Hinata turned away from Komaeda, who was still sprawled out on the pavement. He began his walk back to the convenience store, a little anxious about his employment situation.

Why would a guy even dress up as a chick? Was he getting off on it? Hinata wondered as he walked.

Was Komaeda gay?

Wait, why did the sexuality of a Main Course student even matter to him?

Was… he gay?

Even after finding out that beautiful woman was a man, he still felt so incredibly attracted to him. That flushed out face and those reddened lips had him having physical reactions that he really shouldn't be having.

Hinata buried his face in his grazed palms. This was way too much to process in one day. He paused and took a deep breath, regaining his composure before stepping back into the store.

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After Hinata returned he lied to his coworker, saying Komaeda had been stealing, which was why he left the store so suddenly. Surprisingly enough, Komaeda's Main Course buddies backed up that refute, claiming, "Trouble just follows that guy everywhere." Hinata almost felt bad for him for a second, until he realised it was himself who had to clean up the knocked over shelf.

He didn't see Komaeda again after that.

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Exams were finally over and Hinata now had a chance to relax. He took the late evening Saturday shift to make up for all the shifts he didn't work after the incident, partially due to exams, partially due to fear of running into that Main Course student again. So even if Komaeda had been by, he wouldn't have known about it.

It made the week incredibly boring and frustrating. For some twisted reason, he wanted to see that boy again. He wanted to cuss him out and punch him, show him how useless that Super High School Level title really was against his fists and prove his own worth.

Though, of course, he would be kicked out of Hope's Peak faster than he could agree to the Hope Cultivation Project.

Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Hinata let out a loud sigh at the realisation that Komaeda wasn't the only thing he had to worry about. If he agreed to the project, he could probably quit working. But that would most likely mean he'd never have the chance to see that boy again. Though, it's not like he'd have the balls to approach him on campus anyways.

But if he was talented, he wouldn't have to worry about that kind of thing, right?

Hinata shook the thought from his head, this really wasn't what he wanted to preoccupy his mind with right now.

Perhaps now would be a good time to check if anything needed restocking. Not a lot of people tend to come by after 10pm, which made working these shifts so easy. Though, you were more likely to encounter drunks and unfavourable people. Not to mention the beating Hinata's sleep schedule took if he ever took one on a weeknight.

He yawned and straightened himself up, beginning to peruse the shelves. Usually he left this kind of thing to whoever worked the Sunday morning shift, but he was feeling particularly bored tonight. Somebody must have restocked during the day though, as there were still plenty of snacks stacked on the shelves.

Ugh, the one time he actually wants to work for his money…

Hinata needed something to keep himself from dozing off out of sheer boredom, so he grabbed a can of coffee from the fridge before returning to the counter. He put his palms down and hoisted himself up, sitting up on the surface with his legs hanging down.

Hinata picked his drink back up, cracking it open with a hiss as the air escaped. He took a few large gulps before placing it back down.

He said he wasn't going to think about the Project when he was feeling so tired and distracted, trying to relax, but he really did need to make a decision. He was already in his second year and still unsure of what to do. They were probably going to dump him if he didn't decide soon, and having that choice taken away from him worried him more than agreeing to it.

But he was particularly worried about the consequences of agreeing. There was such a high chance that the surgery could go wrong, be botched. Well, they actually said the risk was rather small, that the Super High School Level Neurologist would be the one leading the surgery. And sure, he trusts in his talent, but letting somebody into your head is just… terrifying.

The door slid open with an electronic ding, startling Hinata. He threw himself off the counter quickly and yelled out his scripted greeting. "G-good evening!! C-can I be of any service?!"

Hinata spun around, turning his eyes to the door and picking up the lingering can that sat on the counter, in full view for any customer to see how he had been slacking off. He saw the familiar brown pleated skirt of the female Main Course's uniform, so naturally he was expecting a girl, yet when he let his eyes wander up he found himself staring at a painfully unforgettable mass of white hair.

"Ko-"

"Ah, you're working tonight. I was expecting the other one." Komaeda muttered, stepping into the store with a rather exaggerated sway of his hips.

Hinata blinked hard, attempting to keep calm enough to recall his coworker's name. "Uh… the guy with black hair?"

Komaeda paused and blinked in return. "What? You don't even know his name? You truly are useless Reserve Course garbage, huh?"

"Hey! I'm not garbage! If anyone here is garbage it's you!" Hinata yelled, slamming his hands onto the counter. "Coming here so late at night in a girl's uniform, what the hell is wrong with you?!"

A sick grin crept up on Komaeda's as he began to move close to Hinata, allowing the other to get a better look at his getup.

He was wearing tall white socks with black flats. His skirt was much too short, showing off an inappropriate amount of thigh with every movement. Beneath the matching brown blazer was a beige cardigan and a white dress shirt, tied up cutesy with a red ribbon tie. This time he wore no makeup and had done nothing with his hair, just the girly clothes.

"It's true, I am pure scum. This hobby of mine may be disgusting, perverted, messed up, whatever word you want to use to describe it." Komaeda paused for a second before leaning closer. "But nothing I do will ever be as shameful as your pathetic attempts to be something you could never be."

Something in Hinata snapped at those words. He found himself grabbing Komaeda's collar, gripping the fabric tightly in his fist before pulling him across the counter. Hinata raised his fist, gritting his teeth as he went to take a swing at the other boy. However, a coherent thought reached his mind in the last second, and he stopped himself before it could make contact with Komaeda's face.

Komaeda's face twisted into a big grin. "Do it. See what happens. I dare you." His eyes swirled with a strange emotion. Excitement? Fear? He couldn’t say for certain.

Hinata's teeth worried at his lip as he considered it briefly. He could hit him, he was right there. Hitting him would bring him the justice and the relief he had been craving all week, spite that had wound tightly up in his gut whilst sitting all those horrendous exams.

He bit down on his lip hard, before letting go of the other boy with a sigh. "You're not worth it."

Leaning his elbows onto the counter, Komaeda propped his chin up with his hands and gave Hinata a wide smile. He kicked his legs up off the floor, allowing it to bear his full weight. "Say, Reserve Course, why are you so angry anyway?"

"I have a name." Hinata snapped at him. "And why wouldn't I be mad? You deceived me and have the gall to keep insulting me like that."

"Calling you Reserve Course isn't an insult, it's a fact. If you're the one getting upset, then you must truly realise how much of an embarassment you are huh?" Voice practically dropping with mockery, Komaeda tilted his head slighty to the side.  

"Shut up. I can tell you're just trying to rile me up." Hinata spat, looking away from the boy in front of him. "Get off the counter before somebody else sees you."

"No thanks! Is that really what you're mad about? A random stranger whom you have nothing to do with just so happens to be crossdressing? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're either a homophobic prick, or you're mad at yourself for being into it." Komaeda stared right into Hinata, refusing to avert his eyes in an attempt to draw his attention back.

And he was successful, as Hinata was now staring with his mouth agape and cheeks red. "I- I'm not into it!"

"I see! So you're homophobic then?"

"No!!"

"Are you sure?"

"Very!"

"Hmph, suit yourself." Komaeda laughed softly before shimmying himself back off the counter. He picked up Hinata's can of drink, making eye contact with the boy as he took a sip.

"H-hey! That's my drink!" Hinata stuttered out, still somewhat shaken by the accusation.

Komaeda recoiled and groaned. "So bitter… how can you drink this stuff?"

The other boy shrugged. "It's coffee, it's always bitter. Why did you even drink it if you don't like it?"

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, Komaeda placed the drink back onto the counter. "Are all of you Reserve Course students this inane?"

"What? What are you even talking about?" Hinata blinked hard, trying to recall if he had missed something.

Komaeda made a frustrated noise before walking around to behind the counter with yet another expression that Hinata couldn’t quite place. He blurted out a "Hey, you can't be back he-" before having his words cut off by the other boy grabbing his shirt with two hands and planting his lips on his.

Hinata gasped, which gave Komaeda the chance to deepen the kiss and lick at the inside of his mouth. His brain was now running at a million miles an hour, trying desperately to comprehend what the fuck was going on.

The guy who's been making him question his sexuality rocks up to the place he works, dressed in a girl's uniform, and then proceeds to rile him up, insult him, before shoving his tongue into his mouth?

Hinata pushed the other boy away from him, his face rapidly heating up and his pants feeling a bit tighter than before. "Look, Komaeda, I really don't appreciate you making fun of me like this!"

There was an utterly dumbfounded look on Komaeda's face that simply furthered Hinata's confusion. "You still don't get it? I'm trying to seduce you."

"Hah?"

"I want you to fuck me, Hinata-kun."

Hinata's mind completely blanked. That was ridiculous. Komaeda was a rude Main course bastard who seemingly just swung by Hinata’s workplace to make a mockery of him, the dots didn't connect whatsoever. Complications aside, he couldn't deny those words sent his teenage boy heart racing. "B-But you hate me?"

"And?"

"And?!"

"You're hot." Komaeda took a shaky breath, suddenly getting a little more nervous, "Just… say whether or not you want to have sex with me."

"I-I do!!” After blurting out the confession, Hinata averted his gaze to the floor. His face felt like it was on fire at this point. “It's just… uh… I've never done anything… uh… with anyone before."

A loud, wheezy cackle left Komaeda, one that caused him to shake and grab at his shirt as he howled. Hinata watched in confusion and Komaeda fought for his breath, still giggling away until the humour finally began to wear off. He stopped and suddenly breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh good, I thought I was going to have to break it to you that you’re gay."

"Shut up." Hinata hissed. "You pretty much already did, anyway."

For a second there, Komaeda almost looked shocked, but his expression quickly morphed into a grin. "Was I the one who awakened you? That's incredibly high praise, Hinata-kun."

He draped his arms around Hinata's shoulders, still wearing a cocky smile as he leaned in close once again. This time Hinata took the initiative, twirling Komaeda around and forcing him into the wall behind them before desperately kissing him.

Komaeda flinched, not expecting the rough treatment, but definitely welcoming it. He bit at Hinata's lips as the boy's hands slid down his sides, feeling him up. A moan slipped from Komaeda as a hand ran up his shirt, fingertips grazing along his skin and up to his chest.

Upon feeling lacy fabric, Hinata pulled away from the kiss for a moment. "Are you… wearing lingerie?"

Komaeda giggled softly. "Of course I am, there's no point in dressing like a girl if you aren't going to go the whole mile."

Hinata shook his head, chuckling to himself at the absurdity of the situation. "We're really doing this huh? I don't even have any condoms or lube…"

Komaeda glanced behind Hinata, eyeing the shelf of 18+ items. Hinata followed his eyes, breathing an "Ah." in response. "But what about the store?"

"I can guarantee right now that nobody will come in. I'm not good for much, but this kind of thing I am." Komaeda cracked a near elated smile, happy to finally have his talent be useful.

Despite still seeming somewhat confused, Hinata nodded in agreeance. "Okay… but what about the cameras? Surely they wi-"

That smile on Komaeda's face fell. "If you make another excuse I'm leaving."

"Okay okay!" Hinata put his hands up, stepping back from Komaeda with a huff. He wandered to the front of the store to flip over the 'Back in 5 minutes' sign and lock the doors. He felt it was completely unnecessary, but Komaeda let Hinata waste his time with it anyway.

He decided to take advantage of the moment and grab a pack of condoms and a small tube of lubricant. Any footage on the cameras of him taking the items would go mysteriously missing, after all, the sheer amount of bad luck he had been experiencing for the past week practically guaranteed the night's success.

He opened up the condom pack, ‘Ribbed for her pleasure.’ He couldn't suppress the urge to giggle, pulling one out before slipping it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

When Komaeda looked up again, Hinata was watching him with a nervous stare. His forehead shimmered a little with sweat from the head, and the tight sleeves of Hinata's shirt squeezed around his biceps. He was well built, shirt fitting a little too snugly around his pecs.

He could only hope this Reserve Course boy was as good as he looked.

"Where would you like to do it then, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata shuddered, a rush of arousal burning through him at the sound of Komaeda's sultry voice. It was embarrassing just how much it turned him on.

"T-The back room…" He stammered out, once again forcing himself to look away from Komaeda.

"Well then," Komaeda grabbed ahold of Hinata's twist, causing him to gasp, "The back room it is."

The irony of being led around his own workplace escaped Hinata, who was currently too dizzy with arousal and heat to even walk straight.

Komaeda pushed the door open, pulling Hinata into the break room where it was much cooler, seeing as the air conditioner didn't have to fight with the heat exhaust from the fridges. The two of them paused for a moment, revelling in the cool air as Komaeda swiped at his brow and Hinata aired his shirt.

"S-So, uh…"

Before Hinata could stammer out whatever stupid question that would kill Komaeda's mood, he turned to face him with a smile and put his hands on the boy's hips. Hinata complied as he was slowly walked backwards, admiring the passionate look burning in Komaeda's intense grey eyes. The same ones he admired so deeply upon their first encounter, yet avoided out of nervousness.

This time Hinata was still shaking with nerves, making a startled noise when the back of his knees hit something hard. Komaeda chuckled at his apprehension, voice calm and soothing as he guided him down to sit on the object he presumed to be a chair.

Hinata's thighs shook as Komaeda leaned his hands onto them, using them to balance himself as he straddled his waist in a way that pushed their groins much too close. A soft sigh escaped Komaeda's lips as he settled into Hinata's lap, a smile turning up at the corners of his mouth.

"A-Are you sure this is safe? These chairs are kinda, uh, shitty." He averted his gaze, mouth going dry as he babbled out the words. "I-I-I mean, t-they aren't really meant to support, uh, lots of weight…"

That smile simply got wider, flashing Komaeda's pearly white teeth beneath it. "Mm, we'll see."

Before Hinata could blurt out another objection, Komaeda's lips slotted against his in an aggressive kiss. He barely realised what was happening before Komaeda was already giving swipes of tongue against his lips.

Apparently that was all it took for Hinata's brain to give up on caring about Workplace Safety. His head felt light and dizzy as he reciprocated the movement, moaning softly against the other's lips when their tongues made contact and indulged in a sweet moment of friction.

Komaeda sucked passionately at his tongue in a way that created all sorts of lewd and slick noises that went straight to Hinata's dick. He must have felt it too, because next thing Hinata knew Komaeda was rolling his hips forwards, grinding into the other's crotch in a way that made both of them moan from the soft friction and pressure.

When they finally broke off the kiss, Komaeda was left panting with a little smirk on his face. His cheeks flushed a soft red as his eyes slid down over Hinata's reddened lips, wandering until they fell onto his chest. Pale hands wandered to the collar of Hinata's work shirt, fingers taking hold of the fabric and beginning to undo the two buttons.

With a little bit of Hinata's chest exposed, Komaeda could finally start to see what it was he had been working so hard for. He pressed his hands against Hinata's pecs, smoothing them down across his torso until he reached the hem of the fabric. For the first time tonight, Hinata was completely focused, already raising his arms to make it easier for Komaeda to pull his shirt up and over his head.

The shirt was quickly tossed aside, left abandoned on the floor as the fabric was replaced by hands stroking over Hinata's chest.

A pleased hum could be heard as Komaeda gave his pecs a gentle squeeze. "That shirt isn't very flattering for your body, it makes you look skinny."

“Uh, thank you?”

Hinata wasn’t really sure what to do with his hands as he raised them up to rest on Komaeda’s shoulders, an action that brought out another gentle laugh from him. Removing his hands from Hinata’s chest, Komaeda placed them on top of his own, guiding them downwards past his collarbone and over his chest. Not once did Hinata’s eyes stray from his hands.

Komaeda continued to guide them down, over the subtle curve of his hips until they settled into the pale flesh of his thighs. A light pressure was applied as Hinata buried his fingers into the soft skin, squeezing slightly. This elicited a pleased sigh from Komaeda, who shifted forwards to guide Hinata’s hands to his ass.

A groan barely escaped past Hinata’s gritted teeth as his pants rubbed against his erection. He gripped the flesh tighter, spreading Komaeda’s ass cheeks as he ground his hips upwards. The sensation was overwhelmingly good, sending shocks of pleasure down Hinata’s spine and making his head spin with need .

Those slender fingers returned to Hinata’s chest, brushing over his nipple before taking it between two fingers and squeezing gently. This pulled another moan from Hinata’s throat, and he thrust his hips up again.

“You’re awfully sensitive.” A tighter pinch had Hinata letting out a high squeak, which made him flush bright red in embarrassment. “I know I’m the one wearing a skirt, but if anything you’re more like a girl than I am.”

Hinata resented the way Komaeda’s teasing seemed to go straight to his dick. He pushed his hips forward again, repeating the motion in order to get more friction on his unbearably hard cock. Another rush of pleasure shot through his veins, making Hinata shudder and moan.

In order to silence the awful comments that were shortening his patience in more ways than one, Hinata leaned upwards and pulled at Komaeda’s bottom lip with his teeth. This seemed to get the point across, as Komaeda stopped teasing at his nipples and kissed Hinata deeply, open mouthed and messy.

No teases of tongue, the kiss instantly descended into something filthy and desperate. Teeth clacked against each other painfully as both boys tried to taste as much of one another as they could, the bitter taste of coffee still lingering on Hinata’s tongue.

Hinata’s eyes fluttered closed as he drank in the sensation of Komaeda licking into his mouth and grinding against his crotch. With each breathy moan from the boy above him, he could feel a heat tightening more and more in his lower gut. He moaned against Komaeda’s tongue, gripping his ass tighter and he began to shake slightly with the need for release.

“Wait wait wait.” The boy above him suddenly pulled away, leaving a long string of saliva that broke in the air. He stilled the movements of his hips and spread his palm against Hinata’s chest, “You’re way too worked up. I know you’re a Reserve Course and everything, but surely you’re not going to cum in your pants before we’ve even started?”

There was an annoyed look on Komaeda’s face, one beyond the cocky teasing, like he was genuinely upset by the reaction he had drawn from Hinata.

Hinata’s brow furrowed. “What does being from the Reserve course have to do with anything?”

With a soft little “Hmph,” Komaeda shifted forward and lifted some of his weight off Hinata’s lap. He reached into the pocket of his blazer, pulling the bottle of lube he’d acquired earlier out before shedding the garment and dropping it onto the floor where Hinata’s shirt had landed previously.

Holding the lube in one hand, he began to undo the buttons on his cardigan. Hinata watched closely, focusing on Komaeda’s careful fingers instead of his painful erection in hopes of getting his heart to calm down. Once he’d undone the buttons, Komaeda removed his cardigan, leaving him in a well ironed long-sleeved dress shirt that was rather loose in the chest area.

“U-Um… I’m a little uh…” Hinata’s eyes followed the movements of Komaeda’s hands as the boy uncapped the bottle and drizzled some of the clear liquid onto his fingers.

A rather sadistic laugh echoed off the walls of the room as Komaeda cackled loudly. “You’re so precious Hinata-kun! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything. Unless you would like to help?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Blinking away the confusion, Hinata stared up at Komaeda expectantly, “Just tell me what to do.”

The lid snapped shut and the bottle was placed onto the table next to them. Komaeda brought his fingers behind his back with a flirty smirk. “Well then, could you please move my panties out of the way?”

With a nod, Hinata slowly brought his fingers forward, hooking one around the lacy thong before tugging it out of the crevice of Komaeda’s ass. He tried to ignore the burning in his face as he tugged the cheeks apart a little, giving Komaeda better access as he brought his fingers to his hole.

There was a pause of silence, before Komaeda let out a rather gentle sigh, relaxing his whole body. He then pushed two fingers into himself with relative ease, having already been there numerous times this week. Entranced, Hinata watched Komaeda’s expression soften as he adjusted to the feeling of having something inside him.

It didn’t take long for him to begin moving his fingers, slowly thrusting them inside himself and drawing them back out again. He scissored the digits apart, stretching the tight muscle and ignoring the slight burn.

Unsure of what to do, Hinata settled for observing every little reaction on Komaeda’s face. The gentle bites of his bottom lip, the soft gasps that came whenever he pushed further than he expected to, the dusting of blush on his cheeks. He couldn’t get enough, it was simply so erotic to watch and only made him more excited for the final act.

Noticing Hinata’s interest, Komaeda placed his free hand over Hinata’s right, pulling him closer. He pulled his fingers out of his hole before rubbing some of the lube off onto Hinata’s index and middle finger. The guideless letters floating in Hinata’s mind finally spelled out an answer, he wants me to finger him .

Swallowing down the lump in his throat, Hinata nodded and rubbed his fingers against Komaeda’s entrance. He tried his best to go slow so as to not hurt him, but his fingers easily squeezed in, much to Komaeda’s delight.

All Hinata could process was how warm it was inside another person. He moved his fingers experimentally, rubbing at the soft walls with a childish feeling of intrigue.

“Doesn’t it feel nice?” As soon as Komaeda said that, he clamped down against Hinata’s fingers, drawing a gasp from him. “Think about how good it will feel to be inside an Ultimate. Wouldn't you like that, Hinata-kun?"

Hinata did allow the thought to pass through his mind, being buried balls deep within that soft warmth, the friction as Komaeda squeezed down around him. To answer Komaeda’s question, Hinata pushed his fingers deeper, eliciting a gasp from the other.

“You know… you never did tell me your Ultimate talent?” Lowering his voice, Hinata tried to sound like he had a better grip on the situation than he actually did.

Komaeda fluttered his eyelashes innocently, Hinata couldn’t tell if it was intended or not. “Ah, I never did, did I? It’s a rather boring and worthless talent, but a talent nonetheless.”

Ignoring the seething little rage that burned in his chest at hearing Komaeda say a talent was ‘worthless’, Hinata withdrew his fingers. “So, what is it then?”

There was a soft hum of appreciation from Komaeda, and he slid off the other’s lap. “I won the lottery for my year, I am the 77th’s Ultimate Lucky Student.”

“Seriously?!” Hinata had to keep himself from gasping in excitement, his obsession with talent coming close to overriding all horny thoughts from the moment prior. That’s so--!”

“Lucky?” As he planted his feet on the floor and stood up, Komaeda couldn’t help but insert the snarky comment.

Pursing his lips, Hinata watched as Komaeda leant down and brought his hands to Hinata’s belt. “Cool... I was going to say cool.”

Another soft hum left the other boy as he unclasped Hinata’s belt. That was enough to bring Hinata’s thoughts away from Komaeda’s talent and back to how hard he was. Komaeda undid the button and fly of Hinata's work pants, the other helped by lifting his hips and shucking them down slightly, exposing part of his ass to the uncomfortably cool metal of the chair.

Reaching into Hinata’s boxers, Komaeda wrapped his fingers around the length before pulling it out from beneath Hinata’s sakura printed boxers. Both the relief of being freed from the tight fabric and the sensation of being touched by a hand that wasn't his own were overwhelming, and Hinata practically stopped breathing right then and there.

“Wow, you’re bigger than I expected a Reserve to be.” Giggling at Hinata’s reaction, Komaeda gave his cock a gentle stroke downwards in order to expose the flushed head.

Hinata blinked hard, processing just how stupid that comment was. “I still don’t understand why you think talent and dick size have any correlation.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Komaeda began to slowly jerk Hinata, spreading precum across the shaft whilst bringing his other hand to his breast pocket. There was a loud moan of relief from Hinata, and he allowed his eyes to fall on Komaeda’s hand, his brain dismissing his incredulity.

Withdrawing a shiny packet from his breast pocket, Komaeda brought it to his mouth before tearing it open with his teeth. Using one hand, he pulled a translucent green condom from the packet, allowing the litter to fall to the floor.

He removed his hand from Hinata’s dick, drawing a whine of impatience from the boy that amused him greatly. He brought the condom to the head, pinching the tip as he began to slowly unroll the latex down to fit snugly around his cock. When he looked up again, Hintata was biting his lip and watching with bated breath.

“Adjust it if it’s uncomfortable, otherwise it’ll probably end up tearing.” Straightening himself back up, Komaeda placed his hands on his hips with a soft sigh.

With a gentle nod, Hinata brought his hand down to adjust the condom. It was an incredibly foreign sensation, but necessary, at least this time.

Komaeda slid his hands down his hips, then under his skirt and back up again, giving Hinata a glimpse of the lacy pink panties hidden beneath. He hooked his thumbs around the waistband, and pulled them down to the floor before stepping out of them.

Flashing a flirty smirk, Komaeda wrapped his hand around Hinata’s erection, drawing a surprised yelp from him. He swung a leg over Hinata’s waist, beginning to mount him once again. Angling Hinata’s cock, he attempted to bring it to his prepared entrance. He seemed to be struggling to find it, and bending his arm back was beginning to hurt. Seeing his difficulty, Hinata placed his hand over Komaeda’s and helped him line it up with his hole. With a satisfied exhale, Komaeda placed his hands on Hinata’s shoulders and began to slowly sink down.

Nothing could have prepared Hinata for the sheer heat that engulfed his cock. It felt so much better than his hand ever could, even more so than having his fingers inside Komaeda did. It seemed that Komaeda was enjoying it too, because his eyes were squeezed tightly shut and mouth open wide in surprise.

“Oh shit .” Hinata gasped as Komaeda lowered himself completely, taking the entirety of his length with one movement. He gripped at those skinny hips, desperately seeking something to put him in a little control and his brain succumbed to ecstasy.

"Haha!" Giggling to himself, Komaeda slowly drew his hips back up. "You really are a virgin, aren't you Hinata-kun?"

It felt as though Hinata's face were on fire, "I-I already told you that!"

Bony hands fingers dug into Hinata’s shoulders as Komaeda dropped back down again, forcing Hinata to bite his lip so as to not let out another embarrassing sound. Slow drags up and down, plunging Hinata back into that tight heaven of friction and ecstasy. He allowed his head to tilt back, letting out a gentle sigh as Komaeda set a slow yet pleasurable pace. The kind of pace that set the mood, eased him into it, left both of them craving more. When his eyelids inevitably flickered shut, Hinata felt as though he were floating. The humidity was getting to him, along with those sickly wet sounds and heavy breathing warm on his skin. The warm weight of Komaeda’s body pressing against his made it all too easy to take whatever he was offering, to forget all of that assholeish shit he said and did in the past week.

