#this is a joke but also i want to stick them on a microscope slide

[lordstormageddidnt]

At this point I'm just going to biochem lecture to tune into my tri-weekly episodes of the sitcom featuring the group in front of me

#alfie #chem major #this is a joke but also i want to stick them on a microscope slide #one guy and one girl are definitely in love with the frat guy who sits between them

[shurisneakers]

harmless (xiii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader)

Warnings: cursing, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, smidge of angst, guns, little bit of violence, obnoxious flirting, and kidnapping lol

Word count: 6.2k

A/N: welcome to chaos week >:) this is the first of three updates coming out this week (if i can finish the last one in time).  big thank you to my love @no-shit-sherl0ck for the kidnaped!reader idea, and that one anon who suggested the inator that’s used here. i know you wanted to see it in a zoo but i couldn’t really figure out a way to use that so i referenced it a bunch in previous chapters. oh and also @ginevranights​ for this specific imagery 

Previous Part  || Series Masterlist

Who the fuck kidnaps a villain in this day and age?

Saturday started normally enough.

Nat kicked Bucky’s ass in training, evening the score to 120 and 120. He blames it on the lack of sleep. She tells him that it’s his fault he stayed up late to binge watch 911 Lone Star.

He still thinks it was worth it.

The team’s sunshines and rainbows that morning. Someone had cooked up a batch of pancakes and fresh orange juice. Someone else burnt the bacon but left to feed his dog before anyone could complain.

Nat opened up the newspaper. Different sections went to different people until Bucky got stuck with the entertainment section. Fun, considering that he doesn’t even recognise half the names. He’d have to pretend to be interested until the next rotation.

He watches the orange juice levitate in front of him from the corner of his eye and just assumes that Wanda’s getting a refill even though she could have just asked him to pass it. He smells the next batch of bacon burning and figures that Clint is back.

Sam’s beside him, annoying him about how long it takes for him to read about which new celebrity relationship just ended and Bucky retaliates by reading even slower. Fuck you.

He’s on his second stack of pancakes absolutely drenched in maple syrup when the doors to the elevator open and Marie steps out, laptop in her hand.

An instant chorus of hello’s and invitations to have some charred bacon resound through the table. She politely declines them with a small smile, instead opening her laptop and placing it in front of Bucky without further ado. 

He looks at her questioningly, slowly swallowing whatever was in his mouth.

“An email for you.” She tuts her head towards it. “It has a video attachment of your friend.”

Bucky has plans to not watch the video in front of everyone, given that the content could range anywhere from you reading out fanfiction about him to a deep-fake of him singing a Whitney Houston song.

Both of which you have done before and would do again, without any hesitation.

“Aren’t you gonna watch it?” Wanda asks from across the table.

He slowly shakes his head no, cutting his stack into smaller pieces.

“If what’s in it is real, it’s important,” Marie stresses.

“What’s in it?” he inquires instead, hoping that the team would stop staring at him. If Marie was implying strongly that he needed to watch then something was wrong.

“Just watch it, man.” Sam’s statement has everyone agreeing with him. Bucky can’t refuse now, and if the team makes fun of him for the next month about how he looks good belting Greatest Love of All, he’s going to personally assassinate you.

He clicks on the email, noticing it came from a throwaway address. Probably untraceable, if the cards are played right. 

The video opens to grainy footage, which is stupid considering modern technological advancements. If this is one more of your stupid LARPing sessions, it could definitely wait till after lunch. 

But, he instantly recognises your silhouette strapped to a chair and suddenly the room feels very cold around him. His hand automatically clutches onto a bead from the bracelet you gave him that still remained tied to his left arm more often than not.

“Speak,” someone commands off camera.

“About what?” You sound annoyed, exasperated even.

“Why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you have unaddressed feelings of childhood insecurity.”

“I warned you to take this seriously.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly but his body relaxes the minute he reads the situation. 

The team’s crowded around him, he can feel it. His attention remains on the screen in front of him.

“Who even are you sending this to?” You don’t sound the least bit threatened. “My roommate’s not at home but my cat is and I don’t think she’d care.”

”You’ve made a complete joke out of villains everywhere. Fraternising with the enemies, the Avengers,” he spits the name with so much vitriol. “You’ve erased what it’s like to be truly evil. Turned us into a laughing stock.”

“If it takes one person to undermine your whole movement then maybe it wasn’t strong enough to begin with.” You look at someone outside the lens, face scrunching in distaste. “Also your costume’s ugly.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., can you trace this voice?” Bucky asks, receiving an immediate confirmation. “Figure out who it is.”

“On it.”

“Tell them. Tell them we are a serious threat and are to be feared.”

"No,” you say resolutely. “You’re an overgrown manchild. Go watch Teletubbies or something.”

“She does not give a shit,” Clint marvels at the situation, a piece of half eaten burnt toast between his fingers.

You didn’t. And if he knew you in the slightest, which he prided himself on at this point, you already had six different ways of getting out of there.

“She knows she’s going to be fine,” Bucky murmurs, returning back to take a bite of his pancakes. “She’s probably still there just to irritate him.”

He zeroes in on your wrist to see if the teleportation watch was still there but no, your wrists are bare. Guess you forgot.

“You have to.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how a real villain does it.”

“A real villain- what are you, gatekeeping the villain community?” You scoff. “You sound like a fuckin’ incel.��

“Just send them a message,” the guy bellows, hitting a table.

“She’s going to frustrate them to death.” An accurate observation, Sam.

“Okay, jeez, fine.”

Bucky just knows that you rolled your eyes at that moment.

He had faith in you, or in your abilities at the very least. While every wisecrack could possibly inch you closer towards harm, you probably wouldn’t be making them unless you felt completely secure in your situation.

“Help, I’m totally kidnapped and in danger. Save me because I can’t do it myself. This man is too powerful and strong and sooo scary.”

“Do you think she has a strategy?”

“Definitely.”

“You’re not worried, James?” Wanda asks curiously. “I thought she was your friend.”

“She is my friend.” He reaches over to take the jug of orange from across the table. “That’s why I’m not worried.”

“Are you going to fight the Avengers?” you interrupt his endless tirade. “Because that’s a stupid plan. You get how that’s a stupid plan, right?”

“Let them come. I’m prepared.”

“With what? A stick you found outside? A Nerf gun? Man, you’ve tied my hands with fuckin’ zip ties, you can’t be serious-”

“Shut up,” he roared and the stand shakes slightly from where he stamps his feet. “Our army is enough.”

“Wow,” you exhale. “I wish I had your confidence, I really do. I want to study you under a microscope.”

“I have reinforcements.” It sounds like he turns to the camera to address it directly. “This is a warning. Your friends have an hour to find you or things are gonna turn ugly. This is what real evil looks like.”

“Evil dresses in a dollar store Speedo, apparently.” The man pays you no heed, instead picking up the camera. “Hey, sarge, if you’re watching this, don’t bother. I’m fine, it’s not even the real me-”

The camera cuts to black.

“When was this video sent?” Nat looks at Marie, eyebrows drawn together.

“About ten minutes ago.”

Bucky clicks out of the email, determined to get at least half his breakfast in him before he left to see what’s up with your situation. A notification pops up immediately.

[email protected] just sent you an email.

A video attachment.

“We got another one,” Bucky informs the team, drawing their attention back to the screen from the informal conversation that had erupted between them about what they could do.

This time, there’s a subject line included.

Attack on the Clone.

"Ain’t that a Star Wars movie?" he asks, craning his neck to look at Clint.

"That's Attack of the Clones," Sam corrects. "Probably autocorrect."

Bucky narrowed his eyes in suspicion at him, jaw sliding outward before falling back into place. Enough times had Sam called him Fucky in the group chat and gotten away with it for him not to be wary.

“Or a code,” Wanda suggests, too many crime thrillers read and podcasts listened in her spare time. She occasionally brought them over to Self Care Saturday, introducing him to the world of true crime as a bit of light content while they snacked on chocolate chip cookies he baked. “Like the Zodiac.”

“For what?” Bucky peers over at her.

“All I remember from that movie is them rolling around a field together,” Clint mutters. “Maybe that’s how you’re supposed to save her.”

“I’m not saving anyone. Look at her, she’s fine.” Is he the only one who saw it?

When he’s met with skeptical looks and no other useful suggestions, he presses play on the video.

This time it's clearer footage. It hardly takes him a second to ascertain where it was.

"That's her lair." It showed the pathway leading up to the flat concrete building, exactly where the intercom should be.

There was a black Sedan parked haphazardly outside, engine still on judging by the sound of the radio blasting an AC/DC song. 

Within a few seconds, someone drags you from the entrance of the lair to the car, despite your very clear protests and opposition, shoving you inside before it takes off in full speed, tires screeching. 

"F.R.I.D.A.Y., track the car from that video. Check all the CCTV and surveillance footage from around the area that you can find," Bucky commands, taking a sip of orange juice.  

"Why would they send us that?" Clint pipes up. "They make their email untraceable but send us a video of the fuckin' abduction itself?"

"I don't know." Bucky shakes his head, setting his glass down. "She probably convinced them to."

It was an unusual scenario, he realised that. But his eyebrows lower in contemplation, his lip caged between his lip before a thought suddenly occurs to him. A laugh in disbelief almost escapes his throat ad he pushes it down with some freshly cut strawberries. 

"And they listened?"

"I don't think you realise how annoying she can be." He knows, though. He knows. "Bet they regret it, though. I should tell them to keep her for a little longer."

"Voice recognition registers voice to someone named Chad, better known by his alias Soul Crusher. Surveillance footage places the car about thirty minutes away. Exact location sent to your phone GPS."

Soul Crusher. That was worse than Dr. Strange.

"I can make that fifteen." Bucky shrugs, setting down his fork and knife. If his hunch is right, the team didn’t really have to get involved. “See you guys later.”

“Do you want any of us coming with you?” Wanda gestures to the crowd at hand.

“I got it.” He pushes away from the table, depositing his plate in the sink, dropping an extra piece of bacon on the ground for Clint’s dog. “She’ll be alright.”

They watch him trail out of the room briskly, heading up to his room to change.

“Is it just me or is he too casual about this?” Clint continues staring long after he leaves.

“Both of them are weirdos.” Nat pulls open the newspaper again, going back to the sport’s section. “Who knows what goes in their heads.”

“Can confirm that not a lot goes on in his.”

Without Bucky to retaliate or grumble, a Steve walking into the room, sweaty and shiny after training becomes the new subject of jokes that morning.

__

For the first time in months, he’s had to bring a weapon or two along with him. Two revolvers and a couple of knives kept out of plain view. He wouldn’t need more than that anyway.

True to his word, it takes only fifteen minutes to get there, thirteen if he didn’t stop for the chain of ducks that crossed the street.

He’s also dressed in a little more leather than he usually reserves for your meetings. A jacket that brings to act as a windbreaker and tightly laced up combat boots make him look like he either stepped off a runway, or more menacing than usual depending on who was looking.

The GPS points him to an old warehouse near a more subdued part of the city. It was abandoned by the looks of it, and had been for a while judging by the lack of upkeep. Prime real estate.

He pulls off his helmet, hanging it on the handlebar along with his backpack before kicking the stand into place. The bike’s a few metres away just in case they decide to blow something up.

Bucky looks up at the warehouse, assessing the most damage he could do to it if at all it was needed. That thing could barely stand on its own, a grenade would absolutely decimate it. That wasn’t good news for you.

He sighs once before putting on his death glare, straightening out his shoulders into a stature that screams stone-cold, and pushes the door open, gun raised.

A mini-army of people ranging from their early twenties to late thirties stood guard at the entrance, all with rifles pointed at him. He counts fifteen, maybe eighteen.

“Oh, hell no,” a voice erupts from the back, followed by the sound of his gun being thrown to the ground. “No one told me that he was coming.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, his death glare not shifting and Glock not lowering.

“I’m out.” The same guy raises his hands up to show he meant no harm, slowly brushing past Bucky as he squeezed out of the building.

“You got five seconds to leave before I shut this door,” Bucky gives the rest of them an ultimatum. Not like there was a point anyway. SHIELD was sending down some people to account for the one day rise in new morons. 

They all looked at each other, swallowing thickly before raising their weapons.

“I hope he’s giving you good insurance.” The second he finishes his sentence they all cry out in what sounds like a fucking war chant, launching themselves at him. 

______

“They’re here.” Someone presses his ear to the door as if the gunshots and screaming weren’t enough. 

“Brilliant. We’re ready.” Chad picks up the knife, running his finger along the sharp end. You try to see if you can use your Twitter-ordained powers of manifestation for a paper cut.

“How much are you asking them for?” You put forth a query instead, when it disappointingly doesn’t work.

“Asking who for what?” Chad stops his dumb intimidation tactic for a second. 

“You know,” you insist like it was obvious, “my ransom. How much did you ask them to pay?”

“We didn’t-” He looks around at the other people in the room for confirmation. “-we didn’t ask for any.”

“Because I’m invaluable?” Your head droops to the side in mock flattery. “Aw, you guys.”

“We didn’t think of it,” someone from the corner behind you speaks up, coming to the aid of their boss.