The need winding around his gut was pulling tighter and tighter, his hips beginning to move up to meet Komaeda’s. He wanted more, if he was going to cum he needed more than just this. Hinata’s eyes flittered open, and he glanced down to his hands. Komaeda’s pleated brown skirt rested just beneath his fingertips, material all bunched up at the sides with a little bulge tenting it at the front. He couldn’t resist the urge to slide his right hands down Komaeda’s pelvis, carefully dragging his fingers over the bulge until he reached the tip.

“A-Ah!”

Startling, Komaeda almost jumped right off Hinata’s lap. His breathing was heavy and wheezy, lungs quietly rattling as he tried to catch his breath. The pale skin of Komaeda's face had flushed to a bright pink, he looked like he was going to throw up.

"Hey, wait…" Hinata murmured, tipping his head back up. "You don't look too hot."

There was a soft chuckle, followed by Komaeda clasping a hand over his mouth as he broke into a coughing fit. He dug his left hand tightly into Hinata's shoulder, stabilising himself as his body shook.

"Have you finally come to your senses, Hinata-kun? Though, can you really be that picky?" He croaked out, giggling between coughs. "You are a Reserve Course student, after all."

Sitting up, Hinata grabbed hold of Komaeda's waist again. "Hey! No no I'm not talking about that. You were sick the other day, weren't you?"

"Ah, I've had a cold that has been rather difficult to shake." Sheepishly, Komaeda averted his gaze to the floor. "Are you worried about catching it? I'm sure it's not something viral."

"I'm not worried about that, I'm worried about you going into respiratory failure!"

Komaeda laughed dryly, an almost bitter sound. "It is always a possibility! Trust in my luck to kill me the second I get a good thing."

Confused, Hinata blinked a few times. "Do you want to stop?"

"Do I want to stop…?"

Komaeda paused, repositioning himself in Hinata's lap as he considered his next move. He didn't want to stop; he was so glad to be finally here, to be doing this. Something so dangerous and taboo, and with a student who was not only beneath him, but a complete stranger.

The exact kind of scenario in which his luck could be completely unpredictable. The nervous feeling bubbling in his chest caused a creepy smile to twitch at the corners of his mouth.

"Not at all!" He chirped.

The cheery tone only furthered the furrow in Hinata's brow. "Seriously, you look like you're about to pass out, let me-"

"Don't get all soft on me now, Hinata-kun. I don't need lowly Reserve Course students worrying about my health."

Hinata blinked hard, recalling what Komaeda had said to him the day he'd discovered his dirty secret. The scowl on Komaeda's face as he glared up at him, the blood dripping down his lips, only to spatter against the concrete.

Komaeda didn't need sympathy. Komaeda didn't want sympathy.

His hands slid under the other's boy's thighs, gripping tightly and pulling him closer. Before Komaeda could understand what was happening, Hinata rose to his feet, picking up Komaeda with him and causing the other to gasp in surprise. He wrapped his legs tightly around Hinata's torso, fearing that he may be dropped.

Hinata pushed him down into the table, forcing him forward until his back was flush against the cold plastic. A can of drink was knocked over in their wake, and Komaeda did not neglect to notice the open manga and discarded plastic wrappers by his head.

Messy…

"Oh? Getting rough with a Main Course student are we?" Komaeda giggled, setting himself off into another series of coughs and barks.

"You were taking too long, it's my turn now."

Hinata slammed his hands down beside Komaeda's head and thrust his hips forward, pressing himself deep into the other boy. Blunt nails scraped against the plastic as Komaeda wheezed, his legs strangling around Hinata's waist.

"You really love this power dynamic thing, don't you? Did you seek me out specifically because you wanted to be fucked by somebody inferior to you?" Digging his nails into Komaeda's skin, Hinata moved with reckless abandon. "You're disgusting, Main Course students really are all the same."

It made Hinata seethe with an unbearable anger. He had never felt this pissed in his life, wound up so tightly that all he wanted to do was hit Komaeda until that stupid smile fell right off his face. But he couldn't deny just how good it felt, being put in his place by a girl dressed in her school uniform, the irrefutable proof that she was better than him.

But Komaeda was not a girl. No matter how feminine he looked, his hips were narrow and chest flat. His skirt had ridden up, exposing his cock that was bouncing against his stomach as Hinata fucked him, having slipped out of his lingerie quite some time ago. His little raspy moans and gasps sounded pretty girlish, though, and that was enough for Hinata.

“A-Ah you’re… hah! Come on you can do a little better than— f-fuck!”

Unable to resist the urge, Komaeda kept taunting him. Hinata was endlessly unamused by this, resorting to tilting his hips in order to get closer to Komaeda's prostate.

At least, that's what he was hoping. It was up, right?

A lucky guess, he supposed, and Komaeda was broken into whimpers. He scrabbled for the edges of the table, gripping tightly as it creaked beneath him.

It was overwhelming, the pleasure and excitement becoming too much for Komaeda. It felt like he was going insane, being rocked into so hard it was almost painful. The little giggles he made amongst the moans and whimpers were involuntary, but with every passing second he felt higher and higher. Closer and closer to reaching something amazing.

Is this what hope feels like?

It was a stupid thing to wonder.

Hinata himself felt as though he were melting, brain fuzzy with anger and arousal. He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears as he panted, exhaustion beginning to catch up on him even though he was oh so close.

He leaned in close, burning his face in Komaeda's neck as he panted. The movements of his hips were beginning to stutter and slow, he was failing.

"Please…" Komaeda whined, wrapping his arms tightly around Hinata's neck. "Please please come on even a useless Reserve like you should be able to finish me off!"

"Sh-shut up."

The growl came out harsher than Hinata had expected. To apologise, he grabbed ahold of Komaeda's face with his left hand, kissing him firmly on the lips as he attempted to move faster. Komaeda eagerly licked into his mouth in gratitude.

Hinata was unable to hold down all of his sweet moans and pants when Komaeda was tonguing his gums like some kind of puppy. He groaned into the other boy's mouth.

How is he enjoying this so much? Surely it can't feel that good down there…

He creeped his other hand down to Komaeda's skirt, sliding his hand beneath it and carefully wrapping his fingers around his cock. His dick was practically drooling with precum, wet enough that he probably could have been mistaken for a girl. Komaeda's eyes widened in trepidation, and he pulled away from the kiss as Hinata stroked his hand down the shaft.

The word didn't even make it past Komaeda's lips, all he could do was mouth "Faster."

Thus Hinata obliged, allowing his hand to glide faster with the slickness of Komaeda’s skin. It felt incredibly awkward, moving his hips desperately whilst jerking his lover at a much faster pace than he could synchronise with, not to mention just how sloppy and pathetic their kisses were becoming with each passing second. At this point they were just pressing their lips against one other’s and licking.

At least Komaeda wasn’t hypocritical enough to make fun of him for his technique.

Komaeda’s thighs were tensing, and his hips were lifting from the table. He was whimpering like a dog in heat, barely breathing little pleads and begs. He was clearly so close, and Hinata could feel his own release creeping through his guts too.

He broke off whatever semblance of a kiss they were still doing pressed his left hand against the table, using it as a support as he practically jackhammered Komaeda’s ass.

The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, panting and moaning, as well as the squeaking of the table beneath their weight. Komaeda suddenly yelled out, digging his nails harshly into Hinata’s back as his hips thrust up to meet his hand.

His voice broke as he came, white stripes of cum painting his dress shirt as Hinata stroked him through his orgasm. Komaeda was shaking beneath his touch, breaths laboured and wheezy.

A rivulet of sweat rolled down Hinata’s forehead. He kept thrusting his hips, unconcerned with overstimulating the boy beneath him. He was just so close, he could feel it rising in his chest. Just a little more, just a little more and--

“Hinata-kun!”

There was a loud crack, followed by the sound of metal scraping against itself, and suddenly they were both falling to the floor.

Hinata grabbed a tight hold of Komaeda, gasping when they both landed on the cold linoleum. It all happened so fast. With so much adrenaline pumping through his veins, Hinata didn't even notice he had squeezed his eyes shut at some point.

Slowly opening them again, the first thing he did was look at Komaeda. The boy’s grey eyes were open wide in shock, face still flushed red and lips swollen from their activities, but he seemed mostly unharmed.

He pulled out of Komaeda, dick still aching with a need left unfulfilled as he crawled off of him. Komaeda also sat himself up, dusting off his shirt dramatically as though he hadn't cum all over it moments before.

“Hey… are you okay?”

Komaeda’s only response was to look at Hinata with those wide eyes, then to stare straight past him. A few seconds later he was giggling, soon breaking into a fit of raucous laughter.

Confused, Hinata turned around to look behind himself, eyeing the folding table in a crumpled heap on the floor.

He couldn't believe it.

They’d broken the table. They’d broken the fucking table, he’d been blue-balled by a fucking table, and Komaeda was sitting there laughing like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

#Danganronpa #Inappropriate #Komaeda Nagito #Hinata Hajime #Komahina #Dr3 #Ficgiri #SDR2Giftober

[heli0s-writes]

V. The damn truth

Summary:  What is the damn truth?? AKA time to get those feelings out and stop being weird y'all. Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes A/N:  So I thought this was the last chapter, but it looks like we got one more, kiddos. More Cincy adventures and another further away. And more Steve time.

Foot in Mouth Syndrome Masterpost

In the morning, you brew coffee and pour it into one mug set out next to two others. You’re surprisingly the first up, senses dulled and head lightly rickety with a loosened brain from last night’s whiskey. Venturing to the garden, you sit cross-legged on a chair and watch Buckeye roam across the grass, rubbing his back over the silky blades still damp with morning dew. 

It’s all green and lush under the summer sun as your eyes trail over to the steps leading down, disappearing into the glass sliding door of the lower living room. The tablet tucked under your arm gets propped up on the glass table and you begin to work. Even in summer, it never ends. 

I’m a way, you’re glad for it because it keeps you busy and tethered to something resembling a schedule. Would you rather lie in bed with Buckeye eating pretzels watching Netflix? Yeah. But your therapist keeps telling you its not healthy .. so… 

Your fingers are clicking away, focused on one window, typing notes into another when the rattling doorknob draws your attention to Steve exiting the house with a mug in his hand, blowing gently on the surface. 

“Hey.” He calls, looking up, then greets Buckeye with a scratch on his wet rump. 

You give him a smile because you don’t quite know what to say, choosing instead to watch your dog pad off again, as if him sniffing the same spot in the yard is more interesting. 

Steve sits down in the bench next to your chair, freshly showered in jeans and a grey t-shirt-- too small, as always. You’re fresh, too, changed into a pale blue jersey romper. “Did you sleep okay?” 

“Mhm,” You reply, but can’t help the way your eyes return to his chest where you rested your head just five hours before. 

Last night ended on a solemn note. The two of them went back to their room and you and Buckeye upstairs, all heavy-hearted and tired of reality. You remember dancing, and crying, and kissing. You remember feeling so shredded, thinking about them. You remember Steve’s warm lap and Bucky’s beard rubbing against your palm. 

 “C’mere,” Steve calls softly, reaching his hand over and tugging on the waistband of your outfit. You comply, carefully balancing the cup in your hand and sit down in his lap again. Your tummy is flipping, because Steve Rogers nuzzles his nose into the back of your neck and wraps his arm around your waist. The denim of his jeans rubs against your thighs as he shifts and sets your coffee cup down. 

Change flutters all around you now, after taking flight last night. It hovers and clings, seeping into your skin like the humidity of morning. You’re not sure where or how to begin talking about this strange relationship, because you’ve never entertained the possibility of its arrival. 

Yes, Captain America is a thicc ass bitch and you’re hot for him, but Steve Rogers is your friend and you care for him more than you want to see if he’s actually a smooth-crotched Ken Doll. You can’t even start to think about Bucky right now, or else you might cry again. 

And certainly, to probe the intricacies of their relationship in order to carve a space for yourself is something so unbearably selfish you would never dream of doing it.  

“What—um, what is—” You pause because the rest of this sentence could push your friendship in any way and you’re fearful of every way. 

“Don’t think about it too much.” Steve comments as you tense inside of his grasp, “We try not to.” Then, he laughs, “I suppose that doesn’t help you feel better, huh.” 

Your arms wrap around yourself and they come to rest on his forearms. “I like what we have. I don’t want to get between what the two of you have. It’s… a massive, wonderful thing-- deep, and—” 

Steve shushes you, “Buck and I really do like you. You’re not intruding on anything.” And then, he turns you so that he’s facing your side and not your back. One hand slides up your face and then his mouth is on yours … and is it too stupid to say that when Captain America kisses you, fireworks pop off in your brain and some patriotic tune   starts blasting itself in the background? 

He tastes like coffee and freedom. Breath warm and sweet like a breeze on the 4th of July— saltwater taffy and the outdoors. There’s an eagle screeching proudly in the distant void of your mind. 

Suddenly, Steve pulls away and you’re sure your face is stuck in some tragically half-frozen mask of sheer dumbstruck. 

“Are you humming America the Beautiful right now?” He asks, incredulous. 

“Huh.” You respond, dazed, “I thought that was just in my head.” 

He tilts back laughing and takes you along with him, your shoulder crashing into his chest and your head knocking into his as you flail, trying to catch yourself. Steve holds on tightly, fingers digging into your arm and thigh—and when the hell did he get fresh and put his hand there? Sly fuck. 

“Wanted to do this for a while now.” He grins as he pulls your face down onto his once more. It is a shock to you that Captain America, the Star-Spangled sunofabitch, can kiss like it’s his damn job. His tongue is in your mouth.  Your heart feels like a gerbil spinning wildly on a wheel and might burst out of your chest any moment until— 

The rattling of the doorknob for a second time this morning catches you off guard. You yank back, fearfully aware that Steve’s spit is glistening on your lips. And goddamn, it is hot. 

Bucky joins with a mug of coffee in hand and slides the door shut. He steps past the doormat and plops down on your old seat, crosses his left ankle on his other knee and stares off into the yard as if he’s there alone. As if you’re not pitched over and crushed against his partner’s chest while one of his hands is so high up your thigh it’s practically on your ass. 

“Morning,” he grunts, taking a sip of coffee. 

“Mornin, Buck.” Steve replies breezily, and you can feel his mouth twist into a smile against your collarbone. “How’s your coffee?” 

Bucky takes another sip impassively, “Pretty good. A little burnt. How’s your lap?” 

You shoot up and nearly knock the whole table over as you brush your clothes off with a nervous laugh, “Well! I’m going to… Jesus. Christ. Uh. Let’s uh. Meet me at the car in fifteen minutes and we can go get breakfast. Or church. Fuck me with a broom.” Your brain is a bag of ferrets thrown into a dumpster fire. 

The door slams shut as you nearly break the entire frame running inside and Steve sends Bucky a shit-eating grin before patting the thigh you were just on top of. 

“You gonna come take her place over here, or what?” 

— 

Breakfast is weird. It’s weird like The Twilight Zone is weird.  

You’ve opted to leave your hair down for today, letting as much of it cover your face as possible because if either one of them looks at you, you think you might just combust. You’re ready to go back to being a bastard at any time now, but your nerves are wringing themselves into knots. Another pancake gets cut into a triangle by your fork. 

And then Steve steals it right off your plate. 

“You candy-ass mother-!” You yelp defensively. 

“There she is!” He replies, stuffing it in his mouth and pointing at you with the prongs. Bucky only raises his eyebrow behind a glass of water. “I thought we were past this.” Steve urges. 

No, making out on the patio is not equivalent to a conversation about joining a relationship as the fucking third partner, you think. Your eyes say as much as you glare at your plate and then up to Bucky, pleading with him to help you. 

“Don’t look at me,” Bucky shrugs, “I wasn’t the one playing tongue hockey with ya.” The fork in your hand clatters as you shove your face in your palms with a groan. Absolute filthy bastard. He’s chomping on hashbrowns open-mouthed as he looks at you expressionlessly. Could anyone be more annoying? Probably not. 

“Well, she did tell you she loved you twice.”  Steve points out, “So maybe I’m not the one who should be playing tongue hockey with her.”  Never mind, apparently Steve can be more annoying. Figures. 

The neckline of your romper is now pulled completely over your face until only your hairline is visible. Inside of your albeit thin, but somewhat safe space, you groan as your entire body rises to sweltering degrees.  

“You guys are bullies.” You complain. 

“What’s that, hon?” Steve asks— and you can just hear him smiling. “Didja say somethin’?” 

“I think she called us bullies, Stevie.” 

“Bullies?! Sweetheart, you made us listen to Sad n Sexy Santa for two hours on the drive here and would not stop screaming until we let you sing along.” 

You’d never imagine Steve Rogers as someone who would so easily distribute pet names like this, but apparently once you cross the bridge of sucking on each other’s face, they don’t stop coming.  

Your stomach is fluttering unbearably, but you snark back anyway, “Sad n Sexy Santa  is a true effort of musical talent,” you proclaim, still glaring at the darkness under your romper. “Christmas songs sung in a minor key changes both the tune and the connotation of their lyrical content. Have you ever thought that “All I Want For Christmas Is You” could be so unsettling? Didn’t think so!” 

A sharp tug is all it takes for your head to return to the world and Bucky’s arm fixes the wide collar so that your bralette isn’t exposed for the entire café to see. “Stop being a baby.” He scolds. 

“You !! Baby !” Nice. 

They both sit back against the opposite booth, arms crossed, smirking, as you pretend to enjoy your meal under their scrutiny. Oh, how the tables have turned, you lament. This is just divine punishment, after two months of being the most infuriating person to them, now they’re giving you a double dose of your own medicine.  

“I love eating breakfast by myself.” You announce out loud, reaching over to take some of Steve’s bacon, “Love getting three plates just for me.” 

Bucky’s laugh makes your ears go bright pink the same time your teeth crush the sliver of meat in your hand. 

-- 

The Cincinnati Zoo returns you to sweeter childhood memories of elementary field trips where the kids went ballistic and the adults spent most of their time counting heads. Your parents never partook in chaperoning, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy it. 

Today, the weather is overcast, and upon the first drop of rain, Steve goes inside a merchandise store to buy two umbrellas. He returns just a bit too late and there is already a huge downpour, soaking half of Bucky’s arm who’s standing over you, acting as a shield when the awning of the building across the store isn’t enough.  

“Get over here!” You’re yelling, tugging on Bucky’s sleeve and stomping your foot, “What’s the point of you getting wet just so I don’t get wet? You’re so stupid!”  

Steve watches him relent with a smile as he opens his umbrella and tosses the second one to Bucky. Then, the three of you trek through puddles and make your way to the covered exhibits. 

Fiona the hippo is asleep in a little alcove of her aquarium, head tucked away. You explain to them the majesty of Fiona’s sonogram, birth, and her subsequent celebrity, but they don’t understand her like you do. They can’t even see the damn creature, Bucky scoffs, but you glare at him and he rolls his eyes away. 

You coo and tut, waggling your finger when her tail flops side-to-side and her back legs kick. When she has a bowel movement in her sleep and it disperses into the very water she’s resting in, you back up and gag, pushing Steve and Bucky away. 

“Alright, let’s go look at some other chonkers.” You proclaim as you lead them to the manatees.  

 Three enormous, alabaster, and smooth-skinned sea cows float serenely in the murky blue. Two of them have green heads of lettuce clenched between their flippers and are chomping away, bits of leaves floating around their heads like vegetable halos.  

You press your hand against the glass and sigh. Steve and Bucky step closer, looking down curiously when you wipe at the corner of your eye. “Look at these giant fuckers.” You whisper, “I haven’t known peace like that since I was a fetus.” 

Bucky rolls his eyes, “God, you’re dramatic.” 

It’s quiet in the chamber with only the faint splashing of the rain falling on the water outside and plunking drips from your umbrella onto the concrete floor. Between a family’s departure and before the next one’s arrival, Bucky pushes you up against the glass and kisses you in front of an audience of marine mammals and Steve Rogers’ smirk. 

“How’s that for peace?” He mutters, mouth still pressed against yours. Your heart is thumping in your ears like a battle-drum. Bucky snags your bottom lip with his teeth and licks the sting away.  

“I think you—” you gulp, feeling your bottom lip snap back into place and giving it a slow suck just to see if it’s still there, “maybe need to consult a dictionary. But—you know, good try...” 

-- 

They are relentless. 

In the café while eating greasy cheese and ham sandwiches and cold vegetables, they take turns knocking their knees into yours, grazing your thighs and legs. 

Between the big cats and the painted dogs, Steve squeezes your waist and rests his hand there until you shuffle away.  

Under the shelter of a tree by the elephants, Bucky blows on your ear and laughs when you shriek in surprise. Good God Almighty. There are goosebumps all over your skin even though you are burning. 

-- 

Bucky drives home after deftly fishing the keys out of your bag. He could have thrown a grenade in there and you wouldn’t have noticed, being too distracted by the big and daunting reality of being… whatever it is you are now.  

Currently, Steve rides shotgun, glancing back to you once or twice every few minutes as you gaze out the window. The rain only let up a couple of minutes ago as all three of you exhausted every open exhibit at the zoo. Your feet are blistered from the repeated chafing of your toes against the wet front of your sandals, and the bottom of them hurt like the devil.  

A tiny buzz alerts you to the phone tucked away in your pocket. 

Natasha: So, you guys fucking yet?  

Your heart leaps into your mouth. 

You: What the fuck!!!! Did you plan this? You have cursed me, Natasha. I am broiling in the deepest layer of hell and they are feasting on my bones you asshole!  

Natasha:That’s too kinky even for me. Enjoy being feasted upon. Later.  

Steve twists his head around like a goddamn owl and looks at you, “Everything okay?” 

You refuse to meet his gaze, “Uh-huh.” 

Bucky finds your eyes closed tightly the rear view. “Are you actually shy ?” He ponders, grin tugging at the edge of his mouth. When you say nothing, he continues, “I would have never guessed if I hadn’t seen it first-hand. Today.” 

“Be quiet.” You groan. 

“Don’t be like that, princess,” he chides, pulling into the driveway. “You’re a pretty good liar.” 

“You’re a pretty good liar! Heh!” You sneer back, imitating the way his voice might sound if he inhaled a lungful of helium. When the car stops and Bucky shuts off the engine, he turns around through the middle console and sends you a fanged grin, reminiscent of the way he snarled at you the first time he came to your apartment. 

Then he’s out the door, closing it with a quiet bang. Steve whistles lowly and looks over his shoulder, “You’re in for it now.” 

-- 

Bucky throws you into the pool.  

He at least has the decency to take your phone out of your pocket before he chucks you in like a dead fish. Since it’s drizzled all day, the water is cold as all fuck and when it hits your back the shock stifles the scream wrenched from your throat. 

You resurface with a shriek, teeth chattering as you break the water and try to swim to the edge. You can barely get your hair out of your face before an enormous splash creates a wave that slams itself on the top of your head. Another cannonball goes into the blue and by the time your eyes are dry enough to see what the fuck is going on, you’re sandwiched between them and the cold slips right out of your skin. 

Steve’s hands have faithfully returned to your legs where the opening of your romper floats around in the chilling water. The tips of your toes are pointed, and your mouth is barely above the splashes of chlorine licking at your chin. Bucky and Steve are standing flat on their feet, barely wet at their collarbones. 

“Better hold on, ‘less you’re interested in drownin’.” Bucky teases. A mouthful gets spit out onto his neck and for a second you think maybe that point is worth it until Steve picks you up by the waist and dumps you two inches left and the water goes right over your head. 

You scramble and splash, regretting not taking those swimming classes seriously because all you can do is (sort of) float on your back and doggy paddle for about three minutes. Bucky chuckles when you finally relent and wrap your arms around his neck, burying your burning face into his sopping hair. 

“Is this your idea of getting me wet.” You mumble as your cheeks scorch against him. Steve is behind you, kissing your nape until you lean back onto his shoulder too, both inflamed and anxious by their rapt attention. 

“Is it working?” Steve asks, and your silence is enough of an answer all on its own. You feel as if you might be brave enough to look up into Bucky’s eyes, maybe kiss him again, but a third and final cannonball crashes into the tranquil waves and then Buckeye breaks the water with a series of grunts and pants.  

His fat head bobs up and down as he paddles about, tongue hanging limply from his jaw. As he makes his way past the three of you staring blankly at him, Buckeye gives Steve’s face a long, slow lick.  

You swear you can hear Captain America faintly call your dog a “goddamn cockblock”. 

-- 

Steve is in the shower when you snuggle up with Buckeye on the couch. A thick wool blanket covers your bare legs as you lean over, placing your head on your dog’s coiled body. He’s still a little damp from pool water, and the velvet grey of his coat is speckled with dark splotches. From downstairs, Bucky arrives, wet hair behind his ears and quietly lifts your dog up and places him on the sofa couch across from the coffee table. He smells like peppermint body wash.  

The sudden thought of him wearing red and white and kissing you under a mistletoe wriggles into your brain and you could scream. Instead, you steel yourself, scold the fantasy until it leaves.  

Your head lays on Buckeye’s former seat, dampening the leather, staring up into the ceiling.  

Bucky wordlessly smooths the blanket over your legs, sits down on the floor, and props his head up on his arms until he’s looking into your eyes. “Hey,” he says, biting on the tiniest bit of his bottom lip in a way uncharacteristic of him—nervous, careful. “Y’know, if this is too much—say somethin’—I’d rather be your friend than nothing at all.”  

A smirk tugs the corner of your lip and he huffs at the sight of it, waiting for a comment but still, he feels uneasy. You’re not looking at him, not yet, at least. It’s still up in the air if you’ll laugh or cry; your emotions have become overwrought when thinking of them. The quips here and there have been tiny little bandages over the aching wound. 

“C’mon,” Bucky whispers, “Thought you were gonna be bastard about it.”  

“Sorry…” You mutter, turning to face him. A single tear drops out and rolls over your nose bridge, plunking down onto the leather. “I think I am... feeling both overwhelmed and…” You close your eyes, trying to find your words. “I think I’m also feeling inadequate.” 

Bucky’s brow furrows, creating fine creases on his forehead. 

“I guess as a normal person, now faced with something … very serious-- two entire lives that have started  way  before me and will last long after me, I’m just wondering how exactly I will fit? It’s certainly selfish... ” 

“It’s not.”  

A jerk of your mouth catches his gaze, “I can’t stop thinking about you.” You laugh, knowing fully well that the statement sounds silly because he’s right in front of you now, as he’s been for the past few days. And your comment makes it seem like he’s leagues away. “I want you to be happy. I think you‘ve spent so long not being, I just want you to be happy.”  