“Now that’s just rude.” You tut, shifting maybe an inch or two in your bounds to try and get more comfortable. “Leaving aside your lack of preparation, let’s just assume he bursts in here, desperate and ready to bargain. How much would you ask for?”

“Three million,” Chad says confidently, gathering a nod and sounds of agreement from everyone else.

“Are you serious?” Your jaw drops, a scoff escaping you. “That’s all?”

His self-assurance falters a little bit, you can see it under his 5 Minutes Craft mask.

“Three mill-” You stop mid-sentence. “With this wiring? Ridiculous. Make it ten, I demand it.”

“We’ll ask for fifteen mil,” Chad proposes, his teammates agreeing again, a little more delighted than last time.

“Ask for thirty, you coward,” you argued. “Thirty million and a jet.”

“You’re not worth that much.” The dipshit diagonal to you pipes up with his unwanted and, frankly, useless opinion.

“And you are?” You whip around the best you can. “Henchman number four?”

“Megedagik,” he informs, standing up a little taller now that he was given some importance. “It means ‘killer of many’.”

“Did you just say your name was Mega Dick?” 

“Megedagik,” he corrects.

You stare at him hard before turning away. “Alright, other than Mega Dick here, does anyo-”

A knife lands right next to your feet, driven at least an inch into the ground. You look up at the guy you managed to piss off within four sentences, his face now a beet red. 

“These are brand new, asshole,” you barked, shaking your shoes around. “You’re gonna pay if there’s even a scratch on it.”

“Permission to kill her?” Meg growls, casting a side eye at Chad.

The boss man looks at you thoughtfully, assessing the repercussions of what might happen. You raise an eyebrow.

“Slow and painful,” he settles. 

A small smirk makes its way onto your face. 

“Title of your sex tape,” you quip as the man in the corner storms towards you.

_____

It’s all a flurry, really. A bunch of inexperienced newcomers versus one of the most skilled assassins the world had ever seen? Ten minutes tops.

Bucky doesn’t do any serious damage. A couple of broken bones but only out of necessity, a lot of concussions, and maybe a bullet wound, or three, here and there. 

Most of the time he spends thinking about things that have absolutely nothing to do with what was going on. He forgot to take his laundry out of the machine. There was a biscotti recipe he had been procrastinating on trying. His succulents needed watering but he could do that once he was back. Was he wearing his good combat pants or was it the pair that had a hole in the pocket?

His left hand thrust outwards to shove someone away while he stuck his right hand into his pocket to check if it had frayed away. The person he pushed slams into a wall with a loud groan and no, his pants didn’t have a hole in them. 

He stops to take a breather, assess what was going on. There are bodies scattered all around, mostly writhing in pain from minor injuries. Someone very bravely stands up, hands posed in front of him in a regular fighting stance.

“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, reaching for one of the concealed knives he hadn’t had a chance of using yet. It twirls rather nimbly between his fingers for something so dangerous, the hilt finally landing in his palm for a sturdy grip.

The man takes one look at the knife before sitting right back down on the ground. 

“Good choice,” his voice drops to an octave lower than his self-esteem. He’s tired of this old routine but it works like a neat little party trick, often getting him the result he wanted. “Where?”

A few fingers point down the hall to the only room whose door was closed.

He makes sure to step over everyone who was lying along the way, ears tuned in to even the smallest of noises just in case one of them decided to attack him from the back. It doesn’t come.

He doesn’t bother creeping down the hallway. With all the ruckus that just went on outside, he’s pretty sure it’s obvious that they had an intruder. 

Bucky kicks in the large steel door with ease, given that it was barely hanging on its hinges. His gun’s raised, muscles tight, and senses on high alert for any immediate threats. 

It lands with a large thud, reverberating through the room. He’s reminded of your first meeting with him.

There’s a chair in the middle of the room with a person tied to it by a mixture of rope and tape. Others found themselves slithering around on the floor in a similar fashion, trying to get out of their bondages.

“Hey, James,” you call out, drawing his attention to you. You were sitting atop a table, legs swinging back and forth without a care in the world, a blade in your hand. 

“You okay?” He tucks the gun into his waistband when he realises that none of the henchmen are going to be going anywhere soon.

“All good.” You hop off the table with a little spring in your step. “Did you bring your bike? I need a ride back to the lair. I think I left the TV on when I was, you know, getting kidnapped.”

“You coulda teleported back home before all of this even happened.” Bucky does a quick assessment of your body to make sure there weren’t any bruises or anything of the sort. “Avoided the whole thing.”

“Don’t have the watch with me.” Odd, since he knows you consider it one of your essentials but it just fuels his theory further. “Besides, if I just quit before we started, they’d keep messing with me over and over again.”

“Do you want me to punch someone’s face in?” He glances around the room at the ones wiggling about on the floor like fucking worms. “I’d be happy to.”

“Nah, I got a few in myself.” You rotate your wrist, other hand still holding onto the knife. “You know what, maybe I’ll have another go.”

He simply makes a noise in acknowledgement before he places a hand on the hem of your shirt, gently reeling you back. “I think you fixed ‘em up real good. That’s enough for today.”

“Fine but only ‘cause you said so.” You huff, looking past him and at the weirdos on the ground. “You hear that? This man just saved your life. Say ‘thank you’.”

A muffled chorus of what sounded like appreciation echoed through the room. Bucky awkwardly looks around.

“Damn right.” You walk over to the guy in charge of the whole event, bending down to his level. “If you ever try to fuck with us again...”

You stare straight into his eyes, unblinking. You hold up the knife to his Adam’s apple. Chad doesn’t dare to move other than the thick swallow.

You raise your finger and flick him in the forehead. “Get a better costume.”

The corner of Bucky’s lip quirks upward.

“Let’s go, sarge,” you announce, standing upright again and making a motion to follow you. “D’you have an extra helmet I could use?”

“Yeah.” He had brought one along in his bag, assuming that you’d need one once he noticed the watch was missing in the footage.  

“Yay.”

The only storage space on his bike was under his seat and it’s just enough for an extra revolver. Clint asked him if it was his way of flirting with someone, give ‘em a quick spin around the city and then show them his gun. If looks could kill, Clint would be 7 feet under. 

“You sure you wanna ride it, though?” He cringes immediately when he realises what it sounds like, waiting for you to smack the innuendo in his face. “We could wait for SHIELD.”

“Don’t really have another choice, Bucky,” you say absentmindedly, strolling out the room as you tossed the knife behind you.

He frowns at your indifference but turns around for a second to look at Chad. The man in question looks back viciously, his grandeur from that morning basically deflated and left to die along with his reputation.

“Might wanna reconsider the name,” Bucky remarks, doing a quick sweep of the area once more. “Soul Crusher.”

He waits until both of you are outside the cell and the door is shut on the ringleader and his circus clowns, handlebar twisted out of place so that they don’t escape for the time being.

“One second,” he calls, touch gently lingering on your forearm to stop you without even thinking twice about it. A famously uncharacteristic move for him.

"Hm?” You don’t even look like you notice his action.

“You sure you’re good?” he asks seriously, actual concern slipping through the question. “Do you need medical assistance?”

“They couldn’t hurt me anyway.” There’s something strange about the way you say it, almost assuredly. “I’m good.”

“Okay,” he concedes, his hand darting back when he realises it was still on your arm. His eyebrows furrow when he realises how instinctively he had reached out in the first place.  He didn’t touch anyone, ever.

“What are we gonna do about them?” you inquire, stepping over someone on the floor to get to the exit.

“Marie told Agent Hill. They’re sending someone over.”

“They’re sending SHIELD for these wannabes?” Someone groans in protest from somewhere and you elect to ignore them. “Ew.”

“Just to make sure confidential information isn’t compromised in any way.” There’s a large bang that comes from the room they just left. Maybe one of them shot their teammate by accident. They were more than capable of doing it.

“I would never,” you exacted a little more solemnly, pushing the door open with your elbow to let the sunlight flood in.

“I know.” He doesn’t realise how dark it was in the warehouse until he steps out into the noon sun. “I’m pretty sure this is more about the fact that you were abducted.”

“For me?” The smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes the way he kinda likes. Something definitely felt off. “I love being class favourite.”

He doesn’t reply, a small grunt as he twists the handle of the warehouse door upwards, effectively jamming it. 

“Can I drive?” You bat your eyelashes at him innocently, disregarding the loud screaming that came from inside as those less injured probably regrouped for a last ditch attempt. 

“No,” he doesn’t hesitate in replying, handing you a helmet and buckling his own securely.

“But I just got kidnapped,” you complained, watching him swing a leg over the bike and straddle it. Okay then. 

“All the more reason for you not to drive right now.” He mentions for you to get on, squinting at the warehouse a few feet away.

“Fine, but next time I’m driving,” you grumble, climbing on the back.

“Do you even know how to?” His head is tilted to look at you from the corner of his eye, voice heavier on account of the obstruction on his face.

The door starts shaking violently and he knows for a fact that it won’t hold up for much longer. Some of those who he had knocked out probably had been shaken awake again for manpower. 

“I can learn.” You take a pause, mischief seeping into your next words. “You can teach me.”

“No.” He didn’t exactly practice what was considered safe, law abiding driving. He just got from one point to another and that’s all he cared about.

“Then I’ll do it myself.” You sound determined. “I’m going to leave a note for us in the lair.”

“You do that.” He revs the engine when something solid hits the metal door. As guessed, their usage of props to push it down faster was coming into play. “Now, can you hold on to something? We need to go.”

If only those idiots just realised that the windows covered by newspapers were right there, ready to be broken.

“Only if you promise to let me drive next time,” you say defiantly, drawing this whole ordeal out.

“Whatever,” he urges. “I promise. Now can we go?”

“Wait for it...” There’s a devilish smile on your face. “One.”

There’s a loud creak as the door finally gives way.

“Two.” The same people you left tied up in the room burst out, almost stumbling over each other in the process.

“Three,” he completes it on his own, not waiting for you to finish because God knows how long you’d stretch it out just for the drama.

Your excited screech of laughter as he narrowly misses a rod that gets thrown at him like a fucking javelin temporarily distracts him from the brain freeze he gets when your arms wind around his waist to hold yourself in place. 

There’s angry screaming and bullets that whiz past in an attempt to get him to stop but a swift turn around a corner, pulling the both of you out of their sight is enough to get rid of them. 

“We should get a few weapons and go back,” you yell over the wind rushing by, barely audible.

“You do that in your own free time,” he shouts in response, yanking you through narrower lanes and less popular streets.

“Maybe I will, you bore.” 

Still, you shut up for the rest of the ride, only grumbling when he stops the bike to tell you that no, you cannot let go just because you want to throw your hands in the air like in the movies.

You hop off when he finally pulls up on the street outside your lair, adrenaline still pumping through your veins. He waits patiently as you unbuckle the helmet, switching off the engine. 

“You gonna drop me off at my door too, now?” You snicker, fingers pulling off the helmet.

He looks at you for a second before dropping the kickstand into place and dismounting from the motorcycle.

“I was kidding.” You laugh, handing him your headgear that he shoves into his backpack. 

“You’re pretty capable of gettin’ abducted along the way.” An absurd notion, considering it’s a short path from the road to the door. 

“Oh, how chivalrous.” You let him tag along anyway, for his peace of mind. 

“My ma didn’t expect any less.” A couple of sharp lessons from Winifred Barnes and Bucky was nothing short of a damn angel. 

You knock on the door three times, crossing your arms over your chest as you waited. 

“Aren’t you the one with the key?” Bucky questions, one hand on his waist. 

The door swung open in the middle of his sentence revealing... you.

Another you.

“Nah, she has it.” Ex-Kidnapped-You raises your head in acknowledgement at Doorway-You.

“Ah.” He fucking knew it. An unnatural sense of smugness blossoms in his chest. 

“Hey,” the both of you said at the same time.

Doorway-You looked way more relaxed, a little less grimy and dishevelled but exactly the same.

“Buck, I see you met my other half,” the you from the doorway greets him. “Or other whole, actually.”

“Sure did.” He sends a glance at Ex-Kidnapped-You.

“You can go on in. Big first day, huh?” Doorway-You refers to the you beside him.

“You wouldn’t believe,” Ex-Kidnaped-You mutters, pushing past the entrance and disappearing inside.

“She gonna be okay?” His gaze trails after your clone.

“Oh yeah, just needs to recharge.” You turn around to make sure she’s fine. “She’s made of some pretty strong carbon, technically almost indestructible.”

No wonder ‘you’ said they couldn’t hurt you.

“Heya, sarge.” You draw his attention back to you. “Always good to see you.”

“Can’t really say the same about you.” 

“Ever the emotional repressor, Mr Barnes. I like this little leather show you got going, did ya wear it just for me?”

He shifts his balance to his other foot, feet slightly wide apart. “Take it that the clone machine finally worked?”

“I was in the middle of celebrating.” You sigh, recalling the events of that morning. “Teleported home for a second to get some champagne and when I came back she was gone.”

“Irresponsible.” He tsks, head shaking in disappointment. 

“Sorry I didn’t take amateur kidnappers into account for my risk factor analysis, Bucky,” you shoot back, pressing on his name for added annoyance. “Anyway, I did the responsible thing. I sent all the evidence I had to you guys.”

“Real clever.” Bucky looks at you in dry amusement. “Attack on the clone? Really?”

“Hey, always make time for a good pun.” You finger gun, lopsided grin on your face. “Did the team like it?”

“They thought it was a typo.” Or a code. He really had Wanda to thank for his big revelation. “Your video didn’t help either.”

“Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.” You laugh, crossing your arms over your chest.

He doesn’t reply, pursing his lip inwards in sympathy, but more so to conceal a smile.

The happiness drops from your face slowly, horror taking its place. “Don’t tell me they couldn’t make out it was me.”

“Good job, your machine worked,” he adds helpfully.

“C’mon, there were so many differences,” you whine, the success of your endeavour the last thing on your mind. 

“That is your literal clone,” he points out, only to see you- clone you- walk into the giant box in the corner of the room, bright green light emanating from it like a xerox machine.

“How could they not tell the original apart from a copy?” You look genuinely offended. Insane. “Not even Sam?”

“Guess you’re not unique enough.” A rise and fall of his shoulders signify his attitude towards this whole thing. “Think I like your copy better, too, actually.”

“You’re so mean.” You puff in disbelief. “I’m a 100% original. How many mad scientist teachers do you know?”

“Two.” 

“I don’t mean now, that’s not even the-” You poke at his rock hard chest. “You are so much more annoying than when I first met you.”

He thinks it’s good relationship development.

“I have to deal with you every weekend.” He watches your finger drop from his chest. “Picked it up along the way.”

“Boo hoo, talking like you don’t have deep, deep feelings for me.” You roll your eyes. “I see right through you, Bucky Barnes.”

“Can you see the part that couldn’t give less of a shit?” He gestures to himself. “It’s all of it.”

“You think you’re such a comedian, huh?” You narrow your eyebrows. “How did you know she was a fake then, huh?”

Busted.

“Probably ‘cause you didn’t talk as much today,” he dodges. “Actually had some peace of mind for a change.”

“You knew before you got there, you liar.” You push past his fabrications. “You figured it out before everyone else.”

“You literally put it in the title.”

“Yeah, but the rest of the team saw it too.”

“Rest of the team didn’t know you were building a goddamn clone machine for months.”

“You remembered that?” You pulled away, palm over your heart. “Oh, sarge, you paid attention to me.”

His nose twitches.

“You said it, like, eight hundred times.” He could use both his hands to count the number of references you had offhandedly made in the last three weeks alone.

“Why'd you go save me when you knew it wasn't real?” you continue to challenge relentlessly, knowing fully well that he was fibbing. 

“Because you fuckin’ peer pressured me. Had the whole team around me when you sent your little video during breakfast.”

“Just admit it,” you coo, ignoring all his justifications. “You noticed it was fake me right away but showed up anyway because you’re wildly in love with me.”

“No,” he says stiffly. 

“No as in you won’t admit it you have a crush on me, or no as in you didn’t know it was fake me?”

There was no winning this. 

“Good day to you.” He pulls the motorcycle helmet on to hide the expression that plain as day screamed the former of your two options.

“Also,” you bring up indignantly, “she even got to ride the fucking bike and I’ve been asking to drive it for months now!”

“We-” he chooses his words carefully. “-compromised.”

“Oh, you did?” Your voice lowers at the newfound information, interest piqued. “I’m gonna hold you to that then, whatever it is.”

“Doesn’t count.”

“Absolutely does,” you huff. “A promise is legally binding. Blue’s Clues taught me that.”

“Bye, Y/N.”

“You’re my knight in leathery armour,” you swoon, switching sides immediately, “Kinda.”

“See you next week,” he says in farewell, determined to leave before you made it worse. “Try not to get killed by then.”

“Why, so you can do it yourself? Protective much?” You pull him back when he starts walking away, laughing slightly. “Wait a second, you weirdo.”

He sighs, staying put anyway, arms crossed impatiently over his chest.

You pull out the pen tucked behind your ear and slowly tap him twice on each shoulder in a makeshift knighting ceremony. “For your sacrifice.”

He rolls his eyes at the ludicrousness, tongue clicking against the roof of his mouth.

You ignore his lack of enthusiasm, pressing your fingertips to your lips in a small kiss and then to his nose, given that it was the only part of his face you had access to.

“That was for your bravery.” You grin brightly at him and he sure as hell is glad he’s wearing the stupid helmet because he can feel his cheeks light up a bright crimson.

“Thanks.” His voice sounds gruffer than a second ago. He clears his throat.

“Now you’re my knight in leathery armour,” you fawn, nearly falling over yourself dramatically. “Let’s ride into the sunset together. I love you.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he calls out over his shoulder, turning away to return to his bike. “I despise you.”

“But you don’t.”

He really didn’t.

also i managed to fuck my phone up really bad so all proceeds from my ko-fi go towards getting it fixed

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[sparklingchan]

Phenomenal you are || Choi Jongho(Ateez)

Pairing : Reader(fem.) X Jongho

Word count : 2.1k+

Warnings : cuss words.

Genre : Fluff, angst if you look with a microscope, romance, rock band au.

Description: In which, a band practice for the Annual Winter Festival brings Jongho to finally face his true feelings for you. 

A/N : I wrote for ateez after soooo long. I’ve been pre occupied kinda but I’ve written a few drabbles to post from time to time. 

Enjoy!

In the quiet summer afternoon , while the sun is at its most cruel forms and the rest of the world is enjoying their holiday at the pool, the only sound that can be heard from Hongjoong's old car garage is the soft strumming of Jongho's acoustic guitar. Lazy and unmotivated.

"We need a singer." Hongjoong says with a sigh louder than Wooyoung's laugh as all the boys stare at him.

How dare he!

The tension in the air is so thick someone could cut it with a knife and though no one breaks the silence, they know what is to come next.

Jongho stares at Hongjoong, eyes big with curiosity and mouth gaping, half expecting Hongjoong to suddenly start laughing and declare it all a prank.

"We really need a singer." Hongjoong stresses on every word yet again. That's a combination of words he never thought he'd hear the older boy say yet here they were.

"Man, come on, we already have Wooyoung and Jongho. We don't need another singer." Mingi groans, absent-mindedly playing with his drum sticks. His foot is slightly tapping against the bass drum pedal.

Jongho and Wooyoung shake their heads in agreement but Hongjoong looks unconvinced. Like always.

"But the rules for The Winter Music festival are clear. They said that a band needs to have a separate singer along with the instrument players. Or else they won't be allowed to participate!" Hongjoong argues.

Jongho sighs with frustration. He loves singing as much as he loves playing the guitar, but if he had to choose between one, he'd always choose the former. He can't let someone new take his place as the voice of the band.

It hurt his ego more than he'd like to admit to his friends.

"I'll stop playing the guitar. I'll just sing." He suggests, although he's immediately met with Hongjoong's disapproval.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous. Who will play the guitar then? I play the keyboard and Wooyoung is on the bass. We can't play the guitar!"

There he is, leader Hongjoong, who's always right.

"Fine. Fine. So does anyone have any singers in mind? Should we hold a small audition or..?" Mingi says.

Wooyoung smirks at Jongho's direction, leaning in to whisper into his ear, "Dude, its your chance to shine. Come on. Tell them."

Except Wooyoung can't whisper. He can only yell.

"What? Tell us what?" Hongjoong questions.

"Oh, you know y/n right? She sings really well. She has a YouTube channel too." Wooyoung exclaims, walking as far away from Jongho as possible.

Jongho elbows the older boy right in his stomach.

"Y/n? As in Jongho's y/n?" Mingi asks with a mischievous grin.

Jongho hides his face in his hands, cheeks burning red as an unknown combination of happiness and embarrassment wash over.

The sound of your name always makes him feel vulnerable yet he cannot bring himself to hate this new found side of his personality.

Were you truly Jongho's? He didn't know. But did he want you to be his? Obviously, yes.

"So who's going to talk to her?" Hongjoong asks, actually considering it.

Jongho is beyond exasperated at this point, "Hey! We can hold a small audition or something. I'm sure there are other singers who'd want to try out?"

"Do you really want that ?" Wooyoung teases.

No, he doesn't. He doesn't think there's any better singer out there than you. Your honey like voice with the most beautiful texture ever gifted to a human and the way your eyes close in concentration when you feel the music right in your bones always makes him feel weak in the knees. He wants to be able to watch it all live and not from behind a laptop screen.

"Fine. I'll talk to y/n."

No one reacts because they already know Jongho could never say no to anything that involves you.

*

"I'm not very confident, Jongho, I'm telling you!" You cry out loud as you walk down the unfamiliar road with Jongho close by your side, not paying heed to any of your protests.

When Jongho first asked you to join his infamous band as the lead singer, you were sure he was joking. But he insisted that he wasn't and the serious expression plastered on his face showed nothing but honesty so you let yourself believe him.

Of course, you did throw around your own set of tantrums which you were sure irritated him, even so he somehow manages to take you to the boys' practicing session in Kim Hongjoong 's garage.

"Y/n, please, you and I both know you're the best choice. Mind you, Hongjoong personally discarded the idea of an audition just to save this position for you!"

Lies. It was him that had said no to the prospect of holding an open and fair audition for all the students of their school. Because he only ever wanted you.

"Why do I feel like you're buttering me." You mutter to yourself but Jongho obviously hears you, and a smile crawls its way onto his lips.

The garage is old and a little small, you notice the moment you enter the place, but that place also has everything you ever dreamed of - instruments, good mics, a band who wanted you to be their lead singer, and Jongho.

"Hey, y/n! I'm so glad you actually came. You know Jongho's never been the most convincing man on earth, right?" Wooyoung greets you, his fingers busy fiddling with the tuning keys of his bass guitar.

You smile, "I think he convinced me well enough though. "

You shoot Jongho a shy glance, only to find him staring right back at you, his eyes reflecting the same yearning as yours do. The sides of his mouth are slowly curving into a grin, and the thumping in your chest increases as you watch him blush under the warm, afternoon sunlight.

Ethereal is what he looks like to you.

Mingi clears his throat, breaking the unexpectedly long eye contact, "Guys, come on. We have to practice."

And with that begins your musical journey with the boys.

There were really nice and welcoming and made you feel very comfortable. It almost felt like you were...home.

Within weeks, you had gotten so close to the guys, one would almost confuse you of having known each other for a long time when in reality you guys barely talk to each other at school. And nothing would have changed if you hadn't joined the band.

And on the other hand, we have Choi Jongho. Nice and sweet and talented and has heart eyes for you and only you, yet with your new found friendship with the other boys, he finds a foreign feeling of insecurity settling down in his heart, like foreign sediments in fresh water.

Until a few days ago, you were his little secret, his only friend out of his normal social circle at school, he had you all to himself. But now that his other friends have started showing equal interest in you, he feels neglected, jealous even. Though he would die rather than mention it you or the boys.

"We're going for ice cream. Come on." Wooyoung unlocks the door to Mingi's car, and slides is as if it were his own, "I'm driving."

Hongjoon mutters a warning under his breath before sitting in the front passenger's seat while Mingi follows suit, and sits behind them.

"When was this decided?" Jongho leans against the car's door , an irritated expression etched onto his face. His forehead is creased, his eyes alert and his hands are stuffed in his pocket - he looks displeased  .

"When you were in the toilet. What's the big deal." Wooyoung says impatiently.

Jongho looks at you, his forehead crease deepening, "Why didn't you tell me?"

You are taken aback; in all honesty, you hadn't thought it was such a great deal to him. The five of you were just going for ice cream. Its not a life or death situation.

"I-I didn't think it was that important. " you reply.

Jongho scoffs, a sarcastic smile on his lips, "You didn't think it was important to tell me we were going somewhere? I see, I wasn't wrong to think you'd finally sidelined me. "

"Jongho, what are you even saying?" You say, exasperated.

Jongho has never been a man of too many words, or too many gestures. He doesn't have the habit of beating around the bush. Which is why is words are often too honest, too harsh.

You knew this, yet you couldn't help but feel a sting when Jongho accuses you of sidelining him. It feels like your chest is on fire.

"Dude, just get in the car. What's gotten into you?" Hongjoong says.

You are utterly confused - you couldn't believe Choi Jongho is throwing tantrums over something so trivial - the man who is known for his high tolerance and abundant patience.

"Nah, I'm good." Jongho pulls away from the door and turns on his heels , "See you guys tomorrow!"

And with that, he walks in the opposite direction, toward his house. And needless to say, he doesn't even bother sparing a single glance at you.

"Should I go after him?" You ask out of impulse, but you do mean it.

What's the point of going with the guys when your mind would anyway be preoccupied with Jongho?

"Not to play cupid, y/n, but yeah, I think you should." Hongjoong sighs, rubbing the crease between his eyebrows .

You nod, closing the door, "I'll see you guys later then."

"Give him a smack in the head while you're at it ,y/n." Mingi chuckles, shaking his head.

"Oh, I will."

*

Jongho had not walked far enough yet, making it easier for you to run up behind him.

"Oi! Jongho! Wait."