Against your better judgement, you turn until your entire body is facing him and brush your fingers along his chin, then trail up until you are holding onto the side of his neck, thumb under his ear. Bucky smiles that lopsided boyish smile at you, set in the angular, firm face of a man, and closes his eyes. 

“Thanks.” 

He opens them, letting the gray-blue dance over your features. You feel brave again, because Bucky Barnes is inches away, looking at you like you could be part of his world. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his softly. He is already a part of  your  world, more ingrained than you ever thought could be in the short time you’ve known him.  

You kiss him again. For good measure. And then again, for luck, maybe. “You know I meant it, last night.” You sigh against his mouth, “I do love you two.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Bucky dismisses it playfully as he lifts himself up just a little more to hover over your face, turning so that his mouth slants on yours just right. “No time to talk now, darlin’.”  

He scrubs his beard against your neck, and you start giggling uncontrollably at the way it tickles. His nose brushes against your ear and his tongue traces your jaw before he peppers kisses up to your mouth. His fingers tap a staccato of morse code up and down your sides as you squeal.  

Who knew The Winter Soldier could be so... cute? 

“I’m ready for a nap!” Steve calls from the hallway, stopping short of interrupting the moment. “Think all of us can fit on the bed?” 

“Steve, man, it’s like evening time.” Your voice is muffled against Bucky’s face once more as he takes the opportunity to kiss you again. 

“I’m trying to find an excuse to lie down,” Steve grumbles. You hear his footsteps stop behind Bucky as he peers over his shoulder and into your upside-down face. “Will ya come to bed or not?” 

Rolling your eyes with a smile, you hide behind Bucky’s hair. “Well, fuckin’ twist my arm...”  

-- 

Steve sleeps like the dead. It’s comical how he sprawls out and snores softly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he doesn’t, now that he’s retired. 

You and Bucky have moved to one side where he lies with one arm tucked behind his head and the other one under yours. He tells you Steve usually isn’t so ridiculous, sleeping very lightly and wakes up at the slightest noise, but now there’s a conversation being carried centimeters away from his face and he’s not stirred at all.  

Bucky smiles at this, says thank god, he needs it. 

“He’s gonna be up at three bouncing off the walls.” You warn. 

“Yeah, it’s fine. He’ll sprint fifty miles and go to bed.” 

“Jesus, why?” 

“Super serum bullshit, and because he’s a show-offy asshole.” 

“Aren’t you... also serum-ed?”  

“Yeah, but I also love my bed.” 

At that, you whistle, “Man after my own heart.” 

His face lights up as he turns to peer at you resting on the crook of his arm, leaning so that the top of your head is barely on his chest. “Oh yeah?” The silly conversation takes a turn when Bucky tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, finding excuse to let his fingers roam along the edge of your eyebrow, trailing down until he’s past your cheek, further down to your shoulder.  

It’s his left hand that’s touching you, the cold metal of the appendage sending shivers down your back. You can’t help but gaze at the way it reflects the setting sun slipping through the cracks of your blinds. 

The hand under your head is shifted until he’s propping himself up on it.  

Your mouth goes drier each time he squeezes your arm, closing your eyes to concentrate on the contradicting sensations—your warm body, his cold hand, quickly losing its chill. He travels down, down, until his palm is on your hip, then your thigh, then, ghosting between your legs. 

Against your back is Steve, sighing softly. 

“I feel like I’m living out the thirst tweet ‘bout your arm.” You mutter, eyes closing with a tremulous shudder. Bucky laughs, fingers diving between your thighs, hand wrapping over one. 

“You got a thing for getting choked, too?” It’s a joke, but he pinches your flesh and when your tummy flutters, you suddenly grow a bit afraid of your own desires.  

Behind you, Steve stirs. “Don’t let him do it.” His gravelly voice pipes up, muffled by the pillow his cheek is pressed against, “He toes the line of erotic asphyxiation too closely.” Then, he turns, spooning you, and falls back asleep. 

Why the fuck does Captain America know anything about erotic asphyxiation. 

Bucky is laughing again, pulling you to his chest before he stills. “I wouldn’t. Unless you really wanted it.”  

“Jesus would you stop.” You mumble, but peek up at him anyway, lips parting in anticipation. He gives it to you, curling his hand around the back of your neck and murmuring nonsense into your mouth. Witticisms that you quickly bite off with a teasing snap of teeth. Bucky pulls away with a sound of surprise. 

“Oh, kitten. You got claws, huh?” 

You show him your canines. “Always had ‘em, bee-itch.” He doesn’t know how a person can make the word  bitch  into two annoying—maybe endearing— syllables, but you’ve done it. 

Bucky laughs joyfully, smothers his face into the pillow like he doesn’t want you to see, because Bucky Barnes’ reputation as a stone-cold motherfucker has been completely ripped to shreds in your hands and he is trying desperately to retain some semblance of it. 

You grab his face, grinning, eager to see that winsome smile of his.  

“Fuck, I like you.” He says with a chuckle. 

“Aw, don’t be a bee-itch, Buck.” Steve calls from your back, apparently not asleep after all. “Tell ‘er the damn truth!” Your spine picks up the humidity of his breath, shivers running all the way up to your neck when he kisses your shoulder blade with sloppy presses of his mouth. 

In the sunset glow, Bucky groans dramatically as you and Steve wait, smirks shared between two utter bastards, he thinks. He groans and groans and when he’s out of one long breath he picks up another. 

“Fine, fine.” He relents finally, letting you bask in the glory of that gorgeous wide mouth, stretched so sweetly. He laughs.  

“I love you too. Twist my fuckin’ arm.”  

Next

#marvel #mcu #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #stucky x reader #reader insert #fanfiction #steve rogers x reader x bucky barnes #FiMS

[sleekervae]

Young God [0.4]

It was early afternoon in Ventura, the muted brightness of an summer day having given away to a pale blue sky and the sun beaming down at full capacity. Nevertheless, the air was still fairly humid and Taylor fanned her face as a meagre means to ease the blistering heat biting at her skin. Her teal blue hair was tied up today, and what little makeup she had on had been melted down and quickly wiped away. And here, she thought Danny was exaggerating when he went on about the California heat.

Two days had passed and so far, aside from the brash heat, Taylor had found herself to be enjoying her brief American leg. Having close friends by her side eased some the nervous qualms she had carried, as did making many new friends in the wake of the festival. Within the few hours she spent with them, Black Veil Brides had taken Taylor into their circle as though they'd known her for years; laughing, joking around, and drinking, yes. But overall, Taylor had quickly grown fond of spending much of her time with Andy -- which hadn't gone unnoticed by Danny and Ben.

With a quick crack of the knuckles, Taylor plucked at the strings of her guitar in preparation for her next tent show. They certainly weren't her favourite gig to play, yet to her surprise, Taylor had found that she had gathered a small following in the crowds she sang to; quickly accumulating with every show.

The grass beneath her pricked at her bare legs and the heat made it difficult for her to persist with her practice. Despite that, her face lifted when she saw him out of the corner of her eye, and she smiled when Andy sat down beside her, placing the cool water bottle down and relaxing into the warm field.

"One water bottle, as per request," he said, then reached into his vest pocket again, "And one granola bar -- because food," he still wore that cocky grin, eyes twinkling like a mischievous child.

"My knight in shining armour," she spoke with a withered exasperation and quickly took the water bottle, "How much do I owe you?" she asked before taking a sip.

"Don't worry about it," he shrugged.

Taylor glowered at him as she swallowed, "Come on, Andy. Don't be ridiculous,"

"Taylor, it's a water bottle and a shitty granola bar. Hardly put a dent in my wallet," he said, "And don't argue with a cripple,"

"My bad," she chuckled and took the granola bar between her fingers, struggling to pull apart the foil, "How are your ribs, by the way?"

Andy shifted again at the mention, "Can hardly feel 'em now," he said, "Just watch: by the end of the month I'll be right as rain again,"

Taylor refrained from scowling despite the willful foil and adhesive, "Are those your doctor's words or you trying to put me at ease?" she rebutted.

"Perhaps a bit of both," he smirked, taking the granola bar from her and with a quick pull, the foil tore open. Taylor glowered then as he handed it back to her.

"... Showoff," she took the first bite of the sticky, chocolatey goodness before offering the bar his way. He took a bite and commented on how it was simply just a glorified chocolate bar for children. He chewed thoughtfully, watching her for longer than necessary; her long lashes grazing her cheeks, her nude pink lipstick leaving a slight imprint on the foil top and she blinked back at him, shrugging at his remark before taking another bite.

"Aren't you hot like that?" she asked then, pointing to his long, thick black hair.

Andy scratched his jaw with his finger nonchalantly and gave a small shrug, his lips pouty, "Haven't really noticed,"

"Ya' haven't really noticed?" Taylor mocked back in disbelief, "Mate, I'm hot just looking at ya!"

His face flushed then at her nickname, that and the way the twang in her Northern accent held a slight squeak to her outburst, "Honestly, I'm fine," he assured her, "Live in Los Angeles long enough, you get used to it,"

"Ugh, Americans," she joked, lying back and enveloping herself fully in the sun's rays, "Whatcha' doing after your show today?"

Andy bit down on the inside of his lip, "What do you wanna' do?" he replied. Taylor raised her eyebrows, unable to help but admire the strip of sunlight that fell over his face.

"I don't know. The beach, perhaps?" she replied, "Could use a good cooling off,"

He tried not to let his smile grow at that the insinuating thoughts in his head, instead he chuckled, "Taylor, do I look like somebody who goes to the beach?"

Taylor simply shook her head, "You look more like the monster that crawled out of the water to scare the horny teenagers off,"

" -- I won't argue with you there," Andy chuckled back, "But for you, I might entertain the idea of going to the beach,"

"For the prospect of seeing me in a me swimmers, I'd wager," she teased.

"Well," he nodded truthfully, trying not to let his smirk falter, "I wouldn't mind, personally,"

She laughed as she looked back at him, brown eyes bright and shining, "Got ya' figured out, Andy,"

He'd been trying not to lose himself in her too often, had purposely ignored the splash of colour of the thin feathers tied into her teal bun, the way the freckles he'd previously tried to count and memorize the pattern of were highlighted in the sun, had willed himself to focus on the conversation each time her lips had wrapped around the bottle of her water but now he couldn't not notice it all, admired her up close, fantasized about the mere idea of his hands being where she currently had them sitting atop her stomach, then bit the inside of his cheek at how lewd his thoughts were.

"That you do, Taylor," Andy drawled, his voice deeper than it had been before, laced with awe.

Taylor's eyes travelled up the gallery of tattoos that littered his arms. His body was close to hers and it radiated heat, he must have been sweaty with all that hair but she couldn't tell, could smell his cologne instead, the linger of cigarette smoke she'd inhaled before.

"Shall we go, then?" she asked, slowly sitting up, "You have another show and I have another tent to play,"

"I say fuck it," he shrugged back, lowering his face slightly to hers, desperate to win her over, "Let's just stay here for the rest of the day. Watch the clouds, eat glorified chocolate bars and that bullshit,"

Taylor smiled, her cheeks straining from how much his happiness was rubbing off on her.  Her heartbeat had sped up a little and she quickly blamed it on the lack of food since breakfast and the morbid heat, but there was something about his presence that still enthralled her too. She wanted nothing more than to hear him talk about everything and anything for hours, found herself so connected to his mind and the way he worked, couldn't wait to watch him perform again, especially now she'd done a little revision on his music. Her gaze locked on his fearlessly, she raised her chin.

"As enticing as that sounds, our agents will have our heads on spits if we ditch," she said.

Andy shrugged and wet his lips, "Do you often do what you're told?" he asked.

A smirk spread over her pearly pink lips and she leaned in closer, "Only when it suits me," she replied softly.

Despite all the control he'd fought for, the arrogance and air of nonchalance he was desperate to exude, his face lit up; he couldn't help it.

"I'll keep that in mind," he grinned back, untangling his long legs from their pretzel to get to his feet, "You coming then?"

Taylor only extended out her arms, a silent asking for him to take her hands and yank her to feet in one deft swoop. She squeaked at the sudden force and nearly tripped into him, falling straight into his chest. Andy held her steady and couldn't help his bemused giggle.

"You alright?" he asked, his left eyebrow arching in query. Taylor couldn't decide if it was nerves that had prompted the action, or if he was trying to keep up his act, but either way, he looked effortlessly cool doing it.

"Absolutely," she nodded and pulled herself away.

She stuffed her things back into her tote bag and picked up her guitar. After arguing back and forth with himself, Andy nervously threw his arm around her shoulders to bring her to his side as they began to walk. Taylor's eyes were wide with shock for a moment.

"Is it alright if I do this?" he asked, holding his breath for her reaction.

Taylor smiled back in kind, "Yeah," she settled into him with ease, didn't feel uncomfortable with his immediate closeness, his friendliness and need to make her feel comfortable reassuring her that he wasn't trying to put anything on her.

His thumb smoothed down her arm an inch or two as he kept her locked there, her skin smooth and silky but he tensed his jaw to stop himself from going any further, would hate to make her feel uneasy or to do something to scare her off.

"I like those feathers," he drawled, pocketing at his tight jeans for a smoke.

"Thanks," she tucked a stray hair behind her ear, "You know, Ben and Danny would probably have a fit if they saw us together like this,"

"How do you mean? Like -- jealousy?" he mumbled, popping the cigarette between his lips with his free hand, "Personally, I don't blame 'em for it. I got one of the hottest girls at Warped Tour on my arm today," he smirked with a cocky bravado.

"I don't mean like that..." she laughed back, nudging his ribs with her elbow gently, watching the smoke bob from where it was placed between his lips, "In a more brotherly protective manner, so to speak,"

"So, you've known them long?" he asked.

"Meh. Since I was about nineteen," she sighed, "Being young and reckless, trying to stay outta' trouble and shit. They've gotten me out of a few jams in the past,"

"Care to elaborate?" Andy asked, now pocketing around for his lighter.

Taylor shook her head, "Nah, not really," she replied with a nervous giggle, "S'pose I'm just grateful to having them look out for me,"

"Well, I'm very grateful that they introduced me to you," he said, biting the inside of his cheek at his own cheekiness as he brought the smoke away from his mouth to light it.

"As am I," before Andy could barely take the first puff, Taylor snatched the cigarette from his lips for herself.

"Naughty girl," he teased, to which Taylor giggled merrily and handed the bud back to him after her exhale, "I didn't like that, but I respect it,"

A few feet in front of them sat a newer indie rock band; three young hipsters with shaggy hair, baggy muscle tees, and leather woven jewelry. The lead singer noticed Andy and Taylor coming their way and turning his nose up at their loud, eccentric visage. Taylor wasn't so bad on the eyes, with a bit of cleaning up and she'd probably be one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever laid eyes on. Andy's appearance however puzzled him greatly; didn't this taller kid know that hair metal was out of trend?

The singer, with beady green eyes, glowered as the couple passed him by -- his bandmates hardly took notice until their singer suddenly shouted.

"Hey dude!" he called to Andy, "The 80s called, they want their hair back!"

Andy and Taylor stopped short at the whiny voice. Taylor then noted how Andy's face had twisted from pleasant delight to that of simmering irritation. She found that suddenly unsettling to her. He turned slowly to the hipster, cigarette still brandished between his lips with a glare that was sure to kill if looks only could.

"You talking to me, kid?" Andy asked the hipster.

The hipster shrugged without care, much to the chagrin of his bandmates who tried to tell him to shut up, "I sure as shit wasn't talking to her," he spat back, nodding in Taylor's direction.

Andy tore the cigarette away in a deft swipe, stepping over to give this little shit a piece of his mind. Taylor however quickly placed her hand over his chest, effectively stopping him in his tracks.

"Just leave him alone," she murmured to him, "He's looking for a fight is all, and he ain't gonna' get it out of you,"

As if by a sudden wave of magic, Andy's boiling rage simmered down to barely lukewarm. As much as it pained him to admit it, Taylor's words had some truth to them. He could see it in the way this little hipster bitch was smirking at him, just goading him into throwing the first punch. But when he looked down, he was met with Taylor's dark, pleading eyes. He didn't want to let her down. So, Andy inhaled deeply and stood back, taking the high road and placing the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Let's get out of here,"

Taylor, flush was relief, scowled at the twenty-something-year-old boy with disinterest. She instead took Andy's hand in her own and sneered at the hipster before walking away, "Twat!"

The air was much cooler in Asking's bus thanks to this ingenious invention called air conditioning. In turn, Taylor and Maxeen had let their hair down as they sat cloistered together on the floor of the bunk cave. With two bottles of beer before them, Taylor kept as still as possible as Maxeen applied the fresh coat of raspberry pink nail polish to her fingernails while Maxeen waited for her own toe polish to dry.

In the common area, they could hear the faint, muffled commotion of the Asking boys as they battled each other on the video game consoles, swearing and shouting every few seconds it seemed. Taylor's mind was preoccupied, Maxeen could tell from the lack of response she gave when she tried to initiate conversation.

"What's on your mind?" she asked. Taylor flickered her eyes up to meet her friend's, but she shrugged nonchalantly.

"Nothing much," she replied, "Why?"

"You just seem to be somewhere else," Maxeen said, "Were you alright after the gig?"

"Well enough, I suppose," Taylor said.

Maxeen dipped the polish brush back into the jar before she started on the other hand, "Sad we only got four days left?"

Taylor's chest rippled with apprehension, the sullen reminder that her time here was short was nearly enough to send her into a funk. She had enjoyed the time she'd gotten to spend with Danny and Ben, and Andy of course. The time she'd spent with Andy made her feel as though she'd known him for years, forming a bond she hadn't experienced in quite some time. She had told herself over and over not to become too attached to this boy, but like many things in her life that plan too went awry.

"Yeah. Back to the bleak fucking cold," she sighed.

"It's not cold right now back home," Maxeen pointed out, "It's July,"

"I'm aware," Taylor said, "I think it's just like -- you get a small taste for what you could have here but you don't have enough time to really enjoy it,"

Maxeen stopped mid paint-stroke, quirking her head at the mysterious notion Taylor was grappling at, "Whatcha' on about?"

Taylor quickly shook her head, figuring Maxeen would think her ridiculous if she was honest, "Nothing," she mumbled.

Maxeen pursed her lips as she finished the last coat, eyeing Taylor cautiously as though she expected to burst out into tears. Despite not having known Danny, Ben, and the others for as long as Taylor had, Maxeen could very well understand how sad she would be for leaving at the end of the week. However, she could sense from the aversion of Taylor's big brown eyes that she was miffed about something more than just having to leave her friends behind.

"You've been hanging around a lot with that goth-looking guy, eh?" she said, carefully gauging Taylor's next moves. The young rockstar only met her gaze for a brief moment with a nod, "What was his name... Andrew?"

"Andy," Taylor said in wallow.

"Yeah, that's right," Maxeen nodded, "Seems like a nice chap -- could do with a fucking hair cut, though,"

Taylor shrugged again, the tangy smell of nail polish slowly infiltrating her nostrils and making her scrunch, "I think it's alright, actually," she admitted, "It's more his face I notice. Underneath all that paint he's quite handsome,"

"Oh, I'm sure," Maxeen chided back, quirking her head as she tried to read off her friend, "Do you like him, then?"

"Oh course," Taylor nodded, "Him and his mates have been lovely,"

"Okay, but do you fancy him?" Maxeen asked again, "Like... in the same way you felt for Spencer?"

Taylor's ears burned at the sudden mention of her old flame. Thinking back now, that relationship felt like an entire life time ago, a distant memory that she didn't care to hold on to in that it kept her from evolving in her personal life. This however left Taylor with the question of whether or not she was ready to move on.

"It's been three fucking days, I couldn't tell you that, Max," she replied, "Besides, even if I did -- and I'm not saying I do -- but if I did, who's to say it would work anyway? I live on another bloody continent!"

Maxeen shrugged, "Well, that is to say if you did fancy him, I reckon you wouldn't give two shits about long distance. There are lots of couples out there separated, but they make it work,"

Taylor picked up her half-empty beer bottle, "You trying to talk me into a relationship that don't exist?" she took a quick swig and set it back on the carpeted floor.

"All I'm trying to say is if the opportunity presents itself, try it out," Maxeen replied, "So we leave in four days. How much you want to bet you'll be kicking yourself if you never saw him again and didn't at least entertain the possibility of what could've been? And besides, out of all the freaks and nerds we've met on this tour, Andy certainly wouldn't be the worst one to shag,"

A faint blush creeped over Taylor's face as she smiled, shaking her head at Maxeen's snide comment. That being said, the more she thought about it, the deeper Taylor's racing mind sunk into the gutter. Her face went redder and she snickered to herself.

Maxeen's own face meanwhile lit up, fascinated and excited by Taylor's meek and sly response. She shuffled in closer and leaned in to whisper, "Are you actually thinking about...?"

Taylor's nodding and anxious giggling gave her away in an instant, "I wouldn't mind, personally," she  murmured, blushing like a nun outside of a fetish shop.  

Maxeen's newfound glee reached a new height of mania. From the diabolical glint in her eyes, Taylor could tell in an instant that she was up to no good. And she was right. In an instant, Maxeen scrambled to her feet with a sadistic grin and started shouting, "Fuck me! Danny!"

Taylor was overcome with sudden horror, "Oh, god! Whatcha' think you're doing?" and she was then in hot pursuit.

Danny was currently caught up in a cut-throat game of Mario Kart with James. With some fancy thumb work, Danny desperately urged the Wario avatar to pass into first, however James' Toad proved to be a worthy opponent as the carts were now grill-and-grill in an effort to hit the checkered finish line.

"Danny! Ben!" At the sudden call of his name though, Danny lost his train of thought for a millisecond before Wario had veered off the track and had plummeted into the lava pit below. Toad meanwhile finished with a first-place victory.

"What the fuck?" Ben and Cameron turned towards the commotion in question.

Maxeen emerged from the bunk cave, eager to spill her gossip, "Boys! Taylor wants to shag -- oh!" but she stopped short, realizing that it wasn't just the Asking boys wasting their night in front of the tele.

When Taylor grabbed hold of Maxeen, she felt herself go a deep shade of red. Andy, Ashley, and Jake had come along for the digital race, they and everybody else taken aback and amused at Maxeen's outburst. Oh, for fuck sakes...

James however started snickering as he set down his controller, eager to hear this play out, "Who does Taylor want to shag, Max?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows at the blue-haired beauty. Taylor slapped her hand over Maxeen's mouth before she could say anything incriminating.

"Your ma!" Taylor snapped, "Don't mind her, she's just drunk. Carry on, then!" and she yanked Maxeen back into the bunk, scowling at the echoing howls of Ben, Danny, and the others pissing themselves with laughter.

When the girls had disappeared and the hysteria died down, Andy took a thoughtful swig of his own beer; while Danny demanded a rematch from James on account of unforeseen distractions. A cocky smile had come over Andy, just still able to makeup the silhouette of the girls in the dark shadows -- with Taylor no doubt reprimanding Maxeen for being so out of line.

"NO! AYE!" Andy suddenly sat upright in his bunk, not yet awake enough to sense his smaller enclosure and he smashed his head into the rock-hard ceiling.

"Motherfuck!" he groaned, holding his now-throbbing head. His bandmates were now awake as well, all thanks to their lighting technician who just so happened to have the bunk over Andy. The poor fellow had night terrors, and the band was sympathetic to the matter -- just not at five in the morning.

"Fucking -- Richard!" Jinxx pulled back the curtain of his own bunk and hurled his pillow into Richard's, promptly waking him. The older man snorted and grumbled before coming to, realizing what had happened and groaned to himself.

"Sorry," he called. Andy whimpered and slowly rolled out of the bunk, continuing to clutch his head. He had hoped that because his hair was so thick that it would've absorbed some of the impact, then he felt stupid for thinking such a thing. CC then poked his head out of the bunk, and when he registered what had happened he started to laugh to himself. The hungover side of him found the situation hilarious, the sober part of him found it sad, however.

"You okay, Andy?" John, their tour manager, had peaked out from his own quarters at the sudden commotion.

Andy didn't raise his head, instead he held up his hand in the A-OK sign. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth, hoping to ease some of the pounding in his head. The reverberations of the bus' engine certainly weren't helping him.

"Are we there yet?" he called to their driver, Collin.

"Forty-five minutes!" Collin called back.

"Take an ice bag for that," John instructed, "Last thing we need is to take you back to the hospital for a cracked skull,"

Andy grimaced at the notion of going back to the hospital again. He staggered to his feet and grabbed his phone, using the light to guide him as wandered through the blacked-out bus and went for the cupboard that held the first-aid kit. He grabbed the plastic bag out of the red box and slammed it down against the countertop several times, trying to illicit a chill from the chemicals inside. When it was cold enough for his liking, he pressed the bag to his forehead and slumped down onto the couch.

He sat in the silence on his own, basking in vibrations of the bus engine. It compounded against his headache but Andy found the sound soothing nonetheless. The throbbing seemed to extend from his head down to his ribs, reminding him of another literal pain that he'd foolishly caused to himself. Knowing how Richard was with his sleep terrors, he pondered whether he and the other boys should get their bunks lined with some padding to avoid situations such at this.

From beside him, Andy's phone suddenly buzzed. It hurt to turn his neck, but he glanced down and squinted at the blue light coming off the screen. The scowl on his face however eased into a smile when he saw Taylor's text message.

Hello from the bus ten meters behind you.

Andy glanced at the time, confirming that Taylor was indeed up earlier than she needed to be as he texted back.

Ello, dahling. What are you doing up?

You're mocking my accent over text now?

I'm not mocking, I'm impersonating

... that's kind of stupid now that I'm thinking about it

Lol, it's cool. I just can't sleep, James is snoring and I have bad jet lag :(

Well, shit.

You think that's bad? Our lighting guy woke me up with his night terrors. I hit my head.

You poor kid! You ok?

Eh, I've had worse. I'll survive

Did you like the show yesterday?

You already asked me.

You just said it was fun. Any analytical criticisms??

I liked the band and the music was really good! Not quite sold on the frontman tho

Well, I thought he was pretty fucking charming.

I think you should give him a chance.

He's a bit of a poser, don't you think? All that body paint and his piercings...

I think you secretly find him really hot. ;)

Well, with all that hair on his head he reminded me of a goth cousin It.

That hurts me right in my core, Taylor

Whops, my thumb slipped :P

Andy couldn't remember the last time he had smiled as much as he did that morning. He stared at that little emoticon with endearment, the ache in his head and ribs quickly forgotten as the three little dots appeared under the message, and he waited patiently. In his head he could hear the ring of her accent speaking the words she'd written, could still hear her laugh tinkling in his ears.

Seriously though, I think I've had more fun with you the past three days then I have all year. You turned me on to glam metal

His heart thundered in his chest as he read over the words. He didn't think it was possible but his smile seemed to get wider. He'd promise himself not to flirt with her but fuck, she made it really hard. Especially with that English humor of hers. It wasn't as though she wasn't guilty on her part.

Darling, you just made my fucking day

Asking Alexandria's bus wasn't far behind from Black Veil. Within the confines of her bunk Taylor felt as though a candle had been lit was slowly glowing brighter and brighter within her chest. Her rapport with Andy was different from her past relations with men, different to what she had with Danny and Ben.

He was sweet and flirtatious, as well as playfully narcissistic in a way that boosted his own ego despite making Taylor laugh at him. And those eyes of his -- she could picture those beautiful eyes staring at her own text message, probably with a hint of irritation as his head ached. Those eyes could stare into her soul, find out her deepest vices and yet she'd welcome him fully.

#andy biersack #andy black #andy biersack imagine #andy biersack fanfic #andy black imagine #andy sixx #black veil brides #black veil army #jake pitts #jinxx bvb #cc bvb #lonny eagleton #bvb #andy bvb #fanfic #imagine #original female character #original story #rock music #rocknroll #hard rock #join the phantom tomorrow #girl bands #boy bands

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 40

You’re confronted during your workday, and meet up with the guys for dinner. Later, you and Yoongi wrestle with what you’ve learned.

Pairing: Idol!Yoongi x Actress!Reader

Word count: 3k

Genre: fluff, angst

|mlist|

<–– Prev   Next ––>

You rub anxiously at Starry Night, letting the dull roar of the subway distract you from a whirlwind of thoughts. 

You haven’t slept since leaving the interview with Detective Kang yesterday. How will you muster up the cool head of your character, Ji-Woo, while knowing what you know? As you exit the subway station near the film studio, the brisk spring breeze that hits your back causes you to flinch– you hear her laughing, the sasaeng that pushed you in, and you feel the freezing water envelop you, you’re drowning, dying–

No. C’mon, y/n. No, you’re not. You tap your foot on the ground, as though to prove to yourself that you’re standing on solid, dry land. 

If this gets any worse, you wonder, staring around at all the people unaffected by the cold, how will I ever leave the house?

You should really start focusing on your writing degree– authors don’t have to leave their warm nooks.

You should start focusing on any degree, if you’re being honest. You’re turning into the slacker you promised you’d never become; when’s the last time you’ve even thought about school? 

 Doesn’t matter. Just do well with acting, and you won’t need school ever again.

You arrive onset, and Yoongi is nowhere to be found. On top of that, you see your costar Jeongyeon strut over to you. Great.

“Y/n, darling~” She coos brightly, though her eyes sparkle with something less than kindness. “No Yoongi today? I thought you spent all your time together.”

This fucking fake relationship. You grit your teeth, giving into the anger that lately seems to warm you. “It’s eight in the morning, darling. I don’t know what you think of me, or Yoongi, but given that we live separately– in completely opposite directions, in fact– we’re not going to show up every damned day together!”

“Ooh, someone’s feeling testy, huh?” Jeongyeon replies, not missing a beat. “Did you have a fight with him? Trouble in paradise already?”

Your blood begins to boil as you stalk towards her. “You little–”

“Hey, sweetheart.” Before you can reach out to strangle your coworker, you feel long fingers lacing with your own, and someone pressed up against your side. 

“What were you guys talking about?” Yoongi asks, his tone jovial. Meanwhile, you’re far too distracted by the fact that he’s holding your hand. You can feel the fury leave you, replaced by Yoongi’s warmth.

“Just how cute you two are!” Jeongyeon is quick to reply. “Y/n is so lucky to be dating a celebrity like you, Suga.”

Yoongi then does something so surprising that you don’t manage to react: he leans down and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “I think I’m the lucky one. I’ll see you two onset, okay?”

Affection for your friend blooms in your chest; his timing couldn’t have been better.

“Mhm!” Jeongyeon waves as Yoongi pads to wardrobe. As soon as he’s out of earshot, her smile falls. “Lucky bitch.”

“I’d say jealousy isn’t a good look on you,” you fire back, “but it sure is prettier than your personality.”

“Y/n! Jeongyeon!” Your director, Avery, yells from across the busy film set. “Why aren’t you in costume? Go!”

You and Jeongyeon jump. “Yes, ma’am!”

Soon enough, you’re hand-in-hand with Yoongi, gliding through the choreography you’d been taught. It’s a big scene for the main characters, so you and the rest of the cast need to simply… fade into the background. Your gown swishes and swirls around you, matching perfectly with Yoongi’s noble formalwear. 

The music is soft, and the movements so much the same, that you find your thoughts drifting.

“I’m sorry that Jeongyeon is bothering you,” Yoongi says eventually. “That might be my fault.”

“What do you mean?”

“I kind of know her. We met at an awards show last year… Namjoon said she might have a crush on me,” he says sheepishly. “Hopefully that little charade put her off.”

“Right.” Charade. All a charade.

You’re treated to another few minutes of quiet as the cameras train on the main characters.

“What’s on your mind?” Yoongi murmurs, his back to the camera.

“Lisa,” you admit. “I’m really worried.”

“You never did call me after your meeting with that detective. How did it go?”

“Er…” you swore to confidentiality. Are you allowed to tell him? But Yoongi has kept you a secret for the better part of a year, you know you can trust him. Besides, you promised– no more lies. “I’ll tell you after work, okay?”

“Sure. If you’re feeling up to it, we can actually have a group dinner with the guys.”

You smile. “Perfect.”

A full workday later, you sigh with exhaustion. That commercial you filmed with Wonho should be coming out soon– your paycheck for those two days of work are what you’d earn after three weeks as a barista. And Moon Over The Sea is paying you even more. Who needs school?

Lisa… Once you arrive home, you text her phone, just as you’ve been doing in the day since leaving the meeting with Detective Kang. She’s missing… but she’s not. You saw her… but maybe you didn’t. She’s okay… unless she isn’t? Again, the message goes undelivered.

You decide to try something else, instead calling up one of Lisa’s housemates.

“Hello?”

“Seulgi, it’s y/n.”

“Y/n! Hey, how are you? How’s your leg?”

That’s right, she hasn’t seen you since you dragged yourself, half-dead, to her door. 

“Much better, thanks,” you reply as you sit on your bed, stretching out your left leg to see the jagged scar running down the length of your calf. It could easily have been your head that collided with the rough rock. “I was wondering if you’ve heard from Lisa?”

“You know, I was going to ask you the same question,” Seulgi replies casually, and you feel your heart sink. “I haven’t seen her in weeks– it’s not much of an issue since she’s set up automatic rent payments, but like, she never told us she was going off somewhere, you know?”

You bite your lip. “I know. Can you let me know if you hear from her?”

“Sure thing. I wouldn’t worry, y/n, she’s probably at her parents’ house or something.”

“Yeah, p-probably.” You nearly choke on the lie. She’s missing, you want to scream. She’s missing, and there’s so much I need to know.

“–Which I thought was weird,” Seulgi is saying.

You tune back in. “What was that?”

“Just that she left her laptop here. Maybe she got a new one? I don’t know how I’d survive without my computer, you know?”

“Huh… yeah.” Maybe her laptop could give you clues to Lisa’s disappearance. “Seulgi, do you mind if I swing by to pick up Lisa’s computer? Might as well bring it to her folks.”

“Good idea. See you soon.”

You check your watch. You have a couple hours before your dinner with BTS. Might as well get that done. Besides, with Lisa gone, you’re at a loss for how to organize new jobs– you know you should start looking for another manager, but to do so is to admit defeat on Lisa’s behalf.

Soon enough, you’re at Lisa’s doorstep, the doorstep on which you found yourself after your trek from the river those short weeks ago. 

Seulgi welcomes you in: “Hey! Irene and Wendy are out, but Yeri’s got a friend over, so it might be a little loud.”

“It’s fine– I just need the computer.” You know which door is Lisa’s, and you quickly let yourself into her room. It’s just like you remember from the last time you were over: BTS posters plaster the wall, and your heart aches to see Yoongi’s face staring at you. You think a Jimin poster has been replaced with that of Jungkook, but otherwise… 

Where are you? You spot her laptop on her desk and flip it open. It’s still charged, but– dammit. Password-protected. Short on time, you grab it, slipping it into your bag. Detective Kang told you not to worry, to let the police do their jobs, but you’re not trying to solve a crime; you just want your friend back.

You can examine its contents later, once you’re at the guys’ apartment. You have just enough time to head back and change, and before long you find yourself in the elevator up. With your new status as Suga’s ‘girlfriend’, your days of sneaking in through the back door are over. As long as you leave before it gets too late, and the security guards do their job in keeping the sasaengs back, you’re golden.

“I brought snacks~” you sing as the elevator slides open. You felt embarrassed when you first became friends with them– what could you bring to make millionaires happy? But these guys are such dorks, they love everything you arrive with. This time? Salty crackers and pretzels for after-dinner snacking.

“Y/n-ie’s here!” You’re suddenly surrounded by Namjoon, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. Yoongi is in the kitchen pouring himself some wine.

“Hey, guys.” You feel yourself tearing up. After the stress of the last few days, you’re grateful for your friends.

“Aww, don’t cry! We ordered takeout!” Jungkook says, bouncing on his heels.

Seokjin sighs. “That’s a pretty good reason to cry, dummy.”

“Takeout sounds awesome,” you laugh, shrugging out of your coat. You’re still wearing three layers, and their apartment is warm; you’re safe from the cold for now.

“Jeez, aren’t you boiling?” Hoseok asks, plucking at your plush sweater.

You flinch before regaining your sass. “You’re just jealous that I’m hotter than you, Hobi.”

“If she wants to stay warm, let her.” Yoongi says, approaching. “We can eat in the living room, it’s warm there. Should we watch a movie?”

The guys whoop in agreement. 

“Let’s watch Midsommar,” Taehyung suggests as the eight of you settle in the living room. You race Yoongi to steal his favorite armchair, but he manages to snag it just before you.

“How about Once Upon A Time in Hollywood?” Namjoon asks. “I think it’s been subtitled already.”

“I heard really good things about 1917,” Jungkook adds. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Yoongi shrinking more and more into himself– that’s right, you remember with a start, he hates scary movies. And all three suggestions, in some way or another, are certainly scary. Cults, war, and murder? Yeah, no.

You catch his eye. What do you want to watch? You mouth silently. In lieu of a response, Yoongi smiles and shakes his head, sending you a clear don’t-worry-about-it signal.

And yet… half an hour into Midsommar, Yoongi stands up, looking pale. “I’m gonna… go get something.”

When he doesn’t come back after fifteen minutes you make your own excuses to the guys before going to knock on his door. “Yoongi?”

The door creaks open, and Yoongi lets you in. “Caught me, didn’t you?”

“Eh, I’d rather hang out with you than watch a movie anyways,” you reply, flopping onto Seokjin’s bed.

“Well, while we’re here…” Yoongi says casually, “Want to tell me what went on with Lisa?”

You gulp, at last letting yourself dwell on the events of yesterday. “She’s been missing for three weeks. Or maybe two weeks. Or maybe two days? She hasn’t shown up to classes, hasn’t slept at her apartment, and hasn’t contacted anyone.” Except me. “She bought a plane ticket to America but never boarded the flight. And her credit card…” you take a deep breath. If nothing else, this is something you need to share with Yoongi.

“Yoongs, Lisa’s credit card was found at our lamppost.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was…” it’s suddenly difficult to draw breath. “Yoongi, they found it right next to the lamppost.”

Yoongi’s brows knit together as he clearly tries to process your words. “But… you worked at the cafe down the street. She could have been visiting you, or just going for coffee. Right?”

You nod. “That would make sense, but the last charge on her card was after I’d already quit at the cafe. And…” you look down. “There’s something else.”

Yoongi stares at you, and you fidget with Starry Night, stumbling over your words. “Her- that is, she… She…”

Silently, Yoongi rises and walks over to the light switch, flicking it off and plunging the both of you into darkness.

“Y-Yoongs…?” You call quietly, and you feel a warm hand resting on your own.

“Is this better?” He asks, his voice echoing in the dark.

“I- yeah.” You relax a bit, knowing no one’s eyes are on you, you’re safe. “Lisa’s phone, it had been switched off for weeks, but on Friday it was turned back on…”

Detective Kang slides the laptop over to you. “We were able to pinpoint its location to somewhere on this block. We don’t have traffic cameras near these buildings, so we can’t confirm, but do you know of any reason she might be in this area?”

Your heart stutters at the familiar street view. “I was working there.” You grab the laptop and lean closer to the screen, as though you might see inside the buildings. “That’s… where I was filming the commercial. She dropped me off there!” Your hands begin trembling, making it difficult to point. “Detective, I was inside that building when she texted me. Right… right there.”

“And you say you used to work down the street from where we found her credit card?” Detective Kang clarifies.

“Yes. Detective, do you think she could be in danger–?”

“We can’t draw any conclusions. But do you think there’s anyone else who saw Lisa on the day she dropped you off?”

“I don’t know. She stayed in her car.”

“Okay. Ms. L/n, You can’t tell anyone about this case, alright? We’re not sure of what’s going on, but we in the Missing Persons unit have a handle on it. And if Ms. Manoban contacts you again, please let me know right away. Record it, if you can– it’s possible she was threatened or otherwise forced to see you on Friday.”

You feel tears begin to well in your eyes. Lisa, threatened? “I understand.”

“Oh, y/n.” You feel Yoongi’s arms wrap around you as he sits beside you on Jin’s bed. “She’ll be okay. I’m here for you, whatever you need.”

“What I need…” you whisper. “I need you.” 

Yoongi’s arms tighten around you. “Y/n?”

You straighten up. “You. You’re good with computers, right?”

Your friend lets go of you, clearing his throat. “I– kind of, why?”

“I have Lisa’s computer. She left it at her apartment. It’s password-protected…” you falter. As her best friend, you should know Lisa’s passwords. She knows all of yours, but she’s always been careful with her passwords, and you’ve never asked. Why did you never ask? “I was hoping you might be able to help.”

“Aish, I’m not a magician, y/n.” You hear Yoongi getting up to turn the lights back on and you blink weakly as the sudden brightness blind you. “But I’ll do my best, okay?”

“You’re amazing,” you say gratefully, pulling the computer from your bag.

“Ya know,” Yoongi says as he opens the laptop, “I’m pretty sure you’re the programmer of the two of us.”

“Huh?”

“You’re a whiz at HTML.”

You giggle. “Yoongi, I learned HTML for Tumblr. For you.”

“What, really?” Yoongi laughs in disbelief. “Damn, first you’ve got me as your ringtone, then you go and learn programming for me too?”

You shove him playfully. “Help me with the computer, dork.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s try the obvious stuff first.” With your help, Yoongi tries Lisa’s name, birthday, student ID number, first pet’s name, and a bunch of others. Eventually, and with Midsommar still playing down the hall, you sit back and groan.

“Some hacker you are.”

“I never said I was a hacker, y/n, I’m just good at guessing passwords.” Yoongi rubs his temples, brushing his messy black hair from his eyes. So pretty.

“How about her bias?” He says eventually. “She likes Jimin, right?”

“Ah- yeah! Try his name!”

You spend another ten minutes on every variety of Jimin’s name and birthday that you can think of. None are successful, and you begin to despair. You know you should have just taken it straight to Detective Kang, but you just want to be useful for once. Your mind drifts back to Lisa’s bedroom. She’d replaced a Jimin poster with Jungkook… wait. Jungkook! You reach over and snatch the computer from Yoongi’s grasp, quickly typing in Jungkook, jungkookie, jeonjk, jeonjeongguk, and again, everything else under the sun. Eventually, out of sheer desperation, you type in jk010997– his birthday. You hold your breath as the computer finally unlocks, revealing its desktop. 

There’s a photo open on Lisa’s desktop. When you see it, and register it, a wave of pure terror washes over you, so powerful that you fall off the bed with a thud and scramble across the room. “That’s… that’s…”

“Y/n! What is it, what’s wrong?” Yoongi says, alarm ringing in his tone. “Are you okay?”

“It’s her,” you mumble, more to yourself than anything else. Your breaths have turned shallow, and you can feel an episode coming on. Cold. Cold. You’re so cold.

“Her? That’s not Lisa, y/n, what’s going on?”

You point with a shaky finger at the computer screen, upon which a photo of a smiling redhead is displayed. “It’s her. She tried to kill me.”

#bts #bts au #bangtan #suga #yoongi #min yoongi #bts yoongi #bts suga #bts fluff #bts angst #bts drabble #bts series #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi drabble #yoongi series #yoongi au #idol!au #actor!au #yoongi x reader #bts fanfic #bts fic #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fanfic #idol!yoongi #fluff #angst #suga au

[talltalesandbedtimestories]

Cremation Charlie

Title: Cremation Charlie (COMPLETE)

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Summary: A lot has happened since Vegas. Dean meets up with you in Albuquerque. Takes place in Season 7, after Plucky's.

Word Count: 14,000

Warnings: fluff, flirting, angst, explicit language, smut, heights

A/N:  Originally posted on AO3. So, I have to thank Winchesters_queen (on AO3) for this story idea. Seeds were unknowingly planted when I chose Albuquerque as the reader's place of residence. It took me a while to get a feel for how the story should progress. And, I do like the idea of trying to follow the canon of the show. Hot or not, I feel like if the reader found out Dean had been on the FBI's Most Wanted List, there'd be a little hesitancy in meeting up again. I mean, yeah, everyone's got a type and to each their own. I just don't think this reader would find serial killers hot. But the pieces and plot fell into place. Happy with that.

Dean peeled out of the back alley of the restaurant slash playland. It was the perfect mix of a young kid’s fantasy and an adult’s hellhole. He was still chuckling, feeling the remnants down deep in his belly. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time. Not since the time he spent with you in Vegas. 

He wasn’t sure where he and Sam were headed. One thing he was sure about. Even though he missed Baby, ached to run his fingers along her steering wheel and rev her engine, he was relieved to be driving this ‘73 Mercury Cougar right now. He would have never gotten the glitter bomb Sam was covered with out of Baby’s passenger seat. Hell, Sam wouldn’t have been allowed inside her with his sparkly ass. 

They would hotwire another POS car soon enough. Would have to in order to stay under the radar of pretty much everyone at this point once they made it out of Wichita, Kansas. Or got a lead on exactly what Dick Roman was planning from Frank. Something had to give soon. Roman’s toothy grin, hiding the leviathan underneath, required some serious restructuring under Dean’s hands. 

Dean gripped the steering wheel and floored the gas on the dark open road. Fields spun out for miles, merged with the horizon in every direction. He’d missed Kansas. Wanted to hug these back roads for as many hours as he could. The peace and quiet. He rolled down the driver’s side window. Memories triggered. Not memories as much as... snapshots. Before Sam. With Mom in the passenger seat. Him behind Dad in a booster seat. Tiny. Looking up. Seeing her blonde wavy hair bouncing in the wind. Her smiling profile, directed at Dad. Her turning back to tap his little knee with a soft caress. 

Movement beside Dean broke him out of the slideshow recall. Sam shifted, his lengthy frame crumpled like a broken pretzel in the seat. Head lolling, dreaming or nightmaring about God knew what. Dean got distracted by Sam’s occasional sparkling. The glitter reminded him of strippers. Strippers reminded him of Vegas. Vegas reminded him of you.

“We’re gonna find a motel, Sammy. So you can wash all that shit off.” Dean decided.

“Hm?” Sam grunted. His eyes blinked slow, pried open with a wide yawn.

“All that clown jizz. You need to wash that crap off. Pronto.”

“Sure. Whatever.” He groaned and rubbed at his eyes. “Ah, shit.” His eyes blinked with a rapid concern. “I got fucking glitter in my eyes.”

Dean’s chuckling started up again. From deep down, genuine. Most of his chest got in on the laugh.

“It’s not funny, Dean. I could go blind. And, this isn’t plain glitter. It’s supernatural, fear manifested glitter.” Sam stared at his offending hand and continued blinking.

“Jesus. There’s some bottled water in the cooler. Rinse it out.” He thumbed behind his seat.

Sam turned to him, “What about the…” he stopped himself.

Dean knew Sam remembered they weren’t in Baby just then.

“Bend forward and flush it out.” Dean directed.

A minute passed. Dean pulled a hand towel out of his duffel in the back seat. Splashes of water dampened Dean’s jeans. He pushed the towel in Sam’s face, his eyes closed. “Pat. Don’t rub. Better?”

“A little.” Sam sighed and shook his head like a freshly washed dog.

Dean blinked his own eyes at the droplets hitting his face. “Well, don’t get it on me for Christ’s sake!”

“Not as funny, huh?” Sam huffed.

Dean sighed.

*

Dean took a shot of whiskey from Bobby’s flask, tapping away on the laptop. Browser windows opened and cascaded on top of each other on the screen. Dozens of articles on Dick Roman, his enterprise, his holdings, his ventures. Dean was sick of seeing that pompous, arrogant ass. But couldn’t stop searching. He needed to find the thing that killed Bobby.

His fingers dipped into the duffel resting on the nearby empty seat. He rummaged through, found the shape he sought out by touch, and pulled out one of Bobby’s cells they’d kept with them after he’d died. Well, Dean had kept it for a specific reason. One he hadn’t shared with Sam. Sam was currently occupied in the bathroom; scrubbing himself under the shower stream for what was going on a half hour.

He’d heard the message for the first time a month after Bobby’s death. And you’d left it a couple months before that. He should have reached out to you then. Talking to you might have helped. He’d be able to confess, explain, as crazy as everything would sound. It might have grounded him for an hour or so, talking to someone normal, outside of their circle of crazy. And, if you’d hung up and never reached out again, so be it. 

But? What if you didn’t? What if you were just a little crazy enough to give it all a listen? To be open to all of the things under the veil of normal? He’d gotten a feeling, maybe more of a suspicion, you might during those few hours you shared on that October night. Hell, maybe he would have taken off without Sammy and driven to Albuquerque to meet up with you. Finish what you’d both started in Vegas five months ago, a lifetime of pain ago. Escape. Even if it was only for a little while. 

But then he got sucked into 1944. Then he’d hooked up with the Amazon Lydia, and Sam had to kill Dean’s teen daughter, Emma, the result of said hook-up. That was a whole thing. And hours earlier they’d taken care of an employee of Plucky Pennywhistle’s Magical Menagerie, who’d been using manifestations of children’s fears to play judge, jury, and executioner to whoever he thought deserved it. Dean grinned at the still wrapped giant Slinky on the kitchenette counter. At least one good thing came out of it.

He listened to ensure the water was still running in the shower. He’s gonna be a fucking prune when he comes out. Dean hit the speaker button on the phone.

“Um, yeah. I’m looking for FBI Director, Mike Kayser.” Your voice was hesitant. Dean smiled at the way you stated your full name, all formal. You even added your middle name, a new piece of information he hadn’t heard the night you spent together. “This is insane.” You mumbled. “Look, anyway, I got this number from a guy. He said his name was Dean Winchester. I was told to call this number if I couldn’t reach him.” He frowned, anticipating the next part of the message he’d listened to a dozen times. “But, I’m calling because, well, I’m a little, no, a lot concerned. So, I met this Dean Winchester after he apparently had died. From what I found out he and his brother had themselves a murder spree across the country. Ended up on the FBI’s Most Wanted List. Got captured in Ankeny, Iowa, and were killed trying to escape.” You sighed into the phone. “Look. I really just need to know what the hell’s going on. The guy I met…” You stopped. “Well, he didn’t seem like a serial killer.” Dean pictured you rolling your eyes. “Of course, that’s what everyone says after the fact. But, he didn’t. And, I find it odd that of all the phone numbers he’d give me to contact would be that of an FBI Director. If that’s even true. So, if someone could call me back and let me know something. At the least, I’d like to know if I need to be put in Witness Protection and get an alias.” You laughed that laugh that made Dean grin. You left your number. “Thanks.”

Dean exited and scrolled through the call list. Again. For the tenth time after he’d noticed that Bobby had called the number you’d left. And, it had been a long talk for Bobby. Fucking twenty minutes. And even more curious, you had called him back a couple weeks later. Talked to Bobby again for another half hour. Chatty fucking Cathy, huh Bobby. What the hell did you talk to her about? Whatever it was had some finality to it, because there hadn’t been another call from you. And Bobby had died soon after that.

Must have been why she never tried to get in touch with me after that last time. She’s got some sense. But, I could already tell that. He knew he should leave it alone. Leave you alone. But he really wanted to know what Bobby had told you. And why the hell you’d called Bobby back.

The shower cut off. Dean yelled. “Sammy! Want me to grab us some grub? I’m starving.”

“Yeah. Something not artery clogging for me.” He sounded even more exhausted.

“It’s two am. Your kale eating ass will have to settle for whatever greasy joint is open.” Dean grumbled and grabbed his jacket off the chair back. He slipped Bobby’s phone in a pocket and headed out.

*

Dean put in the order at the diner counter, paid in advance, and stepped out in the cold March night for some privacy. The misty drizzle prickled his cheeks. His breath steamed out from his mouth. He scrolled through Bobby’s call list and pressed your number. Stared at it. Hesitated to dial.

Dean had been properly buzzed that Vegas night with you. But parts of your conversations, especially back on the rug at his motel were clear and vivid. One fact you’d told him was that you had terrible insomnia. Stayed up late most nights and existed on not much sleep. He could definitely relate to that.

He shrugged. “What the hell. I can chalk it up to a Friday night drunk dial.” Dean called your number. He felt his eyes widen when he heard you pick up on the second ring.

“Bobby?”

He could feel his eyes bug out even more. Sonava bitch gave her his real name. “Not Bobby.”

Silence for some seconds. “Dean?”