Now, Jongho is sure he's making up things in his head because he genuinely believes you’d not have left the boys behind just to chase him. Well, prove him wrong now, y/n, will you?

"Jongho! " you yell again and this time he stops in his tracks, not having the guts to turn around yet curious enough to wait for you.

"What?" He demands without sparing you a glance still his eyes somehow manage to stare at your shadow on the concrete of the street, "Why didn't you go?"

You quickly catch up to him, though the run exhausts you badly but you convince yourself it's worth it.

If it's for Jongho, everything is worth it.

"Because its no fun without you. "

Jongho had built up this weak wall around him, a wall meant to protect his fragile heart from being broken but there has never been anything as fragile and delicate as this wall - and the words that leave your mouth does exactly that.

"Y/n, I-" he begins but you cut him off.

"Uh, no. Firstly, you owe me an apology for all that you said before, and secondly, you owe me a whole tub of ice cream because I chose my crush over ice cream and that is not done."

You'd never been the best at confessions, really, and before today You'd never felt the need for it either. Yet here you are. Confessing to Jongho as if it were the most natural thing to do.

"You - what?" He asks in disbelief, his body growing warm under your intimidating gaze.

Y/n just confessed to you, dumb ass, wake up!

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get too ahead of yourself." You roll your eyes, wrapping a shaky arm around his.

"Do you really mean it, y/n?" He asks in the most sincere voice, the tremble in his voice giving him away completely.

Jongho doesn't deny your touch but he does look away from you, his face scrunching in a peculiar way.

You don't know if he's crying or laughing or about to combust, but whatever it is , the slight blush on his cheeks and the softness of his eyes makes you feel all mushy inside.

"Of course! " you whine, "Why don't you believe me?"

Jongho pulls you closer and then wraps his arms around you - like how he'd seen people do in those stupid rom com movies. And when you hug him back , placing the softest kiss on his cheek, he realises how relieved he is.

“I believe you.” He sighs, “And I like you, too.”

And he realises how much more special this feels than the scenarios he’d often make up in his head. He realises how terribly sweet you smell, how radiant your laughter is and how phenomenal you are.

#ateez #ateez au #ateez kpop #ateez jongho #ateez fics #ateez angst #ateez x reader #ateez flufd #ateez scenario #choi jongho #ateez choi jongho #jongho x reader #kpop au #kpop imagines #ateez imagines #choi jongho fics #ateez fanfic #ateez ff #ateez smut #kpop fanfic #kpop ff #ateez jongho scenarios #rockband au #ateez reactions

[mutualpiningandawkwardness]

SB 242 (on AO3)

Rated: E, 11k words, High School AU

Stiles is sent to the principal’s office. Shenanigans ensue. (Actually, the shenanigans already started — and will probably continue indefinitely.)

Great big hugs and thank yous to @troubleiwant​, @skyrose-catara-danza​ and @acetronaught​ for beta-ing!

Stiles runs down the hallway and skids to a stop where Scott is waiting just outside their biology class.  They tumble inside just as the late bell rings.  Mrs. Finch is nowhere to be seen, which is great; they won’t even get marked tardy.  Stiles already has seven tardies this semester.

As they take their seats, Scott leans over to whisper, “Hey, what took so long? I thought you were just getting your book from your locker.”

“I, uh, had to… take a dump.”  Stiles avoids meeting Scott’s eyes.  He hates lying to his best friend.

“Again?  Dude, you just went this morning!”

Stiles gapes and blinks at Scott for a couple seconds before he can respond.  “Scott, it’s a testament to our friendship that I am comfortable with you knowing the schedule of my bowel movements. But c’mon!”  He punches Scott’s shoulder.

The universe must hate them, because their old chemistry teacher, Mr. Harris, comes in and stalks to the front of the classroom to glare at the students. Through force of habit Scott and Stiles sit up straighter and focus their attention forward. Harris’s eyes narrow as his gaze passes over them.

“Students.  I’ll be filling in for Ms. Finch.  She had a family emergency and will be back tomorrow.”  There are noises of students shifting in their seats, but the class knows better than to groan.  Harris would probably assign extra work for that out of spite.  Stiles gives Scott his best eye-roll, though, and Scott bites his lip to hide his returning smile.

“Today you will be looking at human cell samples under the microscope.  Can anyone guess where we will get our samples?”  After the class throws out several suggestions - hair, skin, toe nail clippings, cadavers - Harris lets them know they will be taking swabs of the inside of their cheeks, like those taken for home paternity kits.

“Your workstations are already set up with microscopes. I will be coming around to hand out slides. Do not touch the surface of the slide.  Keep it clean so you will be better able to observe your samples.  Take a cotton swab from the box being passed around.”

They rub the cotton swabs on the inside of their cheeks and smear them against the slides to transfer cells to look at under the microscope. Harris instructs them to observe the samples of their partners, so Stiles looks at Scott’s cells and vice versa.  Stiles focuses the lens and is able to see blobs that sort of look like sad little crumpled plastic bags with a dark spot, the nucleus, and a bunch of other little dark specks scattered around that are apparently bacteria.  Blergh.  He starts sketching what he sees into his lab notebook.

Scott takes a long time adjusting the focus. He starts sketching but is making frustrated noises.

“Dude this is hard. It keeps moving,” he complains.

“Moving?  What do you mean?”

Scott glances at Stiles’ sketch and frowns, glances back at his own.

“Wait. Lemme see mine.”  Scott moves over to Stiles’ microscope and looks through the eyepiece.  He looks up at Stiles, worried.

“Uh, dude.  I think you’re sick or something. I’m seeing, like, serious bacteria on your sample?  And mine is, like, way cleaner looking.”

Stiles moves to Scott’s microscope. He looks and adjusts the focus and sure enough, there are squiggly wiggly movements all over the slide. The slide with his cheek cells. He looks at Scott and they stare at each other confused.

“Huh. I don’t feel sick.”  Shit. Did he just catch something?

“Mr. Harris?”  Scott thrusts his hand into the air, sounding panicked. “I think Stiles has some kind of infection?!  Can you check?”

Harris purses his lips, exhales loudly and makes his way over.

“Boys, if you are messing around this is going to be detention.”

“No sir. I just want to make sure Stiles is okay.  Like, what if he has walking pneumonia?  He could be sick and not feel it.”  Then, more quietly to Stiles, “You pooped twice today.  Maybe this is why.”

Harris looks in the scope and fiddles with the focus.

After staring for exactly five seconds, he violently jerks back from the eyepiece.

He looks at Stiles, then Scott with wide eyes.

“Is this a joke?”

“What? No. What is it?”  Scott reaches out to hold Stiles' shoulder.

“If you did this on purpose-  This is grounds for suspension!”

Now Stiles is starting to panic.  “No!  What is it? Is it dangerous?  Like contagious or something?  Do I have bird flu or Ebola or something?”

“Where did you get this?  Whose slide is this?”  Harris is practically in Stiles' face.

Stiles says ‘mine’ at the same time Scott points at him.

“Mr. McCall.  You saw Mr. Stilinski take the cheek swab and wipe it on the slide?

“Yeah.”

“And he didn't switch slides or add anything to it, take anything from his pockets or backpack or anything?”

“No.”  Scott shakes his head bewildered.

“Did you touch the slide surface?  With your hands or anything else?” “No, I held it by the edges like you showed us.”

Harris casts his glance around to the students nearby. “Did anyone see Mr Stilinski doing anything other than swab his cheek and transfer the cells to the slide?”

Students shrug or shake their heads no, but it's unlikely anyone was paying that close attention - they were all busy with their own slides.

“He totally did what you told us to. We did it together. I was watching the whole time,” Scott says placatingly and a little defensively.

Stiles gives Scott’s shoulder a grateful nudge.

Mr Harris’s expression locks down.

“Mr Stilinski, go to the administrative office.”*

“What?  Why?”

“Do. As. You're. Told. I will be there momentarily.”

“Am… am I in trouble?  Am I sick?!”

Harris doesn’t answer, just gives Stiles the angriest glare he’s ever seen the man give, and that’s saying something, so Stiles takes his backpack, gives Scott a worried look, and goes.  Maybe the nurse will be able to diagnose him.

He walks to the office wondering what disease he could have.  The last time he went down a research spiral into communicable diseases he’d started with Ebola and ended on Lassa hemorrhagic fever, which… No.  He specifically did not clean the shed when his dad asked him to until his medical grade dust masks arrived from Amazon.  

He hopes it’s not too serious. Something like strep throat or mono maybe.  But how would he explain mono? Scott would ask who he caught it from, and what would he say?  As far as anyone knows, there is no one he could be kissing.  No one knows about Derek… about him and Derek. That they've been meeting in the bathroom on the north end of campus where no one ever goes to make out almost daily for the past two weeks.  He can't tell anyone this, though.  No only is Derek not out — everybody is still expecting him to get back together with Paige after they broke up last month — but also… his mom’s the Mayor.  And she’s up for re-election this year.  So, no.  Derek will not be announcing his new-found sexuality any time soon.  

But if this is some contagious thing...

Shit. He’ll at least have to tell Derek. He can get checked out by his own doctor.  Maybe they'll both get to stay home sick and can skype all day.  It would be cool if they got to be under quarantine together.

He steps into the office and Mrs. Hillman the office assistant, nods at him and darts her eyes to the chairs outside Principal Thomas’s office.  Stiles takes a seat.  He sees Erica filing some papers in the corner.  She gives him a smirk and a wink and goes back to her filing.

After only a couple minutes Harris storms in, places the microscope he brought with him on the counter and yanks Stiles up by the upper arm - Dude! Corporal punishment! Assault!  - and knocks sharply on the door.  At the muffled reply, Harris steers him in and dumps him into the chair across the desk from Mr. Thomas.

Of course Harris is the one to question him while Principal Thomas remains quiet.

“Who were you with?”

Stiles' mouth drops open but he stays silent, really not wanting to get Derek involved in this.

Harris gets in Stiles' space. “At lunch time, who were you with?”

Okay, if this is some CDC level emergency of course he’ll have to let them know Derek is potentially sick too, but they haven’t even established what kind of sick he is.

“Uh. Am I contagious?”

“Listen. You tell us who you were with, or you're facing expulsion.”

“What?!  You mean, like, sick leave, right?  I- What ? For being sick ?  Can you even-”

Luckily, there's a knock on the door and Mrs. Hillman sticks her head in.  “Sheriff Stilinski is here.”

Stiles groans.  Was he just in the neighborhood? Did he really come here in response to a call from Harris?  He must have used his siren.  Or run all the red lights.  Probably both.  Fuuuuck.  How bad is this?  

Principal Thomas waves his dad in. “Sheriff, thank you for coming. I'm sure you have much better things to do - serving the city - than come in here to be notified of your son’s infractions.”

Infractions?  Does contracting a contagious disease count as an infraction?

“Really, Stiles?”

“Dad, I-”

The Sheriff cuts him off with a calmly raised hand.  He turns to Principal Thomas. ‘What did- what happened?”

Harris sits up straighter and leans forward.  The Sheriff turns to face him.  “Sir.  In biology the class took swabbed samples of cheek cells to look at under the microscope and Stiles was found to have semen in his sample. In his mouth. He had semen in the sample from his mouth.”

“What?!” the Sheriff, Stiles, and Principal Thomas yell at the same time.  It would be hilarious if it weren’t so shocking.  It’s quiet for a second as the news sinks in.

Then, a soft, “Ooooooh,” from Stiles.  Suddenly everything makes sense.  The squiggly movements under the microscope, Harris’s irrational anger.  Stiles feels his cheeks suddenly burning hot. He can’t deny it.  He had been so worried about being sick that he didn’t even imagine it could be… But of course.  Realizing what those wiggly things under the microscope were make him remember being on his knees in the bathroom stall, Derek’s hands in his hair, his bitten off moans, his hips jerking as he came in Stiles' mouth.  Yeah, that’s what he was doing before biology.  Sorry, Scott.

“Now just a minute,” the Sheriff starts, then gives Stiles a look that means ‘keep your mouth shut.’  “This sounds pretty extreme.  Maybe there is a misunderstanding happening somewhere.  At the station there’s a pretty rampant case of strep going around.  Couldn’t that be mistaken for... this?” He tips his head towards Stiles.

Without responding, Harris pushes a button on the phone.  “Nurse Cross, can you come into Principal Thomas’s office and bring the microscope from Mrs. Hillman’s desk.

Everyone sits silently as they wait.  Nurse Cross bustles in cheerfully and puts the microscope on the desk.

Harris asks, “Can you tell us what the sample is under the microscope, please, Sarah”

“Oh, sure.”  She bends over the eyepiece for a few seconds then sits up.  “Healthy sperm sample. Good form. Good motility.”

“And can you tell when the, ah, sample was, um, given?” Harris presses.

“Oh, well.  With no long term storage situation and movement like that, it’s probably within the last half hour.  If your… ‘donor’ has super strong swimmers, it could be up to an hour.”  She looks pretty matter of fact and not at all curious about why she’s looking at a sample of semen while in a high school administrative office.

“Thank you, Sarah,” Harris says, looking at Stiles.