“Long time no talk, sweetheart.”

You were shifting, doing something. “How-how are you doing?”

“Been better. How about you? I know it’s late, but…”

“You knew I wouldn’t be asleep.” Your laugh was a delightful mix of soft and scratchy to Dean’s ear.

“Yeah.” He smiled. “Are you playing hard to get with me or don’t want to be found altogether?”

“Me? What about you?” You tossed back the question.

“Hey, I haven’t heard from you since those few texts a week after Vegas. Then, come to find out you’ve been chit-chatting with Bobby. You didn’t seem like the Sugar Daddy type to me.” He leaned against the side of his parked car. The bright interior of the diner and neon sign above lit up his waiting spot. It would be some minutes before his bag of food would appear on the counter.

“Do Sugar Daddies own junk yards? I didn’t realize how lucrative a business that was. Impersonating federal agents can only get someone so far, I guess.”

Dean held up a hand. “Wait. Wait a minute. How do you…”

“Bobby told me a lot, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “How much?”

“You should ask him. My mind is still trying to process most of it.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean trailed off.

“Why are you calling me on his phone, anyway?” Silence again. “Oh. How long ago?”

“It’s been a couple months.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. He sounded like a decent, upstanding man. And, I could tell… he cared a lot about you and Sam.”

“You could tell that over a couple phone conversations?”

“Yep. Men of little words say a lot when it’s important. You have to pay attention. And, catch them on a good day, I guess.”

“I heard that voicemail you left.”

“Ah. So, you know how freaked out you had me? Thanks, by the way. You owe me two months worth of sleep.”

“Sorry.”

“Bobby didn’t mention talking to me?”

“No. I guess he figured it was better you didn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Or he was occupied with more important things. It sounded like you all were working on saving the world again.”

“What the hell did he…”

“Where are you?” You switched gears on him.

“Wichita, Kansas.”

“How far is that from Albuquerque?”

Dean smiled. He’d already Googled it back at the motel. “About ten hours.”

“Think you can make it here around midnight tonight? I mean, if you have time...”

“I don’t think the world’s going to implode between now and then.”

“If that’s a joke, you have a fucking twisted sense of humor, Dean Winchester.”

Dean chuckled. “Kind of goes along with the job.”

“Yeah.” You sighed. “So, do I send you the location to meet me on this phone or the original number you gave me?”

“You still have that?”

“Yep.”

Another smile. “Send it to mine, sweetheart.”

“Will do. Oh, and bring a bottle of champagne.”

“Huh?”

“Bottle of champagne. Can be a cheap bottle. As long as it pops and fizzes when you open it.”

“Okay…”

“See you in a few hours, handsome.” You hung up.

*

Of course. The early morning nap at the motel after the greasy diner food turned into a passed out until two in the afternoon snooze fest. Sam’s unwillingness to let Dean up and leave without a detailed explanation delayed the trip as well.

Dean tapped a Sorry, gonna be late. Still okay or should we try another time? to you before he attempted to pacify his brother. “What’s the problem here, Sammy?”

Sam raised his hands. “Are you serious? You’ve had nothing on the brain but Dick since Bobby.”

Dean raised a finger along with his brows. “Rephrase.”

Sam pursed his lips before continuing. “And now, it’s ‘I’ve got something to do I’ll be back’ and you expect me to believe you’re not going off half-cocked to take care of it without me? Did you hear from Frank?”

Dean’s phone buzzed back a reply from you. Still okay. You got my directions?

“Is that him?” Sam rose from his bed and stormed over to Dean.

“No.” Dean sighed. He typed a quick Yes. “Okay, look. It’s a woman, alright.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I thought you were done with the ladies, after Lydia. That’s what you told me three days ago, Dean. Accidental fatherhood, uncle having to kill his niece and all that.”

“I am. I just… Sam.” Dean slipped the phone into his pocket and went back to packing his duffel. “There’s always another job to keep our minds off how badly we’ve screwed up until we find a way to save the world.” He zipped the bag. “I met this woman back in Vegas. That night before you went all bonkers for Becky and I had to attend your wedding.”

Sam shivered at the memory.

“I’ve got a second chance to just…” He dropped his arms in defeat and exhaustion. “Just be, man.”

“Get laid, you mean?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe that, too. But, I didn’t have to work at being anything but me with her.”

Sam’s eyes widened. Dean could tell he was ready to call bullshit with that grin. “So, she knows all about us, huh? The hunting? The apocalypse? You going to hell? Me following you a year later, stuck in Lucifer’s cage? Castiel? The leviathans? You tell her all that?”

“Bobby told her something. Before he… I just don’t know what.”

Sam shook his head. The confusion and incredulity washing over his face. “What?”

“Look, I’m going, Sam.”

Sam nodded. “I’m coming then.”

Dean shook his head.

“There’s no way you’re going anywhere without me. Besides, if we get a lead on Roman, we’ll need to move. Fast. And, we need to be together. We don’t have the back up like we used to.” Sam nodded again. “You know I’m right.”

Dean rolled his eyes and tilted his head back. “Fine.”

He sent you a message. Hope it’s okay but brother wants to tag along.

You wrote back a minute later. The more the merrier.

*

The Midwestern plains transitioned into Southwestern mesas and red rock landscapes over the trek. Sam and Dean approached the city of Albuquerque eleven hours after the start of their drive. They’d taken turns at the wheel, with Dean a much more willing passenger without Baby as their mode of transportation. Multiple signs greeted and pointed out they were on Route 66 as it became one with Central Avenue in Albuquerque. 

The urban stretch of the route through this city covered around eighteen miles, according to Mr. Walking Talking encyclopedia aka Sam Winchester. The temptation to swing into a casino they passed was great for Dean. He smiled to himself, wondering if you’d gone in there since Vegas to try your luck on roulette again. Always bet on black. A funky, pueblo style motel, named the Tewa lodge, got Dean’s attention. Note to self in case I ever find myself in the area again. He read the amenities under the VACANCY sign. ‘$29.95 and Up. Free Cable TV and FREE Local Calls’. Oh baby, you had me at ‘Kitchenette’s’. 

A diner called Loyola’s, decked out with a large neon steaming cup of coffee, served breakfast burritos when it was open according to the window stenciling. Dean’s mouth salivated at the large number of diners on the strip. My kind of city. He had to pull up to read the menu of yet another tiny restaurant called The Doghouse. The long rectangular neon sign resting atop the boxy building had an animated brown weiner dog wagging its tail. Dean slapped Sam’s chest. “Foot-long chili dogs, Sammy. Foot. Long.”

“Dude, I would never get in the car with you after you ingested something like that.”

“This is definitely my kind of city.” Dean beamed in the dark under the flashing neon. “Hey, what do they call those food tours, where you taste tons of different things?”

“Gastronomy.” Sam chuckled.

“I wanna gastronomy all over this bitch.” Dean pulled back onto the road.

“They certainly like their neon.” Sam pointed to a bright cowboy riding a horse as it lassoed the “El Don” in the name of the El Don Motel sign. “Lots of history here.”

“Yeah, I’m guessing EMF is off the charts in a lot of these places.” Dean added.  

Modern and Spanish mission style mingled together on every street. For every building with crisp edges and straight lines there was another with stucco, a red tile roof and rounded edges. They took in as much as they could in the early morning drive, ticking past two am. They drove over the Rio Grande River. But the city wasn’t their ultimate destination. At least not according to your directions. Once through the city, it was another twenty minutes of solitary travel through grassland and barren, desert vistas. Mesas cut silhouettes against the night sky. The Mercury Cougar’s wheels finally spun onto the dirt road they’d been in search of after Sam had to pull out a road map when the GPS gave out.

Sam caught the beacon of activity first. “Down that way. Looks like truck lights.” He pointed. “Sure we’re not walking into some sort of trap, Dean?”

He patted Sam’s shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s good you came along to protect me from myself, little brother.” Dean’s stomach flipped. But not with unease. It was in anticipation of seeing you again. “She’s cool, man. No weird vibes, even if we are in Breaking Bad territory.”

“You don’t have a stellar track record with the ladies you’ve picked up lately.”

“Shut up.”

On approach, the headlights of four 4x4 trucks came into focus, parked in a neat row one next to the other by the road. A group of people were assembled around the back of the vehicles. A couple seated on the open tailgates, some standing, and all looked to have beers in hand.

Dean slid the Cougar alongside one of the trucks, parked, then smiled when you walked over to greet him and his brother. Every shitty moment of the past five months slipped away when your figure was spotlighted in his headlamps. Whatever, wherever this was, you looked in your element here. Relaxed and confident in faded jeans and the kind of t-shirt Dean liked on a woman. The kind that grips all those dangerous curves and leaves nothing to the imagination.

“Come on, Sam. Let’s make our introductions.” Dean hopped out without waiting for Sam’s response.

You strolled up to the open car door and met Dean on the other side, an open beer bottle gripped in one hand; two dangling by their necks between fingers in the other. “You found it.” You smiled.

“Could have warned us it’d be a huge pain in the ass to get here.”

A grin this time. “What would have been the fun in that?”

Damn, he didn’t realize how much he missed that look on your face until he saw it again. Dean made the introductions between you and Sam. You offered the beers.

“I hear you like desert treks, Sam.”

Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

“Well, that’s what you were off doing when I met Dean in Vegas. Where’d you end up, anyway, that night?”

“Married.” Dean answered for him.

Sam spit out some of his beer. He wiped his face with the back of his cuff. “Quickie wedding. Quickie divorce.” Sam explained.

It was your turn to raise eyebrows. “Wow. How come that wasn’t on your agenda of things to do that night, Dean?”

Dean leaned against the side of the car. “If we’d been together a few more hours, who knows, sweetheart.”

You laughed. “Sure.”

The cold beer slid easy down Dean’s throat. His lips smacked together. “So, what’s the deal?” He pointed to the group. A huddle of three eyed the newcomers. The other two were kissing in the truck bed and didn’t take much notice of anything.

“That’s my crew. We’ve got a job at sunrise. Testing out the equipment.”

“Job? This doesn’t look like an office job.” Dean grinned.

“Little side business I started a couple years back. More of a passion you might say.” You shrugged.

“At three am in the morning I’d say so.” Dean quipped.

You stepped into Dean’s space, your sneaker tapping his boot. “Maybe I can get some free labor out of you boys?”

“Depends.” He licked his lips, staring at you.

“On?”

“If I get some alone time with you later.” His eyes looked dead straight into yours, unblinking, waiting to see if you’d cave. He remembered how good you felt, so close, when he’d gotten the nerve to do his Luke Bryan impersonation in the motel room. He wanted to feel your lips pressed to his again. See if they were as soft as he remembered.

Sam cleared his throat a few feet away.

You backed away. Dean smiled in victory over the blush he’d caused. “Come on over.” You sighed, shaking your head, as you released the statement.

Dean eyed the curve of your hips leading the way. Sam elbowed him and gave the “Dude, take it down a notch” expression.

“Everybody,” your voice was loud, in charge, and Dean appreciated the change. “This is Dean Wilton and Sam Jackson.”

What the hell? Dean could feel Sam’s quizzical look burrowing down at him, even without turning.

A younger guy, tall and almost Sam’s height but with a buzzcut, thrust himself in front of them with eager handshakes. “It’s an honor to even be considered for an article in the BFA journal.”

Sam and Dean stared wide-eyed at each other and then you.

“Don’t pay Stan much mind. He’s still wet behind the ears.” A tubby man spoke up in a baseball cap, his arm around a cute little blonde sitting next to him in the truck bed. They’d been the two kissing earlier. “You lucked out. It’s gonna be a nice morning to launch.”

Sam mouthed the word launch? to Dean.

“So, you two are freelance journalists?” Stan asked.

Dean gave your grin only a second of his attention. “Uh, yeah. You know, love the open road… love to… freelance.” He waved the beer around in a dramatic gesture. “Go where the wind takes us.”

Stan tapped his biceps and let out a chuckle. “Where the wind takes you. I see what you did there.”

“So,” you continued. “along with Stan, we have Marvin,” she pointed to the man on the truck, “Cleo,” the girl under his arm, “and over there is Gen and Gabe.” A female and male, both Native American, gave a quick nod.

Sam waved. “Nice to meet all of you.”

“I told them you’d basically be observing and might help out if you felt so inclined.” You clarified to Sam and Dean. “We want to get two trucks out over there to shine some light on the situation, give us a little halo to work with?”

“On it.” Stan raced away to the farthest truck. Marvin and Cleo hopped off the bed and got into their cab.

“Gabe.” You nodded. “How about you and Gen over there in the middle, and start to unload the equipment?”

“Got it, boss.”

Once it was the three of you, alone, Dean was the first to speak. “Journalists, sweetheart? And, what the hell is going on?”

Your eyes stared back at him, innocent with a little hint of mischief. “Isn’t this what you boys do? Go undercover a lot? I thought the FBI thing would scare them. And, Marvin might actually try to look like he’s working if he thinks someone’s writing a story on us. This might be his last launch if he can’t get it together.”

“Shit, you really do know a ton about us.” Sam blinked his eyes in rapid succession.

“Bobby told me about the ghosts, monsters, angels, demons, and those nasty suckers you're dealing with at the moment. The reason you ended up being on America’s Most Wanted.” You shrugged. “Your last names were apparently everywhere along with those cute mugs of yours. I didn’t want to connect all the dots for my crew, in case any of them care about what’s happening in the world and actually track the news.”

“Thoughtful, I guess.” Dean tilted his head. “But, still. What the hell is going on? What’s the BFA?”

Sam added, “And, what exactly, are you launching?”

You smiled. “BFA is the Balloon Federation of America.”

Dean’s mouth hung open. “Balloons? You're launching balloons?”

“One very big balloon, Dean.”

*

You smiled at how agreeable and accommodating the boys were at taking directions. And it was kind of fun bossing Dean around. You got a sense he was enjoying it as well.

Dean assisted Gen and Gabe with pulling all the heavy equipment out of one of the truck beds. The propane tanks and inflation fans were the most cumbersome. Dean helped Gabe with the four passenger gondola, much lighter made of wicker, but awkward in size and shape for only one to maneuver. He worked from atop the truck, guiding it down to Gabe. He was wearing way too many layers for what was to come. But, for now, the March temperature was chilly enough that you didn’t bother to mention it. He’ll find out soon enough.

“Gondola, huh?” Dean hopped down. His boots hit the ground. His body, silent and agile, like a cat. “I thought only boats in Venice or at The Venetian were called that.” He brushed his hands together and wandered over to stand beside you.

“You can call it a basket. You aren’t an official part of my chase crew, so I’ll give you a pass.”

He shook his head. “We talked about a lot of things that night. Why not this?”

“Could say the same about you.” You tilted your head, studying him in the dark. His jaw clenched at the call out. That scruff begged for you to run your nails over it. You wanted to hear the scratch and feel the grit under your fingers, like fine sandpaper. Focusing, even on your train of thought, was a true struggle with him in such close proximity. You did your best to continue. “This is sacred to me. Not a lot of people understand why I love it so much. Or, why I have to do it. So, I’m a little protective.”

“So, why show it to me now?” His voice was low, tentative.

“Cause you called. And, you were close. And, who knows when I’ll see you again.” Another question was begging to be asked by Dean. The expression on his face was pained and confused, like a little boy. How does he go from sexy to cute in a fraction of a second? “What?”

“I still don’t understand why Bobby would tell you… everything.”

Stan and Marvin placed the large canvas bag, with Sam’s help, by the gondola, resting on its side. Gabe and Gen positioned the inflation fan and readied the burner.

“If you do a good job, Winchester,” you lifted onto your tiptoes to whisper in Dean’s ear, “maybe you and I can go somewhere private later and talk more about… everything.”

His lopsided grin fueled the flirting. “I’m up to any task. Here to learn all about ballooning, right?”

You smiled back. “So, right now, we are in the putting up phase.”

“Putting out?” Dean questioned for clarification and licked his lips.

You giggled. “Putting up. This is the setup and inflation phase.”

“Ah.” He pointed to Sam, holding the large bag open while Stan and Marvin unpacked the contents. “Kid’s a natural.” He nodded to the first part emerging from the bag. “What’s that?”

“That’s the skirt of the envelope. Envelope is the balloon. That’s in the bag, too. Those wires are what connect the envelope to the gondola.” Gen and Gabe fastened the skirt in place. Stan and Marvin began to unfold the balloon out to its full length.

Dean’s eyes widened as they continued unfolding. “How tall is it?”

“Almost 70 feet.”

Dean whistled.

“Sam?” You called out to the younger, but taller, of the brothers. “Would you mind meeting Stan and Marvin down by the other end? Tell Stan I asked you to help with the crown line, please?”

“Crown line. Got it.” Sam was all smiles. He really looked like he was enjoying himself.

“What’s the crown line?”

“You’d make a really good journalist, Dean.” You waited for his Okay, Wise Ass look to form before answering. “Think of it like an anchor. Sam will be in charge of holding that rope nice and taut while we inflate the balloon.”

“What am I going to help with, boss?” Dean mused and watched Stan pull at the balloon, unwrapping the folds with great care like a present on one of the sides. 

You appreciated Stan’s excitement in ballooning even if he could be a little over the top. Marvin’s lackluster attempt as he unfolded the other side to match Stan’s light bulb pattern produced a frown on your lips.

“Boss?” Dean waved a hand in front of your face, pulling you out of your internal staff assessment. “Wow, this really is a passion, huh?” Dean’s narrowing eyes studied you.

You nodded. “I told you it was.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Here I am trying my best to compete with a bunch of polyester fabric.”

“Nylon, actually, and fire resistant material to boot.” Dean sidled up closer in the dark that wasn’t that dark, with the bright moon low in the sky and the truck lights criss crossing over the scene. The heat of his body broke through the chilly March morning, entering your space. 

God, you had missed him more than you thought was possible. In the space of a few hours that October night, he’d imprinted a want that you hadn’t been able to shake. It had been nights and days of thoughts of him. And, then, when you came across the rather terrifying information that Dean and his brother had been serial killer fugitives on a murderous crime spree - one that had ended up in their deaths - well, the thoughts had turned ominous and life threatening. Thank God Bobby called me back. You’d been saddened by the news of the gruff and sweet hunter who’d helped so much in such a short amount of time. You were debating when to hit Dean with the other information you had been holding back. If there would even be time to do that tonight.

A finger tapped on the side of your chin. “What do we do with you, Dean?”

His brows rose in one uniform gesture. “I’ve got some ideas.” The voice crept out low with a ton of possible innuendos ready to spill out.

“Since you can’t keep that mouth of yours shut... you and Gabe can hold the mouth open while we inflate.” You resolved. “May want to lose a couple layers. It’s gonna get pretty hot up in here. Go help Gabe with the fan and ready the burner for me.”

“Sassy and bossy.”

You nodded. “It’s my night to call the shots. You had your fun in Vegas.”

“Aw, come on. You had fun, too.” Dean peeled the jacket and button up off together in one deft motion. The discarded clothes draped over the side of your truck bed. “Remember Cherie?”

You cleared your throat. “How could I forget?”

Dean tilted his head, looking a bit taken aback at your enthusiasm. “I was there, too, remember?”

The self-deprecation made you giggle. “How could I forget?” You repeated. Pointing to the balloon, you reminded, “Less talk, more action.”

*

A half-hour had passed and the inflation process was almost done. Stan and Marvin had released some small helium balloons to gauge the wind conditions, chasing them in the dark sky with their flashlights. Sam did a great job at the top of the envelope with the crown line. You could hear him conversing with the men and Gen with genuine interest in the launch preparations. You took special note of how animated Gen was with Sam, the very opposite of her normal broody demeanor. Massive mountain of a man with flowy mane and mutton chops is her type. Code is finally cracked.

You’d manned the burner, shooting fire into the mouth of the envelope like a dragon in staccato bursts. Dean had spent a lot of time talking over the roar of the flame and the fan’s motor. His questions were directed at Gabe on the other side of the opening. Your silent sympathy went out to both of the men. Their arms had been extended and their bodies positioned in awkward stages for a long time to tent the envelope in order to get her airborne. You remembered your own burn and fatigue endured as part of a chase crew growing up. Their muscles might be screaming in agony the next day. 

Gabe was pleasant enough to the so-called reporter, answering Dean in short statements. But his attention was elsewhere. He kept peeking down the other end to the crown line where his sister Genessee had wandered to talk to Sam. The protective older brother was emerging. 

Your gaze kept going back to Dean for much of the process. His initiation began with burrowing into the balloon's mouth, head first, on his hands and knees. It provided a sweet view of his even sweeter ass before he gathered the fabric over his shoulders and rose up in victory. 

He was quite the distraction with all of the delicious little details you got to inspect. His biceps bulged and stretched the sleeves of his white t-shirt. The sweat that caused the shirt material to stick to random parts of his torso also drenched his forehead. Being so near to the burner and its heat had every patch of exposed skin glistening in the fire’s flame. He licked the perspiration pouring down his face and onto his lips. Your heart stopped a few times when he tugged his shirt up to wipe at his face, giving you a glimpse of the firm chest and undulating tummy you had only dreamed about on occasion.

He called out to you once, his grin bright in the orange glow, “Like blowing wind up my skirt, sweetheart?”

You smiled back and nodded, relishing the flirting just enough without making Gabe uncomfortable. Your assessment of the inflation continued even with the distraction. It always brought butterflies to your stomach, watching the rise of the fabric, bowing bigger until you could stare into the tunnel ahead, like some psychedelic acid trip. You directed Dean to change position and follow Gabe’s lead when the envelope hinted its impending lift off the ground. You checked in with Stan, your point person walking back and forth from the crown line to the gondola, screaming over the fan and burner. “Get Marvin here to hold her steady! Won’t be much longer before we launch!”

Stan saluted and ran off in search of Marvin.

“Gabe, I think Sam can ease off the crown line. Want to get him and Gen back here.”

Gabe’s wary glance went from you to Dean.

“Dean’s got it.” You calmed his concern.

Dean gave Gabe a thumbs up. Gabe nodded and hurried to pass along the instructions.

“Dean, can you help me pull the gondola back and then tilt up when I give you the word? Don’t let her go or you owe me forty grand.” Dean’s surprised expression made you chuckle. You shut off the fan and flashed the burner steady. The balloon was rising up like a drawbridge, quicker and quicker. “Now.”

He nodded, staring up in awe, so close to the imposing object and its dominance of the sky above them. The sheen of her metallic panels were muted and dulled in the dark. 

“She’s even prettier in the daylight.” You answered Dean’s silent inspection. “Pink, purple, and blue. She sparkles in the sun.”

He gave you a smile right as Marvin and Stan returned to your side.

“Clear out the fan and get that extra propane tank.” You called to the men and tugged the flame bright again. “Short ride still needs some backup fuel.” 

Soon the whole crew was back, hands clamped on the sides of the gondola, keeping your baby in place, tethered to the ground for a few more minutes. Sam and Dean smiled at each other like kids. That alone made your whole night.

“Walkie-talkies on and ready?” You tapped yours on, snug on your belt buckle, and confirmed the nods from Gen, Stan, and Marvin. You grabbed one of the rails and hopped onto the edge, then swung one leg in followed by the other and slid into the gondola. Gabe secured the tank into its holding spot beside you. “Alright, Mr. Wilton? Ready for that ride?”

*

It took Dean a couple seconds to realize the question was directed at him. “Wha-what?”

“How are you going to write that article if you don’t get in?” You asked, perplexed and confused, smiling through the question.

Dean’s mouth rounded into an “O” and then he shook his head. “Oh. Yeah. No. I can’t.”

Your heart dropped.

Sam whispered somewhere behind you. “He’s scared of flying. Airplanes.” You looked at Sam, who shrugged. “Probably heights, too.”

You shook your head at Dean. “I can guarantee you, Dean, that after a couple minutes you’ll be fine. No relative altitude, if it's a height thing. And, we don’t have much of a choice but to work with the wind, not enough power to fight an air current. I promise not to take you higher than 3,000 feet.” You smiled.

His look was filled with dread and apprehension. “Is that all?” 

You thought back to your first night together and opted for the flirty approach. You waited for his eyes to land on yours as they glanced everywhere in worry. “You’ll be glad you took the chance.”

That cracked the surface of worry. “And if I’m not and want to jump out?”

You nodded. “I’ll lower this baby enough for you to skydive out.” The seconds ticked by. A sigh left your mouth. “Mr. Jackson might be better suited for this part of the reporting.”

Sam chuckled. “Oh, I’m up for it. But, I think Dean will be kicking himself if he doesn’t take you up on the offer.”

Dean shrugged. “We could both go.”

You looked at Dean in amazement. Geez, he really is scared if he’s turning down an opportunity to be alone with me.

“We can’t both go. Somebody’s gotta interview and be a part of the chase crew.” You caught Sam’s slight nod to Gen, standing behind him as he spoke directly to Dean across the gondola. “Don’t be a wuss.” Sam egged.

“I’m not a wuss.” Dean mumbled. More moments of indecision worked over his face. “Fine.” He hopped into the gondola before he could debate any further with himself. It teetered with the additional weight and Dean looked ready to bolt out again.

“Keys, Dean?” Sam questioned

“In my jacket, on the truck.” He leaned forward, wedging his ass into a corner of the wicker basket and staring at its floor. Fingers white knuckled the side edges, his arms locked and splayed out. He looked like he was bracing himself for a rocket launch. Or perhaps anticipating motion sickness.

You shook your head to yourself. There didn’t seem any point in trying to comfort him at the moment. He’ll just have to see for himself. “Gabe, you drive my truck and lead the chase.” You readied your hand on the burner.

Gen raised a hand to alert her brother. “I’ll ride with Sam. Answer some questions.”

Sam seemed quite happy with the decision. Gabe, not so much.

You pulled out your trusty baseball cap, out of your secret stash pocket with essentials, and grabbed an extra one for Dean. A slight shove placed it in his sight line in the arm’s length of space between the both of you. “Put this on, going to get hot.”

He hesitated with a grunt, then hurried with a swift and snug placement of the cap on his head. The death grip returned to the basket. He still didn’t look up. His eyes scrunched shut nice and tight.

When you turned back to Sam, you whispered. “He’ll be fine.”

Sam nodded.