“Sure, no problem!”  She bustles out, leaving them in shocked silence.

“Okay, well.”  Sheriff starts.

“Dad, I-”

The Sheriff shakes his head at Stiles.

Harris, standing now, leans against the desk and crosses his arms.  “So.  Given the condition of… “ he waves his hand in the direction of the microscope, “he was most likely engaging in oral sex during the lunch period.”  He looks supremely smug.

“Stiles, is this true?” his dad asks.  His dad .

He… he’d always meant to tell his dad that his sexuality might be, not as straight as everyone might assume.  But there just never seemed to be a good time to do it.

He’d imagined it so many times.  Back when he’d first wondered about it, when he was eleven, it had been more of a question. Dad, I love Lydia Martin but sometimes I can't stop watching Danny in his lifeguard training class, is that weird? But he’d asked Scott instead and they’d talked it through.  It didn’t mean he was gay, they decided. Sometimes you just had to admire a really nice human form.

Discovering porn was like a whole new world and he spent so much time watching straight porn he didn’t realize when he started choosing videos based on how attractive the guys were.

Then, once he did realize, it was a short hop to find gay porn was just as good as straight porn at getting him off. At that point he made a mental note to maybe mention it to his dad, someday.

Then when this thing with Derek started (and that was a surprise in itself), he decided he would tell him.  He just had to wait.  For Derek to be sure of this thing between them, for them to be ready to tell their friends.  Hell, he was waiting for Derek to decide to be seen standing next to him in the hallways or eating lunch together. And also for Derek’s mom to have the election in the bag.  Just.  Never a good time.

He sits and stares at the wood panel of Mr. Thomas’s desk.  Someone at one time had carved, “I hate this school” into it. They tried to sand it out, but the words are still there, faintly.  He can feel his breathing getting shallow. Getting caught like this - in class, by a teacher - was humiliating, sure.  But they fucking told his dad .  Stiles can feel his hands shaking so he balls them into fists . He licks his lips and notices the vague numb feeling in them, the tingling in his hands. Harris’s voice is a dull, indecipherable drone.  His heart is thundering in his chest and he wonders if anyone else can hear it, can hear his breaths come in quick succession.  He’s not all-out sweating yet, but he feels the prickle of perspiration on his forehead.

His dad, possibly noticing, puts his hand on his shoulder and squeezes.  Stiles looks over and his dad gives him a concerned look, but a small smile and nod too.  It’s that look his dad gives him when he’s checking in.  When he wants to make sure Stiles is okay.  Stiles could cry from the relief.  It... this doesn’t change things for them.  Stiles takes several deep, slow breaths.  Gradually his breathing evens out.

“Okay,” his dad cuts in as Harris pauses for breath or something.  “First off. Are you telling me that Stiles was engaging in sexual conduct with… another student?”

All eyes move to Stiles.

“What?”  He’s not sure what he’s supposed to say.

“I think what we’re looking for here, son, is confirmation that this was not a teacher you were with.”

“Oh. Yes. Student. Absolutely.”

“So, who was it?” Harris demands angrily.

“Now just a minute. Did you actually see Stiles with this other student?  You just know he had... semen in his mouth. And it's possible they were not on school grounds. It was during lunch break, you said.”

Harris looks like his head is ready to explode.  “He engaged in sexual acts with another student during school hours!”

“Is there a punishment you are considering?”

“Suspension, definitely!  If he doesn't give us the name of the other student then expulsion,” Harris threatens.

Principal Thomas clears his throat and looks uncomfortable.

Fortunately, the Sheriff keeps his cool.

“Okay, well. As I see it, there's nothing you can actually prove Stiles did wrong.  He has a lunch pass so he’s allowed off campus. It may be questionable judgement to fool around in the middle of the school day, but he was not actually breaking any school rules that we know.”

Harris sputters, “B-but but-  he needs to tell us the name of the other student!  We need to contact his parents-”

“I don't think that is necessary.”  There's a hard edge to the Sheriff’s voice.  “Given that there is nothing you can accuse this other student of either.”

“Sheriff Stilinski!  This other student also needs to be disciplined, his parents notified-”

“Now, that’s where I disagree with you.  What if this other student is hiding his sexual identity from his parents?  What if he would be endangered by that information getting out?  I’m not naive enough to think this wouldn’t have huge repercussions for the student.  Possible negativerepercussions.”

“That wouldn’t happen-”

“How do you know?” Sheriff demands, cutting him off.

Harris looks uncomfortable and chastened.

Sheriff continues, “How about this?  I will take Stiles home now; he misses the rest of the day.  He will be punished for his questionable conduct during school hours.  I will also take him into the department with me tomorrow and he can contribute to our safe sex education program by updating the pamphlets and flyers.  And he will also clean the storage room and all the squad cars.  Even if it takes all weekend.”  Stiles groans. The Sheriff ignores it. “He’ll come back to school on Monday having learned a valuable lesson.”

Harris looks like he is about to argue again, but Principal Thomas speaks up, “That will be satisfactory.  Thank you, Sheriff Stilinski, for coming in and dealing with this.  I hope this never happens again.”

Both men stand and shake hands, while Harris fumes and keeps his arms crossed.

His dad lifts Stiles by the shirt collar - seriously? What’s with being led around like a kid today? - and steers him out of the office, through the halls and to his squad car.

“Really, Dad?” he complains as his dad guides his head through the door opening.

“Oh, you bet.  You act like a delinquent, you get treated like one.”

Stiles grumbles as he slumps into the seat.

After driving a few miles, his dad asks, “Is there anything you want to tell me, Stiles?  Now that we’ve had this...?” his voice trails off.

Oh.  Oh shit.  “Um, okay.  Um.  Dad, I’m bi?”

“Yes, I kind of figured that, but...is there someone you’re seeing?  You have a boyfriend?”

Oh.  “Yeah. Kind of.  Um.  But.  Can I ask him if it's okay to tell you his name?  He’s- he can’t come out to his parents.”

“Okay, well.  You don’t have to tell me his name, yet.  No one should be outed without their consent.”  There’s silence.  Stiles mentally curses Harris again for outing him to his dad.  He would have done it eventually.  Soon-ish, probably.  But it would have been his decision!

His dad’s voice breaks through his thoughts, “I would eventually like to meet this boy. I mean, soon.  Especially considering you’re having sex.”

“Dad!”

“So, I guess it’s time for the talk again.”  His dad’s voice sounds... weary? Disappointed.

“What?  No, Dad. No. I don’t need it!  Seriously!  Once was enough, way more than enough.  I can go the rest of my life without hearing you talk about sex again, really!”

“Well, clearly not, since you aren’t practicing safe sex.”

“What?  What do you-”

“Stiles.  There was semen in your mouth.  Obviously you’re not using condoms.”

“Ugh.  Can you not say ‘semen’ anymore?”

“Stiles.”

“Fine.  Condoms.  Yes.  I’ll use them.”

“Do you need any?”

“Dad!  No, I don’t need you to get me condoms!”

“I will if it means you’ll use them.”

“Argh.”  Stiles buries his head under both arms.  After a bit of silence he looks up.  “But for the record...I haven’t- hadn’t ever done anything before.  And I’m pretty sure neither has he, so… We don’t really -”

“Stiles.  Have you actually heard the words, ‘I have never had sexual contact with another person’ from this boy?  And ‘I will never have sexual contact with anyone else while we're together’?  Are you willing to trust him with your health?  Your life?”

Stiles thinks about Derek.  About his smile when he thinks Stiles is just too idiotic for words, or his hands when they curl in the hair at the back of his head when they're kissing.  He thinks about how scared Derek looked the first time Stiles leaned in to kiss him, and the hazed look of wonder he had today when Stiles stood up after swallowing a mouthful of Derek’s come.

“Yeah. I’ll totally have his babies.”

“WHAT?” The car swerves a little in its lane but the Sheriff rights it quickly.

“Wha- I mean, I’ll totally use condoms from now on.”  Until they get tested, Stiles thinks to himself.  Because being with Derek without tasting his come ever again would be torture.  Cruel and unusual punishment.  The worst kind of hell.

“I also have to ask.  Is he your age?”

“Oh, uh.  He’s a senior.”

His dad nods.  “And you’re not being pressured or anything?  He doesn’t make you do anything you don’t want to, right?”

“Jeez.  No, Dad.  One hundred and ten percent willing participant here.”  

The Sheriff flinches minutely, “Okay. Just checking.  And is he eighteen yet?

“No, but he will be in...a few months.”

“Right.  Okay.  You know, technically, when he does turn eighteen, and you’re not… I’m saying, by the letter of the law it would be illegal.  But since you are together now and close in age it probably wouldn’t be an issue.  But, I… know of some cases where a parent was upset at finding out their kid was gay, and pressed charges against the boyfriend who was over eighteen.   I wouldn’t, here. But it’s something to keep in mind for… future dating.”

Something about that doesn’t sit right with Stiles.  He tries to picture dating someone other than Derek and can’t.

“Okay.”  Stiles is quiet. Then, “I really want you to meet him, Dad. I'd introduce you now if I could.”

“Okay, kiddo.  Just let me know when he’s- and you’re- ready”

xXx

Cora announces at the dinner table that evening, “Stiles Stilinski was suspended for blowing someone at school.”

Derek chokes on his food. He grabs his water glass and takes several gulps. After his coughs subside he asks “How- What- How did you hear that?”

“Erica aids in the office fourth period.  She heard the whole conversation.  Harris was so pissed he yelled practically the entire time.”

“So, how- how did they find out?  Did someone... see him and turn him in?” Derek can feel himself breaking out in a cold sweat.

She scoffs.  “No, that's the great part. In Bio they took cheek swabs, and Stiles had a mouth full of jizz!”

“Cora!”  Talia says sharply.  “That’s enough.  We don’t need to discuss this at the dinner table.”

“What?  The part about the Sheriff’s kid being gay and blowing someone at school or him being expelled for having a mouth full of jizz?”

Talia closes her eyes. “That. Either. Both. We don’t need to talk about that any more.”

The rest of dinner is probably only awkward in Derek's head.

Later Derek finds Cora working on her homework in front of the TV.  He sets out his books and pretends to study too, meanwhile thinking about how to broach the subject of Stiles again.

“So, that kid in your class.  Did the other person get caught too?”

“No. Harris was trying to expel Stiles for not telling them who the other guy was, but his dad, Sheriff Stilinski, shut that shit down.  Harris was pissed.  Erica says she saw him saving the jizz sample.

“What?! Why?”

She shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound.  “Evidence?”

“What?!  They’re going to DNA test it or something?!”  Derek swallows thickly, sure his dinner is about to make a reappearance.

“Meh.  I doubt it.  Doesn’t that cost a lot or something?  I mean, if the whole country can’t even get rape kits processed, wouldn’t this be, like, super low priority?  That would suck.  ‘Sorry we can't catch your rapist because we need to catch this high schooler who was getting his rocks off with his boyfriend’.”

“Yeah.”  Derek goes back to pretending to study for a while.  He can’t get anything done though, too worried about what’s happened, what’s going to happen.  He goes to his room to text Stiles.

Derek: Ur suspended?

Stiles: Who told u.  Just the rest of today.  Worth it ;)

Derek: Cora heard from Erica. Sorry. My fault

Stiles: Nah.  Sucks being outed but worth it seeing the look on Harris face when dad shut him down.

Derek: Outed?

Stiles:  They called my dad in and told him.

Derek:  Shit. I didn’t know.  I take it you didn’t tell them it was me.  Mom didn’t get any calls from school.

Stiles: Yeah.  Dad backed me up on not telling.

Derek: That’s cool.  U ok? How did ur dad take it?

Stiles: Better than I thought.  He didn’t make a big deal.  Maybe he wasn’t surprised

Derek: Would it help if I told him it ws my fault?

Stiles: No. Don’t. He knows ur mom.  He won’t out you, but I don’t want him to have to lie to her.

Derek: He wouldn’t have to lie.  I can tell her.

Stiles: Ur mom doesn't want the bad press

Derek: But that’s not fair to you

Stiles: Eh.  I’m willing to take it.

Derek: What did ur dad say?

Stiles: As long as ur not taking advantage of me he’s ok.. Told me to stop having sex on school grounds. ;)

Derek: He's right

Stiles: Yes but woods behind lacrosse field are technically not school grounds.

Derek: Ur terrible.

Stiles: That’s not what you said when I was blowing u :P

Derek: Stop

Stiles: That’s not what you said either.

Derek can’t suppress his laughter.  Doesn’t want to.  He’s been laughing a lot more since he met Stiles.  Even his friends have noticed, but don’t know what or who has made the difference.  Derek wants to introduce Stiles to his friends.  He wants to be able to walk the halls at school holding his hand, to bring Stiles over to the house so they can study together.  He wants to ask Stiles to prom.  He wants to, no, he needs to tell his mom.

Derek: I gotta go do something.  Talk to you tomorrow?

Stiles: You better  ;)

“Mom.  Can I talk to you?” Derek stands in the doorway to his mom’s study.  Talia glances up at first, then closes her laptop and turns from her desk to face him.

“Sure, love.  What is it?”  She waves at him to come into the room and sit close by.

Derek perches on the edge of the sofa, alternately clenching his hands together and wiping them up and down his jean clad thighs.  She rolls her desk chair closer to him so their knees are almost touching.  “I…  I’m not sure where to start.”

“Okay.  Maybe, start with what’s most urgent, and then we’ll sort out the rest as we can?”

“Okay.  Um.  I... did something wrong.  And someone got in trouble, but I didn’t.”

She looks at him for a long moment.

“Is this to do with the incident Cora was talking about at dinner?”

Derek flushes.  Of course his mom would figure it out that quickly.  He looks at his feet and nods.

“Okay.  He got in trouble and you didn’t."  She pauses, allowing him time to continue, but he doesn't.  "Did you also want to tell me that you’re gay or that you have a boyfriend?  Or that you’re in a sexual relationship?”  She puts her hand on his knee gently.

“I guess, the gay part.  Well, bi, actually.”

She nods.   “You know there’s no difference to me, right?  I mean, I love you no matter what?”

Now it’s Derek’s turn to nod.  The tension in his shoulders eases and his eyes sting a bit. He didn’t realize how scared he must have been to tell her.

“And so Stiles is your boyfriend?”

He takes a breath before answering. “Yeah, I think so.  I mean, we haven’t talked about it.  We’re just…”  He doesn’t want to say ‘fooling around’ because what they are to each other is more than that.  At least Derek thinks so.  But they don’t really hang out.  In fact, no one at school even knows they’re friends.  It’s been mostly talking and flirting at their adjacent lockers and making out at lunchtime in the unused bathroom at school.  And, okay, it’s progressed to handjobs and blowjobs too.  “We’re figuring some stuff out. I mean, I wasn’t sure about liking guys, so I just - we were waiting to tell people.”

“Okay.”

“But.  I wanted to let you know I won’t say anything.  He won’t either.”

“What do you mean, love?”

“I won’t come out.  It would hurt your campaign.”

“Is that why you haven’t said anything until now?”

“No.  Uh. No. I don’t- didn’t know.  I didn’t know before?  And even when I knew I liked Stiles, I was still…  It’s all kind of new right now.”

Talia nods.  “Well.  I don’t relish the idea that a news outlet would run a story about how your boyfriend, Stiles was caught at school.  But as for you being gay- I mean bi- you don’t worry about that.  If people won’t vote for me because of that, then, well.  I probably don't want their vote.  And I’m willing to take that risk.  Nothing is as important to me as you kids.  You know that, right?  I would walk away from this office if it would prevent any harm, even emotional harm, to you kids.”

“Thanks, Mom.  That’s- that means a lot.”

“Of course.  I love you, sweetie.”  

"I love you too, Mom."

She cups the side of his face, then leans in to kiss him on the forehead.  “Is there something we need to do so that Stiles isn’t in trouble anymore? Or, taking all the blame?”

“I”ll check.  He was suspended for the rest of the day today.  I think that’s it.”

“If I call his father what kind of reaction will I get?”

“Um.  I don’t know.  What are you going to say?

"Oh, introduce myself.  Make sure Stile isn't being punished too harshly.  I've worked with Sheriff Stilinski before.  He seems like a good man. But I'd check to make sure he's okay with... things."  She waves her hand vaguely.

"His son being gay?"

"Yes."  She sighs.  "Being good at your job doesn't necessarily make you…” she pauses, considering her words. “an open minded person when it comes to your kids.”

"He said his dad was okay?  Let me text Stiles. Give him a heads up.”  She nods and waits while he taps away at his phone.

Derek:  I told my mom about us.  Or, she figured it out.  She wants to call your dad.  That ok?

Stiles: Whoa!!! I didn't tell him it was you!  What she say?  What does she want to talk about?

Derek:  She wants to make sure you're not being punished too badly. And that he's okay with you being not straight.  Can she call?

Stiles: So, a call from the mayor to tell my dad not to punish me?  Sure!

Derek: >:(

Stiles: oh no the brows of judgement! Is this us introducing our parents to each other?  Kinda soon but under the circumstances I see why

Derek: I didn't think about it that way.  Too soon? I don’t want to make it worse.

Stiles:  I was kidding.  I kid.  I’ll tell him now.  She can call in 5 min?

Stiles: Shit, dad saw me texting and wants to take my phone.  I may be cut off for the night. :(

Derek: Ok.  Maybe mom will talk him out of it.  hopefully.

xXx

Stiles tells his dad that Derek is his boyfriend.  Derek Hale. And that Talia Hale, Mayor Hale wants to call him to talk.  His dad gives him a significant look - a look which Stiles can't quite decipher - then a hug, a really, really long, tight hug, and then the house phone rings.

Stiles goes into the living room to give his dad some space to talk, but so what if he can still hear his dad’s side of the conversation from there?

“Hello?”

-

“This is Sheriff Stilinski, but please, Mayor Hale.  Call me John.”

-

“Fine.  Talia.”

-

“Yes, I was just made aware today also.”

-

“No, thank you for reaching out.  That would be my concern too.  Glad we’re on the same page here.”

-

“Awkward may be an understatement.”

-

“Well, it’s not unwarranted.  He was definitely guilty of questionable school behavior, but I think I mediated some of the fallout.”

-

“No, Stiles is going to get disciplined, even if it’s not school mandated.  I have some work at the station he can do.”

-

“I agree.”

-

“No, I am.  The more think I about it, the angrier I get.  Not only did they out Stiles to me, they would have outed Derek to you.  Not going into how dangerous that could be -”

-

“Yes.  But there is always a chance…”

-

“Yes.” The anger packed in that one word surprises Stiles.

-

“And this could have been a whole news cycle and affected your term and possibly your reelection, and it’s all about something that shouldn’t even be an issue.

-

“That doesn’t have an impact on your ability to govern.”

-

“Luckily, yes.”

-

“Absolutely.”

-

“Thank you for calling.

-

“Well, it's your decision.”

-

“Thanks.  We’ll be at the station by 8 tomorrow.”

-

“Terrific.”

-

“Goodbye, Mayor-”

-

“Talia.”

Stiles hears his dad hang up so he grabs the National Geographic magazine from the coffee table and pretends to be engrossed in an article on mountain climbing in Myanmar.  His dad probably doesn’t fall for it.

“So kiddo.  Derek Hale.”

Stiles can't help the proud smile that cracks its way to the surface. “Yeah.”

“I’ve always admired Mayor Hale.  Let’s have them over to dinner this week.  You can cook.”

xXx

On Saturday Talia takes Derek to the police station to help Stiles clean squad cars. They smile shyly at each other and Stiles takes Derek inside to find more cleaning supplies while Talia and John talk.  It’s not even a punishment anymore, since watching Derek bend over to polish rims and tires is definitely a reward.  They talk about telling their friends that they’re dating, but Stiles points out that they haven’t even actually gone out on a date yet, so Derek asks Stiles to go to the movies that night.  (Which they end up postponing since both the Sheriff and Talia agree that part of their discipline should be getting grounded for a week.)  It’s an amazing day, considering.  Actually, it’s an amazing day, period.

“My mom’s putting together a statement.”  Derek tells him as they’re rinsing off the last squad car.  He’s biting his lower lip like he’s nervous about something.

Stiles forces himself to look Derek in the eye.  He’s wearing this totally distracting heather gray tank top which is not helping.  Or it’s helping too much.  In his pants.  

“Oh?  What about?”

“Well, if I come out, she’s sure her opposition will run stuff about me and try to smear her campaign with it.”  Derek is wiping the same dry spot on the squad car, over and over.  “She’s thinking about talking about privacy and safety for minors.  There was that state bill in Texas that conservatives wrote that would basically require schools to out kids to their parents if the parents asked.  She’s heard some people talking about it like it would be a good law in Beacon Hills.  She wants to stop that before it gets any traction.”

“Oh.  I heard about that.  That’s great!  That she wants to stop it.  That would be such a bad law.  Can you imagine what assholes like Harris would do with it?”

“Is- is it okay if she talks about me?  I mean.  I don’t know what to do about- about us.  We talked about telling our friends, but if other people find out about us, you could get a lot of attention. It might get bad - the people who are against her as mayor are assholes.  Maybe you wouldn’t want people to know we’re together?”

“What?  If we’re dating and out I’m gonna tell the world!  Hell yeah, look at me. You wish your boyfriend was as hot as mine!

Derek actually looks mortified.  “Uh.  You won’t actually- “

“Heh. No, I won’t.  But that’s the dream.”  Stiles waggles his eyebrows.  Derek actually blushes.

“This is terrible, but her campaign consultants tell her it’s better to get it out early in the campaign season.  So it’ll be old news by voting time.  But they also want to wait a little so people don’t put two and two together about you getting caught at school.  I mean...  I’ll take the heat for that if you want.  It wouldn’t look so great for my mom, though.”

“Oh.  Oh Shit.  Wait, you’re right.  That would suck.”

“Well, aside from not telling anyone we’re together, there’s not much we can do about it.  Someone will figure it out eventually.”

“Fuck,” Stiles breathes.  This really sucks.  Why did the cheek swab assignment have to happen that day?  Stiles thinks about what would have happened if Ms. Finch had been there instead of Harris.  He wonders if anyone else in the class gets busy during lunch, but just not on that day.  Surely he and Derek can’t be the only people who have fooled around during the school day.  There have got to be others.   Others .

“Okay. I have an idea. Can you hold off?  On the press conference? And the-” He gestures back and forth between them.  “I have some things I need to take care of first.  I think I can fix this.”

xXx

Over the course of the next two months Stiles is seen kissing, hugging, and holding hands with various people: Scott for three weeks, and Danny, Jackson, and Boyd for two weeks each.

Since Scott is the first person who is seen kissing Stiles, half the school thinks he was the infamous sperm donor . But those in their bio class who saw Scott's confusion argue that it must be someone else. There are enough conflicting stories that it casts doubt on any one rumor and no one can settle on a firm answer.  Eventually the gossip dies down.  By the time Stiles is seen holding hands with Derek no one even bats an eye.

...

(Erica and Lydia had to threaten to withhold sex from Boyd and Jackson so that they would do this for Stiles.  Boyd because... he and Stiles aren’t really friends, so why should he have to do this?  And Jackson because, well, hate is a strong word, but it’s used very frequently.  And vehemently.  In fact, he went about it — fake dating Stiles — with so much resentment that people thought they had a kind of BDSM relationship.  They were talked about more than any other couple Stiles was in.)

...

(The guys never even realize the handmade t-shirts saying “Team Scott” or “Team Danny” were talking about Stiles' love interest.  The “Stoyd” shirts Scott thought were for that Australian musician and all the guys nodded in agreement. The “Stackson” shirt with a picture of a studded leather collar (or is it a cockring?) just goes completely over their heads.  The girls just giggle to themselves and give each other knowing looks.)

xXx

“Bye, Dad!” Stiles yells, hoping to slip out for his date with Derek without his dad coming to lecture him.

“Stiles, wait.”  Ugh.  Too late.  He waits by the door as his dad comes out of their home office with a small box .   He gets closer and Stiles sees it’s a box of condoms.

“Aw geez, dad.  I told you-”

“Hey, kiddo.  I just want to make sure you’re, uh, you know…  Prepared.” He grimaces as he holds out the box.

“Dad!”  Stiles covers his face with both hands.

“Don't ‘dad’ me. If you think you're old enough to have sex you're old enough to have these conversations, painful as they may be.”  The sheriff puts the box of condoms down on the small table by the front door and tugs one of Stiles' hands down, giving him a significant look.

“Fine.” Stiles makes a gesture that might be interpreted as “bring it on.”

“So, I guess dating Derek hasn't seemed to affect your school work negatively .  So I'm going to allow that this is something you've been... handling, apparently. But we are still going to have conversations.  Often.“

Stiles' shoulders slump. “Okay.”

“So.  Have...fun.  Stay out of trouble.”  The sheriff reaches out, pauses, then claps Stiles on the shoulder.

“Wait.  That’s it?”

“Yeah.  What were you expecting?  Aren’t you going to be late?”

Stiles grins. It may come out a little more manic than he intended. He reaches for the door.

“Wait,” his dad adds.  “Just so you know, I’m having the guys on constant patrol around the preserve tonight. Please don’t let me hear about you getting caught... parked somewhere.” He looks at the box of condoms, shuddering.

“Sure thing dad!  Thanks for the condoms!”  Stiles grabs the box.  “Don’t wait up!”  He slips out the door.  As it closes he can hear the Sheriff groaning.

xXx

Stiles pulls the jeep up to the Hale house but doesn't cut the engine.  Derek is already out the door and has jumped off the porch by the time he even thinks of reaching for his keys.  He’s seated and buckled in a matter of seconds.

“Let's go.” Derek says, looking nervously at the front of the house.

“What, no kiss hello?” Stiles dips his chin low and looks up through his lashes in what he hopes is an alluring way.

Derek huffs and leans over the center console and gives him a quick peck but Stiles catches a hand around his neck and pulls, holding on for a much deeper kiss. After a second Derek melts into it.  His hands come up and grab at Stiles' shirt.  It’s a little heated for a few seconds because, well...