You nodded to the crew, gave the thumbs up, then tugged at the burner. The flame roared. Everyone’s hands lifted up at once, releasing your anchor to the ground. The balloon rose up soft and steady, an almost imperceptible shift, like you knew it would. The slight hiccup in your stomach from the elation reminded you of all those countless balloon rides growing up. A tilt to glance down over the edge saw your crew shrink below, awash in the headlights, their necks craned up to survey the flight.

Dean asked, disgruntled and impatient, eyes still closed, once the burner silenced for a bit. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Done, Dean. Open your eyes if you want. Tiny Sam down below.”

“What?” His face shot up. One eye popped open, staring at you, then the motion of the scenery behind you. “We…”

“We’re in the air.” Pilot mode was second nature to you at this point. Scanning the environment for any potential hazards, changes in wind conditions, flaming so you could rise were just a few of the dozen things you multitasked as you calmed your nervous and oh so handsome passenger. You had to admit some of the elation you felt was due to his presence this early morning. “How are you doing?”

His other eye opened and his head rotated left, right, up, down. Wide-eyed under the baseball cap, he ventured out of the corner. His boots slid with care along the basket’s side as if he was scaling a wall. A quick lengthening of his neck allowed him to peer down at the group on the ground. “Holy shit!” There was more awe than fear in his voice.

You radioed to Gabe, “Looks good up here. I don’t think Mr. Wilton will be joining you all down below just yet. Over.” The look on Dean’s face was priceless as he took in the atmosphere. You could see the hesitancy fading away and the relief building.

“Copy that, Silent Lucidity. Which direction you headed? Over.”

“Looks like she’s going where the little ones headed earlier. So, Northwest. Keep an eye on her and I’ll check in at fifteen. Over.”

“Got it. Over and out.” Static punctuated the end of Gabe’s statement.

“I’ve got a little lantern light I can flip on, if you need it.” You offered to Dean. “But, it can mess with the view. So, let me know.”

“Will it make it hard for you to steer or whatever?” Dean asked.

“Not steering, but no, not really. We picked this launch site for a reason. There will be a beautiful sunrise view for the job. Not a lot of things to stare at but sky.”

He chuckled. “So, you’re really gonna be up here again in less than a couple hours with a guy who’ll be proposing to his girlfriend?”

“Yep. Still doing okay?”

“Yeah. I’m good. Surprisingly good, actually. Nothing like being in an airplane or staring out of a 40th floor window.”

“Told ya.”

“You did. I’ll never doubt you again.” He was working his way closer to you, edging with care. “What’s it take to become a pilot?”

“Hundred clocked flight hours, FAA certification.”

His features came into bright focus under the burner flames, only a foot away from you. He’d taken off his baseball cap. “Wow. That’s impressive.” You could tell he meant it. Then, the gears of some random thought fell into place. “Queensrÿche?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“So, her name’s Silent Lucidity?”

Another nod. “Sometimes I like to play the song when she launches.”

“Nice. You really are full of surprises, sweetheart.”

“So are you, Dean. How can someone who’s battled Lucifer be afraid of heights?”

He shrugged. “Hey, I’m still human.”

“From the stories I heard, you leveled up beyond most of us mere mortals a long time ago.”

His eyes flashed in the flame. You were the only thing he was focusing on now. “So, what did Bobby tell you? Exactly?”

“He told me that your dad got into hunting because a demon killed your mom. You and Sam were brought up in it. You’ve dealt with pretty much every monster anyone could think of. Nothing much surprises you anymore. Not after Heaven and Hell.” You stopped, watching him study you. “Told me that you went to Hell and came back. Then, there was the impending Apocalypse. Thanks for saving the world, by the way.” Your mind was a swirl of impossible details as you tried to recall things in the correct order. “Then, you tried to save your brother from Lucifer. But, he ended up in some cage with the devil and the archangel Michael. Sam came back to the surface, not quite whole after that. When you tried to put him back together again, well Lucifer decided to scramble his egg instead. And, that now, Sam’s dealing with some major PTSD. And, that you lost a good friend recently.”

He couldn’t hide his confusion. “Why would he tell you all that?”

“He said he heard how scared I sounded when I left the message. That the only way he could explain the crazy was with even more crazy. That if I wanted to believe my life wasn’t in danger, I’d have to believe what he was going to tell me. And, that if I ever told anyone else, they’d more than likely have me committed. He also said you never, ever gave anyone outside of the hunting circle that particular number. So, you must have wanted to stay in touch with me. Or, he guessed, you’d want to be there for me if I needed help. Bobby said if that was the case, you’d want me to know the truth if it would make me feel better.”

Dean shook his head and smiled. His eyes were glassy in the burst of another flame.

“He cared about you a lot Dean.” Your thoughts reversed with your own past. “He sounded a lot like my dad.” You shook yourself out of them to focus on Dean. “So, Sam is…”

“Putting up one helluva fight to keep Lucifer at bay.”

“And, you?” You didn’t ask for permission and tapped on the lantern light. His features glowed in the amber light cascading into the gondola behind your right shoulder. 

Those murky green eyes stared back with a set, clenched jaw. His tall frame dipped down, you guessed to get a better view of your reaction from under the rim of your baseball cap. “What about me?”

“It sounds like you sacrifice a lot for the good of the mission. For the good of Sam. Always.”

“Really? You got that out of a couple phone calls with a drunk old coot?” The smile teased. His low voice dripped with sarcasm and exhaustion.

“Maybe. You left me that night in Vegas. For Sam. When he called.”

The smile was gone in an instant. “Sweetheart, if I could have…”

“But, you couldn’t, Dean. Because of Sam.” Both shoulders rose. “And, hey, I get it. Family and all. It’s not like you were bailing your brother out of jail after another night of hell raising.” You shook your head. “Bad choice of words. But, you know what I mean. You both have had monumental, earth shattering decisions, universe affecting choices to make. What’s a night with a woman you’d just met in Vegas mean in the grand scheme of things?”

His hand lifted up over both your heads. His fingers draped over yours on the burner control. The touch was light, delicate, electric, and warmer than the flame. “It meant a lot to me.”

You swallowed hard, tilting your chin up to stare. The propane smell was thick in the air. You sighed. “Alright, Cremation Charlie.”

That broke him from his swoon worthy stare. “Huh?”

“Cremation Charlie was a nickname for a poor sap, back in the day before they’d invented inflation fans. The guy in the chase crew who put his life on the line. He was the one that would stand in the mouth of the envelope, hold it open while the burner heated the air to get the damn balloon off the ground. Risked burning himself to a crisp for the mission. Over and over again.”

Dean closed his eyes and grinned. “Yeah, that sounds like me.” His fingers skimmed over yours. You took the moment to spy and pay homage to his physique. His body still damp in spots with perspiration. His smell. His heat. “It’s pretty quiet up here.” He mumbled, eyes still closed, his frame swaying a couple inches back and forth.

You didn’t want to disrupt the silence. But you’d need to warm the air again to stay in the current floating you to where you hoped to end up. “Give it a tug.” You whispered.

His eyes jolted open at the soft command. “Huh?” The green in his eyes sparkled.

You slipped your hand out from under his. “Let’s get a rise out of you.” You grinned. “Heat us up, big boy.”

Dean smiled and tugged at the burner, looking up into the mouth and watching the flame burst alive. “What happens if we get too high?”

You wrapped your fingers around another dangling rope. “I pull on this and a vent opens to let air escape. Helps us descend.”

“So, if I get too carried away, you can put on the brakes?”

“Something like that.”

He shook his head and stared down at you. The fear was gone. The Dean you met that Vegas night was back and in full force. “You, in charge. Sexy as hell.”

You giggled at the tease. “You like bossy women?”

“Don’t tell anybody.” You gasped at the other hand pushing into the small of your back, pulling you into his embrace. His hand on the control, your hand on the rope, tangled against each other in a dance of commands and directions. “I wish Sammy had stayed on his desert trek that night.” Dean licked his bottom lip, inspecting yours. “Things might have been a lot different.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

He smiled, bent down, tilted at just the right angle to fit under the rim of your cap, and pressed his mouth to yours. It was eager and investigating, searching with his tongue, making you moan. You felt him tug on the control, the flame roaring above you.

You broke for a second. “Easy there, tiger.” Your eyes scanned the area around you.

“Hey, I was just following orders.” He smirked.

“Yeah.” You sighed. “Okay, that’s enough playing pilot.”

He chuckled and released his hold from the burner, but not from you. “When are you done with your job this morning?”

“We should be done and packed up no later than nine. Do you have to leave right after?” Your mouth dropped into a frown.

“We’re waiting on some word about the…” He censored his information even though you already knew about it all. “Trail’s gone cold for a bit.” He tugged the walkie talkie from your belt without asking and brought it to his mouth. Your mouth opened in protest, but he began to speak before you could voice anything. “Sam? You there? Dean, here. Over.”

A few seconds passed. “Dean? What’s up? Over.”

“I think we’re going to need more hours of... investigative journalism after the job. Over.” The smirk on his face and naughtiness in his eyes made your core ache.

Sam cleared his throat over the radio. “I’ll get a room. Over.”

Dean smiled down at you. “Copy that. Over and out.”

*

Never would have thought. Bossy looks damn good on her.

After swallowing down the panic for the first part of the balloon ride and realizing how skilled of a pilot you were, Dean switched into his autopilot mode around a beautiful woman. Flirty, feisty, and all fingers. It was as necessary as breathing for him. And, he missed it. Especially how easy it flowed with you, regardless of the environment. Whether the chaotic energy of the Vegas strip or the sublime floating dream that he was in right now, in the air above Albuquerque. You were the constant he was craving to touch.

Your eyes were shy to hold his gaze one minute, then challenging him in a staring contest the next. You’d roll your eyes at a cheeky joke, then blush at a flirty turn of phrase. And your voice. It was light and airy, not bouncy or super peppy. With just the right amount of conviction and authority when you needed it to be. And those lips. Damn. I gotta find out all the things they can do.

He tested the waters again. Snaked his fingers around your waist and pulled you close. He’d pulled the cap off your head without asking. The questions thrown out were due to his interest but also his wanting to distract you. He needed to get at the skin under that tight sky blue t-shirt. He held back a sigh and clenched his jaw at how warm and welcoming you felt. He thought you might be onto his ulterior motives but were more than willing to go along for the ride.

Turns out you had been ballooning for as long as you could remember, growing up in Colorado. Your parents had been what one would call enthusiasts when it came to hot air balloons. And as their only child, well there was no way you weren’t going to get the balloon bug. Your dad was a pilot, your mom a part of his chase crew. They held balloon rallys, hosted events and it was just another Sunday for you to be up in the Colorado air surrounded by a dozen other balloons.

You’d moved to Albuquerque right after college. Dean smiled when you told him the city you called home was known as the Ballooning Capital of the World. The International Balloon Fiesta was held in the Rio Grande Valley every October. It had been one of the main reasons you settled there. You were geeking out with the facts, explaining more about the intricacies of piloting, talking about balloon glows and mass ascensions, while his grip on you tightened. Goddamn adorable. 

Then he asked about what your parents were up to now. A frown replaced his smile, finding out your parents had passed away a year after you moved. They had been on a hunting trip at their cabin in the mountains. Authorities deemed a horrible bear attack had been the cause. That had been eight years ago.

He wanted to ask if that had been the impetus for Bobby telling you so much; if you had mentioned that before his truth spilled out. Bobby knew, had known, loss better than anyone. And, if he knew you had no close family? Well, he was a softie when it came to helping out a lady in distress. Hell, isn’t every hunter that appreciates a pretty woman? But Dean held it in, stared into your eyes, and told you how sorry he was. You gave him a soft peck on the lips in thanks.    

You didn’t play when it came to your balloon, Dean learned quickly. You’d found a field to touch down at after a half-hour in the air and radioed to the chase crew. Dean gave you some space to pilot for the all important landing. He watched with great interest at your actions, venting and burning, guiding your baby. He felt a pang in his chest, missing Baby, squirreled away under a tarp in a barn miles away. 

You were working with the wind to get to your hoped for spot. Patience. She has a ton of it. Accepting what she can’t control and working with what she’s given to get to her destination. Maybe she needs to give me some lessons.

The four trucks and Sam in the Cougar roared up the nearest road from down below. Headlights bright in a caravan formation. The sky was starting to lighten. Dawn would arrive soon. Got a ride in a fucking hot air balloon with the prettiest pilot there is. Dean smiled at you.

You caught the look on his face with a turn of your head. The balloon was careening downward at a nice clip as you vented. “What?”

“Crash landing?” An eyebrow rose.

“Not if I can help it. But you might want to hold on to something.”

Dean pressed himself to your back, trapping you between his arms as he gripped the edge of the gondola. “This good?”

You cleared your throat and he chuckled.

The chase crew made good time, ejecting from their vehicles to rush over. The gondola swooped down. You tried to keep her parallel to the ground as she propelled forward. Her front end hit first, bouncing like morse code. Dean leaned back like a counterweight. Gabe and Stan caught up to the back end and grabbed a hold, braking and slowing the motion.

Marvin appeared to hold the basket down as well. You pulled the vent open all the way. The fabric of the envelope began to puddle like a discarded dress. Dean spotted Sam grab at the crown line with Gen as they helped to guide it down.

You were directing and ordering again, reminding everyone you didn’t have a lot of time to deflate and pack up to get back to where you had launched. The blush and heat in your cheeks was noted by Dean in silence as the crew pushed out the remaining air in the balloon and folded it up. Dean helped get the gondola back onto one of the trucks and secured all the other equipment. The entire event had exhilarated and lit up all of his senses. He wanted to take you in his arms and kiss that energy all over you. But the crew would only have more questions.

Everyone had hauled collective asses back to the launch site to start the putting up process all over again. Dean rode with Sam, discussing the balloon ride and how much time he thought he’d need alone with you. Sam shook his head and laughed, extolling all of the fun things he’d learned about Gen. There was a lighter feeling in the air of their car. No talk of leviathans or hunts or Lucifer or the loss of Bobby. For a short amount of time, they were two guys comparing notes about pretty girls and having some goddamn fun with a group of people.

When Dean closed the passenger side of the car, he ran to your truck for his next order. He gave you a cheeky salute. “Cremation Charlie, reporting for duty.”

You smiled back, cool and deliberate. Sam slid up to Dean’s side. “I can go and help with the crown line again.” He offered.

“You guys have been great. Really.” You nodded. “But, we’ve got this round. And, after this next part, you’re going to want to head out.”

Dean frowned. “Not leaving yet, sweetheart.” The tone in his voice was insistent.

“Not leaving Albuquerque, yet.” You agreed. Another smile. “You bring that champagne like I asked?”

Dean tilted his head toward the car.

“Grab it.”

He sighed. Sam shrugged and stood his ground. A quick trip to the car and a reach into the open window of the back seat found the bottle. Dean jogged back only to find you and Sam had moved to the rest of the crew, even Cleo, now beside the gondola. The envelope had already been unpacked and unfurled on the ground.

“If you’d be so kind and open that, Dean.” You motioned to the champagne. 

Dean fumbled with the wire cage over the cork.

“We have a tradition for first time riders. Sam, even though you didn’t go up, you certainly proved an invaluable part of the crew. So, I think you should get to partake as well.” You continued.

Dean eased the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying pop and a small bit of fizz leaked out, down his hand.

“May I?” You reached for the bottle.

Dean passed it over with a smile.

“On your knees, boys.” You ordered.

The entire crew chuckled at Dean and Sam’s expressions.

You pointed to the ground.

Dean cocked his head to his brother. Sam sighed. They knelt down in unison, staring up at you.

“This is what we call your initiation, a baptism you might say.” The seriousness in your voice made Dean’s eyes narrow as he stared at you. “Let us pray.” 

The crew bent their heads. Sam elbowed Dean to do the same. But all he wanted to do was keep his eyes on you. You lifted your eyelids at his gaze and coerced Dean to follow suit with the rest. His grin rose one side of his mouth upward before he gave in.

“Sam and Dean.” Dean spied your sneakers strolling closer, the earth crunching beneath your steps. “May the winds welcome you with softness.” Your voice was low, reverent. “May the sun bless you with its warm hands.” Dean thought back to when it was only the two of you, up in the air, free. “And then set you gently back into the loving arms of Mother Earth.” You finished.

He couldn’t wait to be alone with you again. And, then, Dean felt the cool bubbling liquid pour over his head. Son of a bitch.

*

The entrance bell dinged when you stepped foot in Loyola’s. Your eyes lit up when you chanced upon Dean, sitting in one of the booths, digging into a breakfast burrito at 11:00 am. He waited. The sign by the register encouraged you to seat yourself. You made your way over to the Winchester brother that made your insides somersault.

He glanced up at your approach, looking adorable and sinful at the same time. He chewed with gusto and reverence. To your surprise, he dropped the burrito and bolted out of his seat to stand by the table. It gave you the opportunity to inspect his sturdy frame. The change of clothes confirmed he’d found somewhere to shower. A faded denim button-up draped over his shoulders. Amazingly, you thought he might only be wearing one layer atop the wide span of his chest. He was doing the entire city of Albuquerque a civil service, swaddling those fine bow legs and ass into a tight pair of dark jeans. Do not drool. “Hey.” The dab of a napkin wiped away some scrambled egg from his chin. “You finally made it.” His smile extended from ear to ear.

You gripped the shoulder strap of your bag. The soap scent filled your nostrils. Damn. How did his smile make your mind cease to function? “Yeah. Sorry. Wrap up took longer than expected.” You shrugged. “And, I needed to clean up, too.” You grinned.

“Hm. Well, you didn’t have someone pour champagne all over you. You're lucky I don’t have Baby with me.” He motioned for you to sit.

Your bag hit the bench seat before you slid in across from him. “Baby?”

“All that storytelling and Bobby didn’t mention my pride and joy?”

You frowned, wondering who or what in the hell Baby was.

“My car. Was my Dad’s.” Dean frowned as well.

“Where is it?”

“We had to stash it when the leviathans made those murder Xeroxes of us. They even drove around in an exact copy of my wheels.”

“I’m sorry.” The whole subject matter was surreal; made you feel like you were talking to a sci-fi character from a television show. If that nagging, gnawing suspicion hadn’t been with you for years, you knew you wouldn’t believe a stitch of the yarn Bobby had told you months back. You looked over the laminated menu. You already knew what you’d order. You needed something to distract you from how pretty his green eyes shined in the sunlight streaming through the diner window.

Dean tilted a shoulder a fraction, making you look up. He’d trapped you in that gaze again. “Hopefully, I get to see her again soon.” He tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “I mean, hey, I got to rendezvous with you again. Things are looking up.” He grinned.

The waitress swung by and took your order, dropping off a glass of water and pouring you a cup of coffee. Dean’s eyes widened when you told her you’d have the Southwest Sizzling Sampler and to please keep the caffeine coming. “What?” You questioned with a raised eyebrow when it was only the two of you.

“Not for nothin’, but a woman with a healthy appetite is kinda hot.” He licked his lips and went back to his plate of food. A finger pointed to his burrito. “Want some?”

You chuckled. “I’m good. Thanks.” You suddenly realized you were down a Winchester. “Where’s Sam?”

Dean gulped down his mouthful. “We got a room at the Tewa lodge. He’s doing some Roman research.”

“Ah. Should I tell Gen of his location?”

A gruff laugh left his throat. “I think Sam beat you to it.”

“I guess research is a big part of the whole hunting thing.” You turned behind you, noting the other patrons within earshot. You recognized Stella from the bookstore. She immediately said hello, chatted you up for some seconds, only to put you more on guard. You turned back to Dean and took a quick swig of your water. You resumed your topic. “So, research?”

He raised a brow and donned a smile variation you hadn’t quite seen from him before. “Yeah. The boring part of hunting. But, necessary. Jobs don’t actually fall into our laps. Not often.” Dean shot into another thought. “Did Bobby give you my new number? At least, the number I had when you made contact with him?”

You shook your head. “He didn’t want to put you in danger. That’s what he said, anyway. In case I really wasn’t who I said I was. He’d done some research of his own on me before calling back. See if the info I left about myself in the voicemail checked out. But, he said, he couldn’t be too careful.”

Dean nodded. “Sounds like Bobby.” His eyes narrowed. “Mind if I test you?”

“Test me? Like multiple choice?”

He plopped a trial sized plastic bottle of mouthwash on the table. But, the cloudy white liquid was most definitely not mouthwash. “Pour some of that on your hand.”

“What?” Your entire body stiffened up on defense. “What is it?”

“Just a household cleaner with Borax in it.” He responded like they were discussing the weather. “If you’re a baddie, it’ll burn you.”

“It could burn me, regardless. Ever read the warning labels on the back?”

“Not skin irritation. Talking, eat your skin away if you’re a leviathan.”

“Jesus.” You shook your head, opened the bottle, placed a stack of napkins from the dispenser under one hand, and then dripped cleaner over your knuckles. You wiggled your fingers and patted away the liquid. “Did I pass?”

He smiled. “Yep. Demon test, too.”

“Huh?”

He secured the cap and snuck the bottle back into his leather jacket resting next to him on the bench. “I snuck some holy water in your glass.”

You ran your tongue along the top of your mouth. “Ew.”

“Can’t be too careful. A lot could have happened since Vegas. And, I would have had to add avenging you to the top of my to do list if those fuckers got to you, too.”

The thought of him extracting violent revenge on your behalf gave you a weird sense of comfort and safety. You smiled.  

He smiled back. “Anyway, with the thoughts I’ve been thinking, gotta make sure you’re not going to gank me when we’re alone later. My guard will be down.”

Your mouth dried up. “Are we going to be alone later?”

He nodded with certainty. “Oh yeah. You’re taking me back to your place.”

God, you loved that cocky assuredness. Any other man would come off as a smug bastard. But, there was so much charm covering it up in Dean’s whole being that you couldn’t resist. “Am I?”

“Yep.” Another slight nod. The waitress disrupted your flirting and dropped the plate in front of you. “Wow. That’s beautiful.” Dean commented on the piles of breakfast food.

You rubbed your hands together and shot back. “Fueling up for later.”

He chuckled. “My kinda woman.”

*

He followed you back to your apartment in his Cougar. You were distracted for most of the ten minute ride. Thinking about what he was going to do with that gorgeous body of his; that this was actually happening. Glancing in your rear view mirror at a red light pulled you into a long study of his perfect face. His cocky grin followed a horn tap on his steering wheel when the light turned green. He probably knew you’d been staring. Son of a bitch.

Your palm was a sweaty mess turning the knob of your apartment door. It didn’t help that he was breathing down your neck, looming over you.

Tyrion greeted you with his usual rumbling of purrs. “You have a cat?” Dean queried from behind. He sounded disappointed. You heard the click of the door closing.

You scratched the top of your buddy’s head. Tyrion eyed the new male in the room with a proud tilt up of his long-haired chin and twitchy whiskers. “I do.” You confirmed the obvious.

“I’m allergic.” Dean sighed. At that, Tyrion strolled up to Dean and did a figure eight between his bow legs.

“So am I.” You stated and flung your jacket across the back of your, and Tyrion’s, favorite chair.

“So, you’re a masochist?” Dean chuckled and pinched his nose shut.

“Okay, Ew. First, don’t pull my cat into some sexual kink. Second, I don’t derive gratification from pain and humiliation...”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’m intrigued and aroused that you actually know what a masochist is…”

You shook your head and forced yourself not to focus on how sexy his voice sounded wrapping around the word aroused. “Third,” you continued, “Tyrion is a Siberian. He’s hypoallergenic. Us cat allergy sufferers can usually tolerate being around this breed.”

“Really?” The genuine surprise on his face went to inspect the furball, plopped onto his back, displaying a belly to Dean for some rubbing.

You nodded. “But, to be on the safe side, I keep him out of my bedroom.”

Dean shot his stare back up at the word bedroom.

You cleared your throat.

He grinned and bent at the knees to give Tyrion a few pats for good measure.

“Want something to drink?” A quick dash around the breakfast bar gave you a chance to escape. You grabbed a bottled water from the fridge and sipped away, trying to cool the burning of your cheeks.

“I’m good.” You heard him respond from the living room. He was still bent down making friends with Tyrion.

You tapped at the bottle with your fingernails and stared at the fridge door and your assortment of magnets. What the hell? What am I supposed to do now?��

“Nice little place.” He leaned against the edge of the breakfast bar. His leather jacket had been discarded.

“Thanks.”

He stuffed his hands into front jean pockets and mosied over like a gunslinger. “Am I gonna have to make the first move again?”

You smiled. “‘Fraid so.”

He stared down at you with a smile. “Something tells me you don’t mind it.”

You shook your head and swallowed down a sigh.

He pulled the bottle from your grasp and dropped it somewhere. Your stomach tumbled in excitement at the grasp of his warm hands around your waist. He lifted you like you weighed a feather and sat you on the bartop, right in front of him. You were almost at perfect eye level. He pried your knees open and wedged into your legs. He was hot and so close, face inches from yours. “I don’t have a lot of time to do everything I want.” His breath snuck into your open mouth. “I’d need days.”

And, then, his lips were pressed into yours again. Firm, decisive, and a little needy. Not quite as needy as yours, returning the want and the build from your alone time up in the air together. He released your lips, kissed along your jaw and cheek. Rubbed his scruff against your skin. Encapsulated your earlobe with a glorious suck between those billowy lips. He ran his tongue against the diamond stud. Moaned a breathy, “Do you taste good everywhere?” into your ear.

You gripped the edge of the breakfast bar. He was making you unsteady, drunk with desire. Your eyes widened. His fingers snapped the button of your jeans open and worked the zipper down. 

He broke from his work and stared at your face. “I shouldn’t be having all the fun.” He grinned. “Put your hands on me, sweetheart.”

Your shaky hands lifted off the bartop and rested on the lapels of his denim shirt. You snuck a squeeze at his pecs and he chuckled.

“We good?” You knew he was asking for permission to dip his fingers under your panties. He was currently skimming the band of it, lighting up the skin around your belly button. “Once I start, I’m not stoppin’.”

You nodded. “We’re good.”

His mouth went to your neck, licking, pecking, sucking. He moaned against the skin when his fingertips found your wet warmth. “Damn.”

Your breath hitched with the prodding and searching. He teased the sensitive nub with his thumb, hand sandwiched tight between you and the denim as he cupped your sex. His mouth was at yours now, examining every inch with his tongue.