Because it's been a while since they’ve been alone together. Since that day they were caught, actually. It's their first official date after being seen holding hands at school, after all the subterfuge of Stiles dating every guy in his social circle, and some outside of it. Until now, they had only spent time together after school and on weekends at each other’s houses, always with other people around.

At Derek’s house they had to keep the bedroom door open, Cora and Derek’s mom stopping by or walking past occasionally.  They were only allowed to hang out at Stiles’ house when the Sheriff was home, giving them an even more blatant feeling of surveillance.

Obviously, “making out” in the school bathroom at lunch time is no longer an option.  Someone in the administration has been making sure the halls and bathrooms are frequently patrolled.

Stiles tried to coax Derek out to the woods behind the lacrosse field a couple times, but somehow Greenberg always seemed to be hanging around. Stupid Greenberg.

It bears repeating that tonight will be the first time they'll be together, alone, since that day they got caught.  Stiles is excited and nervous.  To say there's a lot of pressure riding on this would be an understatement.

“Let's skip the movie. Keep doing this instead,” Stiles mumbles against Derek’s lips.

Derek pulls back and glances at the house. A curtain is hastily pulled shut in one of the front windows.

“Yeah, no. Cora and Laura would give me hell for it.  And they’ll quiz me on the movie in front of my mom just to be dicks.”

“Laura’s home?”

“Yeah. She said she couldn't get any studying done at her dorm.”

“Do I get to meet her?”

“Do you want to?  She’s like Cora but more powerful and evil.”

“Oooh. Sounds hot.”  Derek gives him a flat look. “Okay, fine.  Let’s go see superheroes crush stuff.”

The movie is the latest in the Marvel universe so Stiles has been looking forward to seeing it; but as soon as the lights go out, he forgets why.  Derek leans over to whisper something to Stiles, who leans in to whisper something to Derek, and before they know it, they’re kissing.  They end up making out for two solid hours.  

They go to the diner after, holding hands and smiling at each other with lips pink and swollen.  They order and eat while reading from the movie’s Wikipedia page so they are prepared for pointed questions from Derek’s sisters.  Afterwards, Stiles is unlocking the Jeep’s passenger door when Derek presses into him from behind, nuzzling into the back of his neck.  After a few seconds Stiles turns around in the small space, smirk on his face.

He’s about to lean in for a kiss when, in the corner of his vision, he sees a patrol car coming down the street, the typical slow-roll drive-by that cops use to observe or intimidate.

Stiles recognizes Tara in the passenger seat, looking at him through her open window, and he waves weakly.  She nods in return and then says something into the radio handset clipped on her shoulder, which he can’t make out, but knows is about him.  The car continues until it’s out of his line of sight, blocked by the next building on the street.

“What’s that about?” Derek’s fingers clench tighter around Stiles’ waist.

“Ugh. Spies for my dad.”

“Really? What are they trying to catch you doing?”

“Just… you know. Keeping me out of trouble. I think they’re all getting a kick out of this. A lot of them have known me since I was little.”

“Wow. So there’s no privacy for you anywhere in Beacon Hills?”

“Nope. Which is why we should get out of here.”

“Where to?”

“Anywhere.  But we can’t go to the preserve.”

“Why?”

“My dad’s sending patrols there too.”

Derek looks seriously and thoughtfully at Stiles.  “Okay. I think I have an idea.”

At Derek’s direction, Stiles drives down a few dirt roads, near the preserve but still on Hale property and far enough from his house that Derek is sure no one could be wandering or driving by accidentally.

They eventually leave the small dirt roads, weaving between trees for a minute then stop in what feels like the middle of nowhere.  Stiles cuts the engine and lights so the car falls into complete darkness, save the beams of moonlight filtering through the trees.

They smile nervously at each other. Stiles flashes back to that first day they met at their lockers.  He felt like a deer in headlights at seeing the most adorable, small, bunny toothed smile directed at him by Derek Hale.   The Derek Hale -- captain of the basketball team, baseball all-state, dated a college girl when he was a freshman -- Derek Hale, was smiling at him.  The legend he’d known then was so different from the person he knows now.

He reaches out and takes Derek’s hand in his, interlacing their fingers, but it’s Derek who breaks the silence.

“Oh, I didn’t tell you.  My mom spoke at the rotary luncheon this week. She talked about that state bill.  And mentioned me. Well, not me by name, but 'one of her kids'.”  

“How did they take it?” Stiles leans across the center console.

“It was okay.  Good.  Of course the people there were her supporters.  Some people came up to her after and said they appreciated what she said. Someone invited her to speak at the youth crisis center in Beacon Valley.”

“That's great! Maybe it won’t even be a thing.”  Stiles leans further into Derek’s space, staring at the lips he hasn't kissed nearly enough tonight.

“And her numbers are still good, up a little even.”

“That’s cool.”  Stiles smiles and puts his free hand on Derek’s thigh.

“She-”

“Derek…”. His voice is breathy. He slides his hand higher.

“...wants to-”

“ Derek. ”  It’s a whine now.

“Oh.  Yeah, no. I’ll…”  Stiles' hand reaches its mark and Derek sucks in his breath.  “Oh.  Fuck.  Stop.”

Stiles freezes.  “Stop?”

Derek shakes his head emphatically.  “No, I'll stop… talking. You.  You keep...”

Their lips meet, both leaning across the gear shift and Stiles realizes that this isn’t going to be comfortable.  The jeep’s seats don’t recline more than a few inches; he should suggest getting into the back seat.  But Derek is making these noises and he wouldn't want those noises to stop even if his dad suddenly pulled up in his cruiser.  Well, okay, maybe in that case.

Stiles is sucking on Derek’s neck, his hand cupping Derek through his jeans when a flash of another car’s headlights sweeps through the Jeep.  They both groan and spring apart.

The car pulls up right behind them. Stiles can tell from the light rack it’s a deputy. He groans and tries to fix his clothes and hair. Make himself presentable. Derek leans back in his seat, face tipped up, eyes closed, pained look on his face.

He recognizes Haigh walking up - at least it’s not his dad - then shining his flashlight in through the driver’s side window.  Stiles opens it.

“Heey, Deputy Haigh. What’s up?”

“Stiles.  I’m sorry, but you guys- You can’t loiter here.”

“Wha-” Stiles sputters.

“Excuse me, deputy.”  Derek leans across Stiles so Haigh can see him through the driver’s side window too.  “This is private property.  My family owns the land.”

“Uh.  Mr. Hale, right?”  Derek nods.  “Yeah, so, Mayor Hale called the Sheriff and asked him to keep an eye on the woods out here.  The Hale property.  She’s worried her opposition will be trying to make some trouble for her campaign… so asked us to patrol this area specifically.”

Derek sputters in disbelief.

“Oh my god.  Your mom is cockblocking you!” Stiles yelps.

Haigh clears his throat.  “So you boys-  Uh.  Will have to move along.  Find somewhere else to… go.”  He gives them one last uncomfortable look, clicks off his flashlight and walks back to his car.

They sit while the lights of the patrol car disappear into the trees.

“What do you want to do?  It’s,” Derek checks his phone, “ten thirty.”

“Oh my god. I can't believe they’re doing this to us!”

“Do you want to… to call it a night?” Derek looks at him questioningly, disappointment in his voice.

“Wha-  no!  Fuck no!  I- They-” Stiles cuts himself off, a plan beginning to form.  “I have an idea,” he says determinedly.

xXx

“This… doesn’t seem like a great idea.”  Derek is in the back seat, sitting with his back up against the side door, one leg extended over the bench seat, the other dropped down into the footwell.  Stiles is kneeling in between his legs.  There's just enough room for what he plans to do to Derek.  

“No, no.  It’s the best idea.”  Stiles crowds in close, yanks on Derek’s shirt, pulling it off once Derek lifts his arms. “No one will think of looking here.”

“I don’t know- ooohh.”  Stiles finger grazes Derek’s nipple. At hearing the reaction it draws out, he does it again, and then again.

“Stiles. Stiles.  Oh my god.” Derek arches up into his touch.  Stiles continues his ministrations, even as he uses his other hand to work Derek’s belt open.

“Hey, hey, wait. It’s your turn.”  Derek straightens and pushes at Stiles’ shoulders.

“Haha. What?”  Stiles looks up but his fingers keep working until Derek’s pants are undone.  

“You… you know... last time.”

“That doesn’t mean…” he pauses to bend down and lick Derek’s nipple. “That was so long-” another lick, “ago.  I want to...”  Stiles’s words fall away as he tastes Derek’s skin, inching his way down his chest and stomach.

Derek grabs his shoulders firmly. “No!  I’ve been waiting — oh my god! — you don’t know how much I want to suck you off.”  Derek pushes him away so forcefully it takes Stiles by surprise. Stiles gives a yelp of protest as he’s manhandled onto his back at the other end of the seat.  Now he ’s backed up against the door with Derek hovering over him.  Derek makes quick work of both his shirts, flinging them off behind him.

“Wow, that’s hot.  Okay, okay. You win.” Stiles stops his struggling.  He relaxes into the seat with a soft smile and runs his knuckles gently across Derek's cheek.

Derek turns his head to kiss at his hand then re-focuses, undoing Stiles’ jeans and tugging them down carefully along with his underwear.

They both seem to freeze as his dick springs free.  There’s an overhead light in the parking lot and floodlights from the nearby building; the streams of light coming into the car seem to illuminate his dick like a damn chiaroscuro painting.

“Fuck,” Derek whispers as he stares for a moment.  He glances up and their eyes meet, and - Derek looks lost, Stiles thinks, his eyes wonderingly wide.  But then he moves in with a purpose.  Only, where Stiles had been expecting the wet feel of Derek’s tongue or lips, he instead nuzzles his entire face into Stiles’ crotch.  He’d feel self conscious about it if he weren't so ridiculously turned on.  As it is he tries to think about something, anything to delay the inevitable: Baseball. Chemistry. Harris. Ew.

At the thought of Mr. Harris, his traitorous mind thinks back to that day, to the meeting with Mr. Thomas, and then to the conversation with his dad.  He freezes.

“Fuck.  Derek.  We need. Condom.”  He can barely get the words out.

Derek sits up, looking dazed, then his brow furrows.  “Shit, um. I have some, in my jacket.” He looks out the car window, like he’s considering going out to get it.

“No, we’re good. I have… here.”  Stiles looks around, then sits up to grab his shirt. He fishes around in it until he finds the pocket and pulls out a strip of condoms. Ripping one off the end, he tears it open carefully with his teeth and rolls it on.  The motion reminds him of that summer he and Scott got a hold of a couple of condoms, and had practiced putting them on, taking turns in the bathroom.  But, not the time to think about Scott, he tells himself.  He shakes his head to rid it of the offensive thought and leans back into the car seat.

Derek nuzzles into his dick once more and, you'd think the short condom break and thoughts of Scott would have killed his boner, but nope.  He’s right at the edge again immediately. When Derek moves to put his mouth on his dick it's no use. It’s a matter of minutes -- Who is he kidding? One minute tops . More like seconds -- before he’s grabbing at Derek’s hair and moaning.

“Oh shit.  Derek. Derek, I’m gonna...I’m gonna come. Fuuuck.”

Derek doesn’t pull away and Stiles feels like he’s releasing into Derek’s goddamn throat he’s taken him so fucking deep.

Stiles sits in a daze for a few seconds but is brought back to full attention when the feel of Derek’s warmth moves away suddenly.  He opens his eyes to see Derek kneeling, pants pushed down around his thighs, holding himself over Stiles with one arm braced against the backrest, hunched over in the small space.  His other hand is working at his dick, eye clenched shut in concentration.

Stiles scrambles up and pushes at Derek’s shoulders, so he kneels up straighter, head pressed into the roof of the car interior.  Stiles slithers down into the footwell until he’s face to face with Derek’s dick.  Face to dick.  Whatever.

He nudges Derek’s hand away and takes over pumping his cock. Feeling blindly around the seat, he finds the condoms and pulls off another.  As he rolls it on Derek whimpers - in a good way.   By angling Derek’s dick away from his body Stiles is able to get the tip of it close to his mouth. If he stretches, he can flick it with his tongue.  

Derek moans at the contact and rocks his hips forward so he can press deeper into Stiles' mouth. Now Stiles can suck at the head of Derek’s dick while jacking his shaft.  It’s sort of uncomfortable and his neck is at an awkward angle, but it’s all worth it for the sounds that Derek is making, hips jerking in small thrusts.  He flattens his tongue and swirls it around the underside, where he can reach, where he knows he likes a little more friction himself.

Stiles looks up and sees the moment Derek notices he’s looking at him.  His eyes widen and his hips freeze, then jerk quickly in small, rapid thrusts. He squeezes his eyes shut as he comes with a groan.  Stiles keeps sucking and pumping his hand, and thinks sadly of not getting to taste Derek’s come.

Derek collapses sideways, angling his body so he doesn’t crush or bump into Stiles too much.  He tugs at him until they’re both lying together, legs bent at odd angles, however they can fit on the seat, catching their breath.