Senses came back to you in bursts and blips. You undid the buttons of his shirt as he continued his own exploration. Once you’d freed the last button you danced over the ridges and planes of his chest. His body reacted with a twitch when you scraped nails over his perky little nipples. He groaned into your mouth. You moaned when his hand pulled out of your panties. He kissed through his request and stared into your eyes. “How about we go somewhere we can be alone?”

You followed his gaze to the floor where Tyrion was darting between Dean’s legs again. You laughed and nodded. Dean tried his best not to trip over the cat, stepped back, and helped you off the bar. You grabbed his hand, wet with your excitement, and guided him to the bedroom. You couldn’t resist turning back at the sight of him, shirt unbuttoned and peeks of tummy, chest and pecs. There was a tattoo on his chest above his heart that got your attention for a split second. Walking backward, you lost your balance at the hunger in his eyes. He leaned in, pressed you into the bedroom door, then tumbled you both through after fumbling at the knob. Once inside, he flung the door shut with a kick of his boot heel.

He wasted no time, grabbing at the hem of your t-shirt, pulling it up. He cursed and gave it a firm tug when it caught on your chin to release you from the confines. The giggle from you was more to calm your unease of what he was actually capable of when he put his mind to it. The strength behind his movements was unquestionable. He quashed the sounds of your laugh with his mouth, gulping down the vibrations leaving your throat. He was literally taking your breath away.

Fingers squeezed at the bra cups, finding taut nubs and rubbing over the fabric in circles. He guided you down onto the bed with the push of his mouth. His arms were around you in an instant, cushioning your fall onto the mattress. He leaned above, one knee between your legs, all smiles. “Never done it with a pilot before.” His knee settled against the warmth and rubbed you through the layers.

You lifted up on your elbows and leaned up to suck at his bottom lip. It provided him the opportunity to unclasp your bra. You released his lip and fell back on the bed. “Never done it with a monster hunter before.”

He removed your bra. His eyes widened and he licked his lips. “I guess we’re both in for a treat.”

God, his mouth. The way it worked over each inch of your body. He talked about not having enough time but seemed in no hurry to get on with the actual task of fucking. At least not with the package you had yet to unwrap. But, you got a hint of what he was working with at the bulge tenting his jeans.

His tongue lolled about the dip in your neck, your collar bone. He nipped and tugged at your flesh. Circled your nipples, sucked and tweaked them into bliss. Stoking the heat in your core and readying you.

He slipped out of his shirt like a snakeskin, slithering down, peeling your pants and panties down to your calves. He popped off your canvas shoes, finished your disrobing, and then stood to take you in, completely naked.

It was the middle of the day. Sunlight crept into your bedroom through sheer curtains. Any other man, any other time, you would have covered up in embarrassment. But, you let him take you in so you could do the same. The creamy, bronze kissed skin of his chest made you ache. The scars all had some history behind them. Dappling of freckles here and there ground him into some sort of reality; confirmed he was in fact human and not some god, come to earth to ruin anyone he touched for anyone else.

He bent down, forced you to maintain eye contact. His tongue flicked out and teased your folds. He savored the taste, smiled, then went to work on you. He talked you through everything he was doing and was planning to do to you. Stopped talking long enough to follow through on his promises. His fingers found that spot deep inside he said would make you crumble for him, come for him, into his mouth. And, you did. Twice. Cause that’s what he said he’d make you do.  

You were panting, trying to catch your breath when he rose up and fished his wallet from his back pocket. He tossed a foil wrapper alongside you on the sheets. “Gonna feel so good inside you.” He murmured, taking off his jeans.

“Shit.” You gasped when you finally saw all of him.

He smiled in pride. “Thank you.”

“Dean, I…”

He nodded. “I can already tell it’s gonna be a tight fit, sweetheart.” He bent down and kissed your lips. “We’ll get there. Trust me. Gonna be so much fun getting there.”

He snatched the wrapper, ripped it open, and worked the condom over his hard length. He slid over your body, capturing you between those muscled forearms and kissed you in languid waves.

And, then, he was pushing against your entrance. Steadying atop of you on one forearm while his other hand assisted, seeking a way to penetrate. His held breath released, slow, when he finally breached and made some headway inside.

“Goddamn.” He settled in, listened to your moans. “Alright, sweetheart?”

You nodded and tried to control your breathing. The searing and stretch of him in you was like nothing you’d experienced. “You’re amazing.”

He smiled and kissed your chin. “You’re awesome.”

*

You made him work hard that afternoon. And he loved every second of it.

He’d come down from the high of his second orgasm a half hour ago. He thought maybe it had been your fourth, but he wasn’t going to ask. You snuggled into his side, the both of you now under the covers, dozing in and out. Tyrion, on occasion, would scratch and meow on the other side of the closed bedroom door. He played with your hair, delaying the inevitable for as long as he could.

You spoke first. “Have a clue where you’re headed next?”

“Uh-uh. We’ve got someone trying to help track Roman. But…” He pinched his nose, “Wild goose chase. Who knows? Maybe Sam will have something when I get back.”

He felt your fingers trace over his anti-possession tattoo. “Dean?”

“Hm?” He was ready for you to ask for details on his tat.

“Do you and Sam ever go on those run of the mill hunts anymore? Or is it all leviathans and angels and demons now?”

He smiled. “All the time. I kind of look forward to a simple ghost hunt every now and then.”

“Do hunters have cold cases they work on?”

“Sometimes. Why?” You felt so good in his arms. Like you fit just right.

Your head lifted up. Your eyes stared into his. “My parents…” Your voice trailed off. “I’ve always had this feeling. The way they died. It didn’t seem…”

It was all you had to say. His arms wrapped you up tight. “How about once Sammy and I take care of these leviathans, I come back and we figure out what happened. Together. Supernatural or not, we get you some answers.”

He wiped a tear from your cheek. You nodded, burying your head back against his chest.

For another hour, Dean closed his eyes and drifted away. In that tiny one-bedroom apartment of yours in Albuquerque that felt like something he could call home. With you.

Sam could wait. The work he had to do on the road could wait. The inevitable sacrifice he’d have to make, again, could wait. 

What he wanted, what he wished for, what he dreamed was to be up in the air with you again. In your Baby. 

And let you pilot them wherever the wind would lead you both.

THE END

MASTERLIST

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #spnfanficpond #dean x reader #dean winchester pov

[lesbiantimwright]

Ghosts of Suburbia, Chapter One

Description: Jessica expects exactly jack-shit when she moves to the far edge of the suburbs. Instead, she gets an abandoned church in the silent part of the woods, a hazy creature stalking her from out of the corn, and a secret she’s hidden from herself. On the bright side, she’s found exactly the group of idiots that won’t let her deal with it alone.

Relationships: Jessica/Amy, background Jay/Tim/Brian

Rating: Teen

Chapter Length: 2k

Chapter Warnings: minor mention of a gun

A/N: This is my first time posting fic to tumblr so??? Idk what I’m doing

Jessica’s exaggerating when she says that Cottonwood was the last place on Earth she wants to spend her summer, but only a little. The place is basically a wasteland of bizarre lawn ornaments, old white people, and houses that wouldn’t ever stop smelling like bad candles. Technically, it’s the suburbs, but not the movie suburbs where the houses are all the same, the lawns are all perfect, and there are house parties, those kind of suburbs would’ve sucked just slightly less. She’d moved in with her dad a day and a half ago and she can already tell that nothing ever happens. 

It’s not just moving unexpectedly in the summer when none of her friends are around to say goodbye, or that her junior year will be at a completely new school where people genuinely care about football, but that it’s fucking Cottonwood. To put it simply, Jessica is trapped in a purgatory between pissed and bored out of her mind. And that’s in the middle of a “party”, too.

Hypothetically, it’s her dad’s way of celebrating her being there, except she has not a single memory of any of these distant relatives and all the food contains gelatin, cool whip, or both. She tries a vegetable tray, thinking that there’s no way to mess that up, just to find everything coated in sugar. One of her supposed uncles is wearing a MAGA hat, and it’s taking every ounce of her self control not to physically combust every time she has the misfortune of looking at him. She’s only holding herself back because her dad is really, really trying and she knows it, so she’ll have to just talk to him about it once everyone’s cleared out. Not that that’s a huge comfort. It was at least 90° out and humid, her phone was at 9%, and nobody’s showing any signs of slowing down.

She stares at the edge of the woods. Everyone’s clumped in the part of the backyard that’s under the shade of some very flimsy tents, the rest of the space made up of a plain of dried, cracking grass and a few kids climbers that she hadn’t even used when she was six, caked with dirt and falling apart in a corner. It looks post-apocalyptic, except for the  group of aunts behind her talking about some gossip so boring that it fades into the background with everything else.

 It would be easy, to just walk out into the trees, she thinks without meaning to and suddenly the idea won’t go away. They look cool, and quiet, and like she won’t be forced to eat bits of pretzel in watermelon jello once she’s in there. She can disappear into the woods for an hour or two. She can disappear. 

Jessica grabs her boots, the heavy ones that have been caked in mud so much that she doesn’t remember what color they were when she bought them, lacing them up as tight as they’ll go. She leaves the tents and the strangers and the questions behind, walking across the crunching grass and into the trees. As the crab-grass fades into leaves and little plants, she thinks that she was right: it’s much cooler in here. 

There isn’t a path, obviously, but as long as she just keeps walking straight, she’ll be fine. Stopping now doesn’t even seem like an option, not when there’s so much deeper to go, now that she’s taken the first steps. Moss clings to the sides of rocks and fungi grows from dead logs, sunlight falls from between the branches, tinted green and splattering over everything. She thinks that she can hear the burble of a stream from somewhere just a little farther, and Jessica wants to find it. Somehow, though there’s no difference between where her feet fall and the rest of the ground, it feels like she’s on a trail anyway, outlined between the trees.

So maybe she loses track of time, and badly, but time isn’t real during the summer anyway. But that doesn’t keep the sunlight from getting thinner and the woods grayer. Maybe she should’ve turned back way sooner, but Jessica swears, every time she pushes back a branch or climbs over a boulder that the creek must be behind it, over and over and over until, finally, it is. But the water isn’t alone.

 She rounds a corner in the not-path and finds her feet at the edge of mud and, past that, a church. Or something that used to be a church. The wood is faded, some of it splintered and falling apart, with gaps in the walls and plaster-dust coating the floor in the parts of the inside she can see. It’s a big, ancient-looking building, like it’s rotted here in the woods as long as there have been trees, but really it probably isn’t more than 20 years old.

 Jessica takes a few steps closer to the creek but doesn’t cross it, walking back and forth along the edge to see more instead.  It looks like parts of it are burned, just odd patches crumbling into ash, the roof caved in over one part, and through a busted-up gap in the wall she can see a few plastic chairs scattered on their sides over a rotted carpet. There’s a cross above the door closest to her, the golden paint on it chipped around the center but still shiny in the slanted evening light. The building goes on and there’s plenty left to explore, but Jessica stops at the edge, her feet just starting to sink into the mud.

 Look, she’s not a superstitious person, she considers herself down-to-earth and reasonable, but as much as she hates to say it, she’s got a feeling. Except it’s not really her feeling, but one that this place owns, hanging over everything; it’s something like dread but quieter. Silent. Nothing moves but her own lungs and ribs, a standstill between her and the empty church. But something, a presence or a feeling or terror, rises, looming like a wave coming from the inside out, about to crash, and for a half second there’s the feeling of light, a pinprick of it in her spine where her back meets her neck-- 

Fuck that, Jessica thinks, grabbing a solid branch from next to her and turning to sprint back into the woods. Of course there isn’t any real danger, the logical part of her brain reminds her, but there’s also no one around to see her running away. Not that booking it fixes the problem. It really just makes her feel like prey, and she holds onto her stick tighter.

Now time’s really gone sideways, and it feels like forever or just a moment before she’s at the edge of the trees again. It’s really dark now, her legs ache, and it takes a long, long time for breathing not to hurt, but it felt like just a few steps to get her here. She knows that it took hours to get that far in. Jessica also knows that she’s lost.  

It’s definitely not her dad’s, cramped, badly-painted house in front of her, but something much bigger and much nicer, something that doesn’t remotely belong in her neighborhood. Shit, shit, shit. She’ll just have to find out where she is and call her dad to pick her up, she thinks, heading towards the street--

“Who’s there?” Comes a hesitant voice from in front of her, towards the house, and she freezes, watching a flashlight beam dance over the ground. 

The grass here is actually green and well kept, too, so definitely not anywhere close to her street. But she’s in Alabama, rich neighborhood or not, so there’s probably someone around here keeps a shotgun for the sole purpose of anyone on their property. Jessica crosses her fingers.

“Uh, hey, I think I’m lost?” She calls, still holding onto her stick because she’s not stupid. 

The beam of light approaches, revealing everything around it, and she immediately decides that she’s safe because she can totally take the guy holding the flashlight. He looks right around her age, scrawny and kinda pale, with big eyes looking at her cautiously out from under a hat. She lets the stick hang down by her side.

“Why--what were you doing in the woods? I thought you were a murderer,” Not-a-Threat explains, and she raises an eyebrow.

“You thought a murderer was coming out of the woods and you go towards them?” He looks guilty, scratching at the back of his neck and failing to come up with a good explanation, so she plows on.

 “I just got lost and came out at the wrong spot and my dad’s probably totally worried about me, can you drive?” Her phone is completely dead, so the sooner she gets home the less grounded she’ll be. 

“Uhhh, not really, but I have a friend who can?” Jessica sighs, more exasperated now than actually shaken, and nods. 

She stands in the dark grass while Not-a-Threat calls his friend who can drive, looking up at the light leaking out from the windows of the big house and listening to the roar of the cicadas. As they go around to the street to wait, she feels stupid. Not just for getting lost in the woods but for genuinely getting scared enough to run out of them like that, like there’s anything to worry about. Sure, an abandoned church in the woods at night is something only an idiot in a horror movie would explore, but she could’ve just walked back and maybe then actually gotten back to her own house.

 “So uh, I’m Jay,” says the guy, shifting the flashlight to his other hand so he can offer the right one, and she takes it.

“Jessica.” They stand under the streetlight for a long time after that until an old, beat-up van pulls up, the edges faded purple, a guy waving out the window at them. He’s looks a little bit scruffy but mostly just tired, with the most actual sideburns she’s ever seen on a teenager in her life, but her first instinct is that he’s good. Still, she brings her stick with her into the back of the car, and borrows Jay’s phone so she can call her dad and let her know the situation. He’s kind of mad but mostly relieved, and guilt tangles in her stomach.

Jay’s friend is named Tim and he is in fact a good guy, clearly making an effort to chat with her as the streetlights come in and out of view beside them. He doesn’t seem surprised when Jessica explains that Jay was going to try and talk to a stranger shuffling out of the woods at night, just laughs and shakes his head. She explains that she’s just moved from Montgomery and gets an adequate amount of sympathy for her situation, and it turns out that they’re going to the same high school in the fall, though, thankfully, neither Jay nor Tim seem like they care about football even a little bit. They give her pointers for which teachers are incompetent and which classmates to avoid, and rehash some of last year’s drama to someone who hasn’t heard it all a billion times.

 It’s the usual stuff that comes with stupid horny teenagers getting stuck with each other for nine months, and by the time they’re pulling into her driveway, Jay’s finishing up a rambling story of two seniors who went at it in the teacher’s lounge and their literature teacher’s dramatic tale of her walking in on it, and she feels more like a real person again. Through the window, she sees her dad stop pacing, running his hands through his hair, and she hurries to get out before the car’s even fully stopped.

 “Jessie, you’re okay!” He’s hugging her, too tightly, but she doesn’t mind. Still, she untangles him after a moment, hyper-aware of Jay and Tim still in the car. 

“I’m sorry dad, I uh, I just wanted to go for a hike and I got lost?” It sounds pathetic as far as excuses go, even if it’s actually what happened, but her dad seems content to chew her out later.

“You’re back in one piece, that’s what matters. Just never, ever do that again. Now, who helped you get here?” He asks, and she immediately knows, dreads, what’s coming. 

“You boys, come on out here, I need to thank you.”They awkwardly get out of the car and stand in front of her dad, Jay picking at a loose thread in his jacket and Tim standing up way too straight, like he’s expecting to be judged on his posture. Instead, her dad just ruffles their hair in the most dad-like and embarrassing way possible, beaming.

 “Thank you so much for bringing my daughter home safely. I worry a lot about these younger generations, but you’re two fine young gentlemen, thank you for proving me wrong. Would you like to come over for lunch tomorrow as a reward?” He offers, and they share a look, mumbling and eventually sort of agreeing out of obligation, but by that point she’s got a hand over her eyes in exasperation. 

She looks up, though, when she hears Tim scrambling around in the back of the car for something, coming back out with the stick she’d left there.“Uh, you want this?” He drawls, and she laughs, taking it. Her dad insists that they come over one more time before letting them go and hugs he one more time before letting her stumble back into the house and up to the bedroom that had been hers when she visited as a kid but is still unfamiliar, and she’s suddenly exhausted.

Jessica forgets all about the little church in the woods, for now.

#jessica/amy #jemy #mh fic #my fic #jessica locke #amy walters #marble hornets #mh #jay merrick #jay/tim/brian #I'm. very nervous to post this just cause it's very different from ao3 and idk!!!!! #but like. tbh I think I wanna keep writing this regardless of response because I really like just teens being friends and hunting ghosts #that being said even just taking the time to read this means a lot!!!

[whumphoarder]

Face God and Walk Backwards Into Hell

Summary: Peter is lactose intolerant—and arguably masochistic—and this somehow becomes Tony’s personal cross to bear.

(In the same universe as Spider-Man’s Very Mundane Kryptonite, but the stories can be read independently) 

Word count: 1,763

Genre: Fluffy illness, humor, sickfic

Link to read on A03

After initially finding out that the kid was lactose intolerant, Tony started doing everything in his power to help Peter avoid dairy. He stocked three kinds of plant-based milks at the compound—soy, almond, and cashew. If he was ordering pizza for team training nights, he would always make sure to have non-dairy pasta and salad options on the side. Chips and pretzels were served with hummus or bean dips rather than sour cream based ones, and Tony even tried out a vegan cheese version of his mother’s beloved lasagna recipe.

All these precautions would have likely been very effective, if only Peter wasn’t such a little shit.

At first, Tony assumed the kid just made a mistake. That was what he figured when he shuffled into the kitchen at one a.m. on a training weekend to discover the teenager standing with his back to the entrance, rifling through his cabinets.

Tony stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest in amusement. “Looking for something?”

Peter startled and spun around, eyes wide. “Whoa, what are you doing up, Mr. Stark?”

“Insomnia’s a bitch,” Tony scoffed. “But I could ask the same about you. Shouldn’t you be wiped from your training session with Cap earlier?”

Peter’s stomach growled loudly in response, causing his unusually pale cheeks to flush slightly.

Tony raised his eyebrows. “Are you hungry? If you need a snack, try the fridge.”

With a small groan, Peter snaked an arm around his middle. “Uh, no thanks,” he said with a grimace. “I’m not feeling so great, actually.”

“Stomach ache?” Tony guessed.

Peter looked embarrassed, but nodded anyway. “I didn’t mean to bother you, I just was seeing if you had anything down here I could take for it.”

“You mean like Pepto, or…?” Tony asked with a frown.

Peter shook his head. “That doesn’t usually work very well. May has these like, enzyme pill things that sometimes help...?” he said hopefully.

Tony quirked his head in thought. “Pepper might have something,” he mused. “She’s fully on the herbal supplement bandwagon.” He crossed the kitchen over to a drawer next to the fridge and opened it to reveal a few dozen small bottles.

With some assistance from FRIDAY, he quickly identified the most-likely-to-be-helpful candidate—some kind of natural probiotic—and dosed out two pills for the kid.

“Thanks,” Peter muttered before knocking them back with some water. “Ugh. I’m never eating ice cream again,” he moaned.

Tony’s forehead wrinkled up in confusion. “When did you get ice cream?”

Peter gave him a pained smile. “Uh… after training? Clint took me out—he said someone should celebrate the fact that I laid out Cap twice.”

“Yeah, I thought so too,” Tony said with a huff. “Which is why I served everyone those vegan eclairs that I special ordered because, you know”—he shot Peter a pointed look—“they don’t have dairy.”

“He, uh, he said someone should celebrate it with a real dessert,” Peter mumbled.

“I’m hurt, Pete,” Tony mocked.

Peter’s gaze dropped to his feet. “If it makes you feel any better, I got Stark Raving Hazelnut.”

“Why would it make me feel better to have my name attached to your gastrointestinal distress?” Tony asked sarcastically.

Peter huffed out a quick laugh. “Sorry.” Suddenly he winced and pressed a hand to his stomach. “Ah. Cramp.”

“It’s alright, kid,” Tony scoffed. “I think you’re being punished enough.”

X

At the next Avengers team dinner, Tony stood in the buffet line behind Peter, watching in horror as the teenager covered his pasta in Alfredo sauce. “What the hell, Peter. I got the marinara one especially for you.”

“I had some of that already and it was great, Mr. Stark!” Peter said earnestly. “It’s just been like, forever since I had actual alfredo sauce.”

Tony blinked at him. “Right...” he said slowly “...That would be because you’re allergic to it.”

“Technically it’s not an allergy,” Peter argued, sprinkling parmesan on top of his Fettuccine Alfredo. “An allergy would require an autoimmune response. We learned that in freshman year bio.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine, intolerance, whatever. You’re still gonna get sick.”

“I’ll be fine if I only have a little bit.”

X

A mere thirty minutes later, Tony was having déjà vu.

“Peter, I swear to God…” he began.

Peter gave him a sheepish grin. “Okay, I know what you’re gonna say, but—”

Tony spread his arms out dramatically. “There is literally half the dessert table here full of things you can eat, and yet you pick the cheesecake? Why?” he demanded.

Peter gave him an incredulous look. “Because it’s cheesecake, Mr. Stark,” he answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Tony scoffed, “Yeah, key word there, cheese.”

Peter gazed longingly at the towering fluffy white dessert balanced on the serving spatula in his hand. “But it’s so good.”

Tony ran an exasperated hand over his face. “Kid, think this through. I’m begging you.”

Peter let out a resigned sigh as he let the piece of cheesecake tip onto his waiting plate. “I have. I’m sorry.”

Tony raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, it’s your funeral. But I don’t wanna hear about it later.”

“You won’t—I promise,” Peter assured. He picked up a fork, and, making eye-contact with Tony the whole time, brought a bite to his lips. “But I gotta do it, Mr. Stark.”

X

A few hours after dinner, Tony spied Peter emerging from the restroom, pale and sweating, arms wrapped around his obviously cramping stomach.

“Uuugh Mr. Staark…” Peter whined upon seeing his mentor. He was making a pouting face, but the tiniest hint of a smile playing at his lips. “My tummy huurrts...”

“I’m sure it does, kid.” With a snort of amusement, Tony held out a bottle of water to the teen, who took it gratefully. “Was it at least worth it?”

Peter thought for a moment as he sipped the water. “Almost,” he finally decided. He hummed to himself. “Now if the cheesecake had had whipped cream on it…”

Tony let out a long sigh. “Why? Why do you do this to yourself?” he implored.

Peter locked eyes with his mentor. “Mr. Stark,” he said solemnly, “some nights you just gotta face God and walk backwards into Hell.”

“NO YOU FUCKING DON’T, PETER!”

X

Tony was just finishing some updates on DUM-E when FRIDAY alerted him to the fact that Thor was urgently approaching the workshop doors. Given he wasn’t a usual visitor, Tony looked up curiously.

“Stark, you must come quickly!” Thor’s voice boomed. “The Falcon and young Man of Spiders seem to have ingested some kind of poison.”

Tony’s heart dropped. “What?” Peter and Sam had been poisoned? “How?” he asked sharply. He dropped his tools on the workbench and immediately hurried toward the door. “What kind of poison?”

“I am not certain,” Thor replied. The two men strode quickly down the corridor. “But it appears only to affect mortal men as I myself have consumed the same beverage and yet I remain unscathed.”

“Did you call in a med team?” Tony demanded.

“A healer?” Thor questioned. “Nay, but Banner had arrived just as I left to seek you.”

Tony instantly breathed out a sigh of relief. Sure, Bruce may not be an actual medical doctor, but his seven PhDs are certainly worth something. “Okay, good. What symptoms are we talking about here? When did this start?”

“It came on about an hour after consuming the beverage. They both appear to be in a fair amount of pain, and their bodies seem to be working to expel the contaminant,” Thor reported. “There is a foul odor about them as well, as though something inside is dying.”

“Jesus…” Tony swore, breaking into a jog for the rest of the way to the common area.

When he arrived, the scene wasn’t quite the picture of imminent peril that Thor had painted for him. On one couch, Sam was laying flat on his back, one arm hugging a pillow to his stomach while the other arm was extended upward so that his forearm rested over his eyes. On the couch next to him, Peter was half sprawled out, half propped up against the cushions so he could sip from a can of Sprite. He looked a little green.

Bruce, looking calm as ever, was lining a small trash can next to Peter with a fresh plastic bag.

“What’s going on here?” Tony demanded, stepping into the room. “Thor tells me they’ve been poisoned.”

Bruce let out a quick snort of laughter. “You could say that. Self-inflicted, but sure.”

“Excuse me?” Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Mr. Staaark…” Peter moaned from the sofa. “Did you know there’s no such thing as a milkshake on Asgard?”

Tony just blinked at him.

“I mean, imagine going your whole life without ever tasting a milkshake,” Peter went on, his tone just bordering on a whine.

“That’s just not right, man,” Sam groaned in agreement.

Tony glanced at the three, large, empty tumblers on the table nearby, their insides coated in what appeared to be milkshake residue. He looked back over his shoulder to the kitchen area and spied a blender sitting out on the counter.

“I can’t believe I’m seeing this,” Tony deadpanned. He shot Sam a glare. “And now you too?” he accused.

“Blame genetics,” Sam grumbled. “Did you know seventy-four percent of African Americans are lactose intolerant?”

“Rhodey isn’t,” Tony quipped back.

“Well hooray for Rhodey then,” Sam muttered irritably into his arm. “Lucky bastard.”

“I do not understand,” Thor spoke up, frowning in confusion. “Have these men been poisoned or not?”

“Yes,” Peter groaned, clutching his stomach.

Tony rolled his eyes at the dramatic kid. “It’s… complicated,” he replied to Thor. “They’ll live, and with any luck, they’ll be deterred from future idiotic behavior for about a week. Or five days if I order pizza on Friday.”

“This was about justice for the Prince of Asgard,” Peter mumbled. “We die like men.”

“Men with tummy aches,” Tony pointed out.

Eyes still covered by his arm, Sam held up his middle finger. “We die like lactose intolerant men,” he amended.

With a hum of agreement, Peter promptly leaned over and vomited into the trash can.

As Bruce moved in to rub Peter’s back while he heaved, and Sam got up to make another trip to the bathroom, Tony threw his hands up in the air and turned on his heels.

“That’s it,” he muttered as he walked out. “I have officially given up.

Read Part 3 of the Lactose Intolerant Peter series

Fic Masterlist

#spider-man fic #mcu writing #irondad fic #Irondad #my fic #sick peter parker

[canaryatlaw]

okay. so. today was pretty fun. I had set my alarm for 10:30 as we’d agreed Jess would pick me up at 11. Well, I woke up to said alarm at 10:30 to a series of messages from Jess telling me to get up already because she wanted nuggets before we went to the con. I told her I’d be ready in 15 minutes, because I was being good and woke up half an hour beforehand when I knew it only really took me 15 minutes to get ready when I’m not doing my make up (doing it in the car here). So I got ready, doing Peter Pan today because I gotta take advantage of my short haired red headed cosplay options because I hate wigs and will be wearing them both Saturday and Sunday. Got picked up, went to Mcdonalds, drove to con, didn’t get stuck in ridiculous traffic like we did yesterday, so that’s a win. I’m trying to remember the details of how everything went down, when you’re there all day and you’re doing different things within a small space it can be hard to remember exactly what you did when. But I think we got there and went to find some people and talked with them for a while, then found Jess’ two friends (”friends”) who were running around doing different things, after waiting for them for a little bit. And I mean, for most of the day we just did different versions of walking around and finding people and looking at things? we’d hang out with a certain group of people for a while and then they’d go off and do a photo shoot or something and we’d migrate to a different group of people. At some point during the afternoon we decided to go through the whole show floor aisle by aisle to assess options before buying anything. I knew I wanted to get a t-shirt of some sort, and sadly there were very few legends-related items out there (I think the only places we really saw them were in the sections where you have the IDs from different shows) so I figured I’d either want something Wonder Woman or Superman related, since those are my other two faves. I was also potentially looking for a cool backpack that’s somewhat bigger than the one I have now because in two weekends we’re doing HVFF New Jersey/Rose City CC in Portland over two days and are just bringing backpacks, and since I decided tonight that I am going to cosplay both days (and the NJ one I am SO excited about!!) I’m gonna need something that can fit a lot of things. What’s annoying about the t-shirt thing is pretty much all of them at cons are only in unisex sizing, not women’s sizes, and I don’t really like how they fit me so I don’t end up wearing them as much as I do the Wonder Woman or Superman shirts I have in woman’s sizes. The other thing I might potentially buy is an Elektra from Daredevil funko pop because back when I was still looking for Katniss but was getting convinced I wouldn’t be able to find her (before I found her online) I was considering making Elektra my next one, and she would fit nicely on my stack of funkos in their boxes (that are literally in a stack on my dresser right now that consists of dark haired women who totally kick ass because apparently I am predictable like that (right now it’s Wonder Woman, Jessica Jones, and Katniss) (I do have three other funkos that are out of their boxes and placed elsewhere, which are my White Canary and Captain Cold, placed in conjunction of course, and Smallville Green Arrow played by Justin Hartley love of my life and the only actor to portray Green Arrow in live action as far as I’m concerned). So we set off to do that. A number of good Wonder Woman options I took note of, a few ones that are old comics styled, a few featuring other Justice League members like Superman and such (though I’m really not a Wonder Woman/Superman shipper like, at all, so not those because Clois is the only valid ship for Clark Kent, though I am open to WonderBat possibilities). There is also a very cool Wonder Woman backpack we were looking for that I’ll probably go back and get because it had a lot of places to put stuff and looked like it could fit everything nicely, it was just 60 bucks so I wanted to make sure it was definitely the best one before actually buying it. The Elektra pop has shown up a few places, cheapest so far for $10, so I’ll keep looking at those since there are of course a ton of places with pops. We kept getting stopped by random men that wanted to talk to us because Jess was being a fucking furry (she got asked to take a picture with two people in full on fur suits and I was dying laughing while also taking a picture of it). By the time it was like 5:30 or so we were pretty much done with everything, so we ended up meeting up with some people and heading to one of the restaurants over by the parking garage, because if you eat at one of the restaurants there they’ll validate your parking so you don’t have to fork over like $15 just for parking. So we ended up going to the German restaurant, which is always a bit of an adventure lol. The first time my family went to DisneyWorld when I was like 12 our restaurant reservations got messed up for one of the days and the only other place we could get in was the German restaurant in Epcot, and all I remember is there menu being like, essentially like three different types of hot dogs, so whenever I think of German food now that’s what I think of, and how I somehow managed to not barf it all up when my brothers and I ran (literally) from Epcot over to Animal Kingdom to get to our fast pass for Expedition Everest, which we made with like 4 minutes left on it and then went on the crazy roller coaster where I was sure I was gonna puke it all up (our restaurant reservation was for like, 4:40, and the fast pass was between 6 and 7, so we thought we’d be fine, but the restaurant got super backed up and didn’t seat us till like 6:15, so we basically ate like half a meal and then ran from the middle of the Epcot circle of nations through the rest of the park, onto the tram and then all the way through Animal Kingdom to Expedition Everest, making it at 6:56). But we got some super cute pictures of my darling baby sister who was 3 at the time and like at peak cuteness dancing to the polka in the German restaurant so that was definitely worth it. ANYWAY. this restaurant seemed somewhat similar in that there was a polka band and everything but thankfully had a larger menu selection. Jess and I ended up splitting some potato pancakes (sorry Germans, they weren’t as good as latkes) and a jumbo pretzel because she doesn’t eat red meat and I’ve been getting Meat Fatigue™ (which we’re still pretending is a real thing okay). We had an interesting conversation going on around us as the guy sitting next to me was trying to say it was bs that people were making excuses for James Gunn in that situation when strongly condemning Trump for making obscene comments, except he was not explaining it well at all and it was totally being lost in translation for everybody else until I was like okay, this is what you mean and explained it and he was like “yes, exactly! I like her” to which I was like 😂😂😂 understanding what people are saying pretty much all the time and explaining things happen to be two random talents of mine that come in handy a lot. So the meal was pretty good, one of the ladies we were with graciously picked up the tab so we were very thankful to her for that. At that point we were pretty beat so we walked back to the parking garage (after getting our parking validated) and drove home. I got dropped off and we planned to pick me up at 10 am tomorrow. I fumbled in the dark with my keys for a few minutes because somehow all the outdoor lights and the lights in the hallway of my building have gone out and not been replaced (yes I could’ve turned my flashlight on on my phone but I was being stubborn and wanted to do it myself) but eventually got it figured out. NICKZANO was very happy to see me, though I told her she’s gonna have to get used to being alone more once I get a job (at some point, anyway). I think I may actually be allergic to cats though, because my legs where I’d been letting her sit on are like hella itchy, but it’s obviously not a major issue at all and I’ll just like, put pants or longer shorts on from now on and that won't be a problem. I showered and changed into my pajamas, then watched a few episodes of 30 Rock, keeping it nice and light. I’m in their 5th season now out of 7 (which is kinda funny because I’m also on the 5th season out of 7 on GoT right now) so sooner or later I’m gonna have to find something else for funny filler episodes when I just want funny tv. And yeah, I did that for a while and then finished getting ready for bed and here we be now. So yeah, lots of fun, hopefully tomorrow will as well, I will be debuting my Ava Sharpe cosplay (who I was never really planning to cosplay but ended up needing to do so for our photo op with Matt Ryan which is gonna be fucking hilarious, just wait) and seeing Matt Ryan so that will be fun. I’ll probably wait till Sunday when I’m doing my also new (and pulled together exclusively of stuff I already owned because business wear) Lois Lane cosplay to see Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum. I was considering doing a photo op with them, but their joint one was $150 which is a tad excessive, and like, Tom alone was still $90 and I wouldn't even know what to do in a single one with him because I’d rather like, have one with both of them so Tom and I could look like we were fighting Michael, but also Michael has hair now so he doesn't even really look like Lex Luthor anymore, so given all of those factors I decided meeting them and getting selfies with them in my cosplay would be good enough. Okay, that’s all I got, it’s 1 am and I’m waking up at 9:30 and I like sleeping so I’m going to go to bed now. Goodnight peeps. Have a lovely weekend.

#daily journal #August 2018 #Jess tag #Rachel's cosplay adventures

[dont-doubt-dopple]

Not a Couple, I swear

V-Day Fic for @blasteroftheass featuring cute fluffy H2OMoo. And no, I haven’t read Darius’s Fic but I’m 90% sure I’m going to get my heart broken because he’s really good at that and it scares me sometimes. Tissue Box is on standby. But enjoy!

——————

Word Count: 1645

Prompt: You’re my best friend, and we’re both single for Valentine’s day. Let’s go on a platonic date. What’s the worst that could happen? (Also said by Del pretty early on.)

—————————

Delirious: What are your plans for Valentine’s Day?

Moo: Nothing exciting. I’ve got all the stations playing the Olympics queued up and ready.

Also a lot of Ice Cream for When figure skating comes on

Delirious: Boring!! We should do somethign

Moo: What and why?

Delirious: You’re my best friend, and we’re both single for Valentine’s day. Let’s go on a platonic date. What’s the worst that could happen?

Moo: You “accidentally” set something on fire

Delirious: that was one time

Moo: is there a way I can glare at you through the screen

there have been several intances of that

Delirious: look I admit I’m not perfect

Moo: From any stretch of the imagination

Delirious: but I have a plan

HEY

Moo: 🙂

God I have to turn that setting off

Delirious: okay

so plan

two of us go see Black Panther movie everyone including me is so hyped about

then we kid out with the carnival in town

Moo: Black panther comes out after vday

I know

me and ev have plans to see it opening night

Delirious: fuck!

okay, what movies are out?

15:17 to Paris

The Tom Hanks Meryl Streep one

 the new Liam Neeson movie on a train

Proud Mary

Peter Rabbit

Fifty shades freed

Delirious: the last one plz

Moo: but Proud Mary looks soooooo good

plus Marcel would kill me if I didn’t see it

Delirious: it’s Valentine’s Day. We’re going as cheesy as possible

we’re watching the rom com

Moo: Del, no

——————————

Brock wished there was something he had to cover his face. The blush was very apparent in his cheeks as Jonathan talked to the older woman at the ticket counter. A platonic date, he was assured. As the two friends went to see the most romantic movie of the season and Jon was not. Holding back. At all.

He had shown up at the door in a dress shirt and clip on tie (“little dressed for casual, isn’t it?”) with a heart shaped box of chocolates under his arm (“Thanks. But you know this isn’t a romantic date, right?”). Jon had even tried to get Brock to hold hands as they came into the theater (“Platonic, Jon. Are you sure you know what that means?”). It was a little over the top, considering they were two friends going out because they had nothing else to do today.

“Two tickets to Fifty Shades Freed.” The woman said, handing the tickets to Brock. “Theater 5 on your left. Just remember, be mindful of other patrons if you do decide to become … intimate during the film.”

“Oh, we’re not …” Brock began to say, trying to gesture to himself and Jon. But the other man had already run off to get onto the concessions line, determined to get as many sugary snacks before Brock could get there. “We’re just friends.”

“Standard procedure, sir. We have to do this for every romantic movie.” She smiled, but Brock didn’t have to worry if she truly meant it. Jon was already coming toward him, candy snacks piled in his arms.

“I got you your favorite.” He said guiltily, passing over a package of M&Ms Brock’s way. Brock didn’t budge, the disapproving motherly look still on his face.

“I told you before, only one sugary snack, popcorn and maybe a soda.”

“Well, you left me unsupervised. And that’s kinda your fault.”

“You’re an adult, Jonathan. You should not need my supervision.”

“We both know that I fail at adulting.” Jonathan refuted. Brock sighed. If there was one thing he had learned from their friendship, it was that Jonathan could not be argued out of something he believed in. Arguably very frustration at times for the Mom friend, especially when he knew he was right.

“Fine. But don’t blame me if you end up throwing up at the carnival.” Jonathan nods furiously, before Brock grabs his wrist and drags him toward the ticket guy. It’s an older gentleman again, and Brock tries to hold back his eye roll.

“Tickets please?” Brock hands the guy the two tickets, and he hands the stubs back equally as fast. “Enjoy the show.” The man’s voice is flat, clearly eyeing the two with contempt.

“We’re not boyfriends, just guy friends.” Brock assures him, before Jonathan jumps in.

“Brosexual, if you will.”

“Not helping.”

—————————

“I told you. You wouldn’t believe me, but I told you.”

“Shuch up!!” Jonathan yells in response, before beginning to feeling queasy again. He leaned once more over the bucket they had found, letting the contents of his stomach go once more. Brock patted him on the back, making sure none of the vomit got on him. The smell of food around him didn’t help, buttered popcorn and funnel cakes drifting toward their noses.

“Is … he okay?” Brock turned to face the girl who asked him. The teen is extremely pale, like she went on too many rides as well. Her auburn hair was messily tied back, and black glasses still lay loosely in her sweatshirt pocket.

“He just went on too many rides, that’s all.”

“Ditto.”

“I blame you.” Jon stated, using a nearby napkin to wipe excess vomit. “You made me go on all those rides after eating that pretzel.”

“No. After the pretzel I specifically said, ‘Jon, we should take a break. You’re going to throw up if you keep going on all the spinny rides.’ To which you responded, ‘You can’t tell me what to do.’, before going on all the rides.”

“You should have been taking better care of me then.”

“I am not your mom!”

“You are the mom friend. Does that count?” Brock hears the girl besides them giggle at their bickering.

“You guys are honestly couple goals.”

“Platonic!” Brock refutes, clearly getting flustered at the topic again. “Look .. look it up. In the dictionary.”

“Sorry. Geez, didn’t mean to hit a sore spot.”

“KATIE!!”

“Coming Mom!” The girl shouted, slipping on her glasses before walking toward the rest of her family. Brock sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and shaking his head. Why did people assume he and Jon were on a date?

“Can I have a teddy bear?” Jon blurted out, “Not like one of the tiny ones, but the big ones that you win at the games. Can you win me one?”

“Jon, you know I don’t have an athletic bone in my body and my luck is even worse.”

“But I want a TEDDY BEAR!!”

“How about this.” Brock proposed. “I run out to the Walmart shopping center and see if I can find one. While I do that, you can wait in line for the Ferris Wheel. Okay? Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah!” He cheers excitedly. God, he really is an overexcited child.

—————————

“This is was a good day. Did you enjoy it? I enjoyed it.” Jonathan squealed, clutching even harder to the giant bear Brock had gotten him from Babies R’ Us (but don’t tell him that). It took up about a third of the seat, but Jonathan never care. And neither did Brock right now. He was just glad that one of his best friends had managed to drag him out of the house and just enjoy the 14th of February. The smile on his face was genuine as the car they were in stopped right at the top. The view of the lights of the city was breaktaking, even if they weren’t that high up.

“Wow.” Brock breathed, the car swaying back and forth.

“Yeah, It’s pretty, isn’t it?”

“Beautiful.”

“I just wish I could see the stars.” Jonathan reminisced. “I remember Luke and I would just drive for hours to find this nice quiet place away from the lights and noise of the city. We’d take turns driving while the other goofed around in the back, singing to the radio at the top of out lungs off key. We’d leave at the beginning of the day and just get to the spot around midnight. Both of us would be tired but we’d pull an all nighter just to watch the stars disappear and the sun rise. I miss that. The two of us for three days.” Brock didn’t say anything, just tried to formulate words as the wheel started up again, pulling the view away from them.

“Why didn’t you guys do that this year?” He finally asked.

“He met Genay. And while I love her, I really do, it’s just don’t have that much time to hang out with him anymore. I just … I needed to get out of the house and do something. Sorry, if this is making you think I think you any less or you were just my second choice. You’re one of my best friends, if not the best. Just .. yeah.”

The two sat in silence the rest of the ride, which wasn’t long. Brock kept replaying Del’s confession in his head, trying to remedy what his friend had told him. And when the two had gotten off the wheel, Delirious was clinging to his teddy even tighter than before.

“Hey, Jonathan?” Moo spoke finally as the two headed toward the exit, the night getting late and Jon’s eyes struggling to stay open. “How about next Valentine’s Day, if the two of us are still single, we take a road trip?”

“Where to?”

“Oh, I was thinking maybe the middle of nowhere.” Jonathan’s eyes widened, and before Brock knew it he was being lifted into the air via Delirious’ hug.

“OMG YES!!! BEST VALENTINE’S DAY OF MY LIFE!!!”

“Best Valentine’s Day of your life so far.” Both men smiled, having a feeling the comedic remark was going to hold true. That next year was going to be even better.

#h2o delirious #moo snuckel #h2omoo #platonic date #bbs #banana bus squad #fanfic #dopple work #may have snuck myself in there #oops #enjoy Darius #vdaybbsevent

[jennycalendar]

unsolved mysteries

read on ao3!

well. i finally cracked & wrote that modern jackaby au i’ve been thinking about for like a year now. or at least a very small part of it. anyway.

in which abigail rook is throwing a party, and her roommates jenny and jackaby find themselves hiding from said party in the same hall closet.

It isn’t that Jenny has a problem with parties. A problem generally implies that she has some sort of lingering resentment, or maybe some past trauma that links back to parties, or something else that would at least sort of justify why she’s locking herself in the hall closet with a copy of Anne of Avonlea and the entire bowl of pretzels. She doesn’t have a problem with parties, exactly, it’s just that—there are a lot of people, in her house, and she definitely didn’t agree to this many people. Abigail was like do you want to have a party, and Jenny was like no, and Abigail gave Jenny big, wheedling eyes and said it’ll just be Charlie and my book club and a few guys from the precinct, it’s fine, and Jenny figured it would be fine because Jenny had met Charlie as well as Abigail’s book club and what was a few new people? But then extra people came along and now there are thirteen other people in the small apartment and Jenny feels like the squished atmosphere of the broom closet is about as much space as she’d be getting out in the party, though it has the advantage of being a little quieter—

“You took all the pretzels?” says Jackaby from next to her, sounding somewhat affronted for the pretzels’ sake.

Jenny shrieks, then claps a hand over her own mouth. She doesn’t want Abigail coming in and fussing. “What the fuck, Jackaby,” she says fiercely, flattening herself against the closet door to glower at him. She can’t really see him, so she doesn’t know if she pulls it off. “What are you doing in here?”

She hears the rustle of Jackaby standing up, and then he flips on the light and takes a handful of pretzels from the bowl. Jenny tries to move it out of his reach, but, well. The closet’s probably three square feet at most. Three feet in a square? Whatever. Something like that. Jenny can’t do measurement when Jackaby’s trying to steal the snacks she took for herself. “I could ask you the same thing,” says Jackaby with an annoying amount of dignity for someone who’s wearing Abigail’s pajama top.

“That’s Abigail’s pajama top,” says Jenny.

“Is it?” Jackaby looks genuinely surprised. “I just grabbed the laundry, you said it was all mine—”

“Jesus,” Jenny mutters, then, “I said it was almost all yours and you needed to wait for me to sort it because otherwise you—you steal people’s clothing—”

“You, Miss Cavanaugh, are dodging the question,” says Jackaby, and has the nerve to gently tap Jenny’s nose. Irritated, she bats his hand away. “What are you doing in this closet?”

“I asked you first,” says Jenny, only feeling slightly juvenile.

Jackaby considers this, then says, “I don’t think Abigail’s friends like me or my topics of conversation, and they kept looking at my pajama set with ridiculous expressions. I don’t come to parties to be mocked. What about you?”

Something about that makes Jenny’s chest twist in an angry-sad way. It’s true that Jackaby is a bit odd, but he’s odd in a lovable, sweet kind of way (not that she’d ever tell him this; it’d go straight to his head and he’d steal her laundry by accident next time). The concept of Abigail’s friends overlooking this just because Jackaby’s wearing an embroidered blue pajama top and earnestly eating from a plastic bag of gummy bears (he brings his own snacks to parties, even when they’re in his house) upsets Jenny beyond the telling of it. “Well,” she says, “I got—anxious.”

Jackaby’s face softens and he sits down, flipping over a nearby bucket full of cleaning supplies to make a seat for Jenny. Jenny bites her lip so she won’t tell him off for ruining the closet (she just organized it last week) and sits down on the bucket next to him, the pretzels in her lap. He takes the book. “You’ve read this,” he says. “Don’t you think it’s boring, trapping yourself in one time period with all these books you read?”

“Pride and Prejudice happens earlier than the Anne books, Jackaby,” Jenny begins patiently.

Jackaby shakes his head, looking earnestly up at her. “The past,” he says. “All the books you read are about the past. Why not look at the present or the future?”

Jackaby has a habit of asking painfully astute questions that make you feel like someone is attempting to pull off your fingernails while also offering you two nights at an expensive hotel. “Because the future won’t be what I was hoping it would,” says Jenny, “and presently, I have anxiety over a fucking party. So.”

“I’d say it’s a legitimate cause,” says Jackaby. “Lots of people you don’t know in your house, and wasn’t—what—happened, didn’t that happen with lots of people around?”

“No,” says Jenny, “it happened in this apartment when I thought I was alone.”

Jackaby takes another pretzel and starts loudly crunching on it. Jenny waits for him to continue to dissect her emotions, but instead he says, “Did you know Douglas got loose on the fire escape last week? We’re probably going to be sued for psychological damages to our next-door neighbors.”

“Jackaby,” says Jenny.

Jackaby waves a hand disambiguously. “I know,” he says, “we’re talking about you. My mind just jumps from topic to topic sometimes.”

“I know,” says Jenny, and takes the other half of the pretzel from him to eat it herself. Then, “There were lots of people around after. At the hospital. And they were all talking, but it felt like—no one saw me, just what had happened to me. I didn’t like that feeling.” She reaches out, almost takes Jackaby’s hand, then awkwardly thinks better of it, adjusting her hair instead. “Sometimes people ask those dumb party questions,” she says, “like, which superpower would you have? And someone says invisibility, and—that’s the worst curse I can think of. I get progressively scared on a daily basis that I’m just going to fade away and disappear, and I think it gets worse at parties.”

“That was my pretzel,” says Jackaby. When Jenny glares at him, he gives her a little grin. “It’s just that it’s silly,” he says. “I always see you. Always have.”

Jenny smiles a little. “I know,” she says.

Jackaby had shown up in Jenny’s life looking for a place to stay and taken a cup of tea at her kitchen table. He’d acted so comfortingly normal around her that she’d had to ask at the end of the cup—hadn’t he read the articles, or heard the stories, about the girl who was stupid enough to nearly get murdered in her own apartment? Fixing her hair, the papers had said, getting ready for a date. Jackaby had smiled a little and said that he supposed he had heard those stories, but really what was relevant was that he needed an apartment and Jenny seemed very nice. He’s been living with her for nearly five years.

“You’d think it would get better, wouldn’t you?” says Jenny absently. “It’s been so long.”

“If you went outside, it would,” says Jackaby, his voice beginning to take on the familiar cadence of a long-fought argument.

“I’m not having this conversation in my closet,” says Jenny firmly.

“You never have this conversation,” says Jackaby sulkily. “There’s a movie theater that just opened up a few blocks down—you’d like it so much, Jenny.”

“The old one that was always in the process of being renovated?” says Jenny, trying to sound casual and disinterested.

Jackaby catches her effort and smiles smugly. “That one,” he says. “Exactly that one. And it has nice seats and it’s independent, so it actually makes good popcorn. Abigail and I went a few weeks ago and saw some bad movie that made her cry.”

“Did you tell her you thought it was bad?” says Jenny, amused, then, “You and Abigail went to the movies? Was this—she only started dating Charlie last week, were you two—”

“Don’t be absurd,” says Jackaby, sounding personally affronted at the concept of him and Abigail in a romantic sense. This comforts Jenny for a reason she isn’t completely ready to admit. “And yes, I did. She said that I needed to learn how to phrase my opinions more diplomatically, and I said that that shouldn’t be a requirement when it comes to close friendship, and then she got all surprised as though she hadn’t known I considered her a close friend. I truly don’t understand that girl.”

“More accurately,” says Jenny, “she doesn’t understand you just yet.”

“I’m a mystery,” says Jackaby, sounding very self-satisfied. In Jenny’s opinion, though, there really isn’t anything mysterious about this remarkably, sweetly open man, at least not on the surface—he meets everyone’s eyes with unabashed honesty. Jenny thinks it’s more that he locks parts of himself away and covers them over as though they never were there in the first place. There isn’t anything mysterious about that; it’s just a frightened not-quite-lie that Jenny completely understands.

“Very mysterious,” she agrees. “Do you still have those gummy bears?”

“That’s a mystery,” says Jackaby. Off Jenny’s look, he reluctantly adds, “No, I don’t. I left them on the sofa when I came in here to hide.”

Jenny slides a little awkwardly off the bucket, squeezing herself in right next to Jackaby. “This is an okay closet,” she says.

“You keep it neatly organized,” Jackaby agrees, and his arm goes around Jenny’s shoulder. Her stomach does a funny little leap thing and she reaches up to play with the tassels on the ends of Abigail’s sleeve (she will not call it Jackaby’s sleeve when it’s laundry he stole).“Are you feeling all right?”

“I don’t know,” says Jenny truthfully. “I don’t think I like parties.”

“I think this is a nice party we have right here,” says Jackaby very seriously. He catches Jenny’s mouth twitching and says with a frown, “Why is that funny? Abigail says all you need to throw a good party are snacks and friends, and I have both—so.”

“So,” says Jenny, and lets her cheek rest on Jackaby’s shoulder.

#fic #jenny x jackaby #jenny cavanaugh #ANYWAY this is something i had fun with! #jackaby is a mess but so is jenny it's great