Very aware of his limp dick in a full condom — Stiles can feel the come trickling out; it’s going to make a mess he can tell — he sits up and carefully pulls his off.  Seeing Derek’s, he carefully takes his off too.

He’s looking around for somewhere to put them, some scrap of paper that he could wrap them in when Derek catches his chin with his fingertips.  He leans up and brings their lips together.  After a few seconds, he angles his head and deepens the kiss.  

Even through the taste of latex, there’s the taste of Derek. Stiles thinks he may have an addiction.  The condoms drop somewhere, forgotten.

“Fuck.  You’re so sexy,” Stiles says as they come up for air.

This makes Derek stop where he’d been starting to suck at Stiles’ neck. “ Sexy ?”  He chuckles.

“What?  You are!”

“I just.  Don’t hear people use that word.”  He goes back to sucking for a moment, then pauses.  “But if anyone’s sexy around here, it’s you.”

“What? No no no no.  Listen. You are gorg- ahhh!” he cuts off as Derek pushes them both down into the seat and he can feel the coldness of wet dick against his dick.  He’s not hard again, yet, but this will definitely speed the process, especially with Derek slowly, carefully, moving against him.

He tries to finish his thought, tries to list other things that are sexy about Derek, but can’t.  His mind has gone blank because Derek is kissing him while dragging their partially hard dicks together.  Soon enough they’re fully hard again and Derek lets a little more weight down, more pressure for their dicks to grind against each other.

It’s bliss.  And torture.

Stiles can enjoy it a little more this time, the urge to come not so immediate. He can look at Derek’s face above his, beautiful eyes half lidded, sweat gathering at his hairline, dripping into his eyebrows and to the tip of his nose. He can look down between their bodies and see the contrast of their skin tones, the muscles of Derek’s stomach clenching with the effort of holding himself over Stiles. God, seeing their bodies moving together, their cocks pressed against each other, sliding the bit of loose foreskin pulled back from Derek’s tip — it’s mind blowing.  Stiles closes his eyes before just the sight of them together makes him come.

When he thinks he might go crazy from the sustained arousal — he actually thinks about those commercials warning against prolonged boners — Stiles wraps his hand around them both.  It makes Derek groan and roll his hips more quickly.  Stiles flexes his fingers, creating a tight channel for them to thrust into and Derek’s moans get louder.

“Oh, fuck, Stiles.  Oh, fuck, yeah. You feel so good.  I- I. Ahhhh.”

At the first spurt of Derek’s come, Stiles slides his hand to collect some of it into his grip and the added lubrication makes everything feel that much better. He snaps his wrist a couple more times and brings himself off, his moans joining Derek’s over the slick wet sounds of skin and sweat and come.

They collapse together in a heap to catch their breath.

When they finally start to move, it’s with groans at the mess between them.  Stiles sacrifices his plaid shirt to the cause and wipes them both off with it and tosses it on the seat next to the door.  They pull up pants, pull on t- shirts and get presentable, even though neither of them want to leave just yet.

Instead they shift around until they find a somewhat comfortable position to relax in.  Derek is sitting, one foot propped against the partition separating them from the front seats and Stiles is lying with his head in Derek’s lap.  He sighs.

“We should get going. My dad is going to send a car to make sure the Jeep’s in the driveway by midnight, I’m sure.”

“Okay, yeah. I have to drive Cora to her PSATs tomorrow, early.”

They finish adjusting loose clothing and climb out of the back seat into the parking lot.   Stiles freezes, though, as he sees Deputy Parrish coming out of the station. Derek bumps into his back and they both stumble forward.  Noticing their movement, Parrish looks over and smiles, probably out of habit from years of seeing Stiles always around, tripping over himself.

“Hey, Stiles.”  Parrish’s smile drops slightly and he looks a little confused at Stiles' sudden appearance from the back of a squad car, followed by Derek.

“Heeeey, Deputy Parrish.  I lost my lucky water bottle that day I cleaned the squad cars.  I just realized it when I wanted to take it to the lacrosse game tonight.  Derek was just helping me look for it.”

Parrish’s eyes go from Stiles to Derek to the squad car, and then back again. Stiles actually sees the moment he makes the connection.

“Are you kidding me?  In my fucking squad car, Stiles?” He’s never sworn in front of the boss’s kid.  He must be really pissed.

But Stiles is indignant. “Hey.  I was left with no choice! You guys are everywhere! My jeep is like a homing device for every spotlight in the department!” When Parrish doesn’t - or can’t- say anything in return, he continues, “And to be fair, you weren’t on the schedule for tonight.”  Stiles hunches his shoulders with a sheepish look.  “And you keep the cleanest car,” he adds under his breath.

Parrish’s jaw works frantically, even as no words come out.  Finally, “Oh my god, Stiles! Use your own car, like a normal teenager!”

“Sure thing, Jordan!” Stiles grabs Derek’s hand and pulls so they’re quickly walking through the station parking lot. They head for the Jeep parked innocently across the street in front of the closed library.

“Tell my dad I’ll be home by curfew!”  Stiles calls out to Parrish.  “And tell him ‘thanks for the condoms’!”

“Wha-  Stiles!  You little-!”

Stiles cuts Jordan off by tossing the squad car keys at his head.  He cackles as he runs across the street and gets into the Jeep.  Derek stops at the passenger side door with a mortified look, shrugging his shoulders in a semblance of apology before getting in.

Stiles leans forward so his face is visible through the windshield and gives Parrish a double thumbs up, but tries not to peel out when he drives off.  That might be pushing his luck.

Best first date ever.

#sterek fanfic #eternalsterek #my fic #sb242 #excited to finally post something! #look i'm a functioning member of fandom #yay

[forget-it-beam]

(AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12094407)

“Gargalethesia - The sensation caused by tickling.”

As soon as he opened the door to his room, Taka walked over to his desk and dropped his schoolbag neatly beside it. He closed his eyes and yawned, stretching his arms over his head. His blazer and school shirt, having come untucked at some point during the day, slid up a few centimetres, exposing his bellybutton. Mondo couldn't stop staring at it.

Taka opened one of his eyes, fixing Mondo with a bemused expression. "Mondo ... you can come in, you know."

Mondo flushed red, only now noticing that he was still standing in the doorway of Taka's dorm room with his schoolbag still dangling from his arm; he'd been in the process of putting it down when he'd been, um, distracted by Taka's belly. "Right! Sure! Yep!" He bounded into the room with maybe a little too much enthusiasm, throwing his bag down beside Taka's. There was a slight chance that he was a little bit nervous. Just a tiny, little, practically microscopic bit. I mean, this was the first time he'd been in Taka's bedroom since they'd started dating! It was natural for him to feel nervous! It was completely normal for his mouth to be so dry and for his stomach to feel like a thousand butterflies were going mad inside it! Right?!

Taka pulled his chair out from his desk and sat himself down, shooting Mondo a smile that was brighter than the sun itself. "I must say, today's been quite exhausting. I'm glad to be able to take some time off and relax with you, kyoudai."

Mondo flushed, rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly. "Hehe ... yeah. You used to spend so much time studying ... I never thought I'd be able to convince you that it's good to take a break from it every once in a while."

Leaning his arm against the back of his chair with his chin resting in his hand, Taka gave Mondo a sleepy, happy gaze that sent butterflies fluttering in his stomach. God, he was so cute. Nobody else had ever had this effect on Mondo before, and he loved it.

"Hmmm..." Taka let out a contented hum. "Most people would have given up on me long before now ... thank you for caring enough to stick by me until I gave in, Mondo. I really appreciate it."

Mondo giggled nervously. Giggled. Only Taka could make him, the Ultimate Biker Gang Leader, giggle. "Hey, man, it's no problem. You're worth the effort..."

Taka smiled even more at that, a huge grin that very nearly went from ear to ear. Even his permanent frown didn't seem so severe. Judging by that smile, there was a very likely chance that Taka was a literal angel sent from heaven. Mondo actually felt weak at the knees just from looking at him.

"You're too good to me." Taka said quietly. Mondo shook his head wordlessly, leaning down to gently cup Taka's face in his hand.

"There's nothing and nobody that's too good for you, Taka," he murmured, before pressing his lips against Taka's in a soft kiss. Taka smiled against his mouth, wrapping his arms around his neck. Mondo kept his hands on Taka's face, gently stroking his thumbs along his boyfriend's cheekbones. He never wanted this moment to end.

Taka pulled away from the kiss first, instead resting his forehead against Mondo's. He closed his eyes, smiling softly. He unwrapped his arms from around Mondo's neck, and instead reached for his hands. Mondo took them gladly. They were so soft and warm against his own rough, calloused skin.

"I love you," Taka whispered. God, he was so fucking cute.

Mondo rubbed his nose against Taka's affectionately, making him giggle. "I love you too." He paused. "No homo."

Taka laughed out loud at that, pulling one of his hands free from Mondo's to give him an affectionate whap on the head. Mondo attempted to dodge, also laughing. "What's the problem? Can't I, a boy, be in romantic love with you, another boy, without it being gay?"

"No! That's not how it works!" Taka snorted, giving Mondo a little push in the chest. "Well ... I suppose you could be bisexual for me as opposed to being gay for me, but it doesn't roll off the tongue quite as well."

Mondo laughed again, leaning back down to where Taka was sitting and kissing him softly on the forehead, at the point where his widow's peak ended. Taka let out another happy hum, leaning into the contact.

"But seriously," Mondo said quietly. "I really do love you, Taka. Don't ever forget that."

Taka giggled, then looked up at Mondo mischeviously. "Bro," he chuckled. "That's gay."

Mondo snorted, rubbing his thumb against the back of Taka's hand. They'd been holding hands for a few minutes now, and he didn't feel like letting go any time soon. "Anyway, how come you wanted me to come to your room anyway?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Surely Kiyotaka Ishimaru doesn't wanna get up to any ... inappropriate activities?"

Taka flushed. "O-of course not!" he stuttered, his face red. "This is a school, after all. I just thought that, since I was tired after that test we had earlier and I knew you probably would be too ..." He paused, looking bashful. "I was just wondering if you wanted to cuddle with me? And maybe go to sleep together for a while?" His face went an even darker red. "No, wait, that came out wrong! I meant sleep together as in actually going to sleep, I didn't mean it like - "

"Hey, hey!" Mondo interrupted, noticing how increasingly flustered and upset Taka was getting. "It's ok, kyoudai, I get what you're saying. And I'd love to stay and cuddle with you."

Taka's face brightened, a smile reappearing on his still-red face. "Really? You would?!"

Mondo chuckled, squeezing Taka's hand. "'Course I would, Taka. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable just now ... I was just kidding around, I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's alright, Mondo ... you didn't mean any harm, after all. It's my fault, I shouldn't have gotten so flustered over a joke." He released Mondo's hands, giving him a reassuring smile to show he wasn't upset with him. "So! How about you just lay down on the ... on the bed, and I'll just, um, take my boots off! I hope that sounds ok!"

Mondo smiled back, ruffling Taka's hair. "Sure it does, babe. I'll get right on that." He shrugged off his own blazer, draping it over the back of Taka's desk chair, and then kicked off his shoes. He lay down on the bed as instructed, patiently watching Taka unlace his knee-length black boots. If Mondo was wearing them it would probably take at least half an hour of cursing and struggling with the multiple fiddly laces just to get them off. Mondo had some amount of fashion sense, he knew the white loafers he usually wore were ugly as shit, but they were easy to put on and take back off again and that was pretty much the only thing he looked for in a shoe.

Surprisingly, it only took a minute or so for Taka to fully unlace his left boot and move onto the right one. Mondo guessed that, despite their pristine appearance making them look brand new, he'd owned them for years and knew how to unlace them as quickly as possible at this stage. Magic fingers, Mondo thought with a smile. He repressed the sudden urge to ask Taka to use those magic fingers on him.

"OK! I'm ready now!" Both boots now off, Taka stood up and smiled at Mondo sheepishly. He slowly took off his blazer and undid the knot on his school tie, hanging them over the back of his desk chair, before crossing over to the bed where Mondo lay. He stood there, biting his lip, a nervous expression on his face.

"What's wrong, Taka?" Mondo asked him, reaching out to take his hand. "Are you ok? We don't have to do this if you've changed your-"

"No, no, no!" Taka interrupted, giving Mondo's hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't misunderstand me, Mondo. I do still want to, but ... " With his free hand he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously, a faint blush crossing his cheeks. "Well, you're my first boyfriend. I've never actually done anything like this before, and I'm not really sure how to go about it."

Mondo chuckled, sitting up for a second to kiss Taka softly on the cheek. "It's ok. Really, babe, it's easy. I'll show you what to do." He took Taka's forearms in his hands and gently guided him to lie on the bed beside him. Once they were both lying down, he put an arm around Taka's shoulders and turned to face him.

"Hello there."

Taka giggled adorably, kissing Mondo's nose, making the taller boy go bright red in the face. "So we're both on the bed ... what do we do now?"

"W-well," Mondo explained, flustered and trying desperately not to shout directly in Taka's face. "We just, kind of, have our arms around each other and lie in whatever position makes us most comfortable. C'mere, lemme try something ..."

It took a minute of cursing and rearranging themselves to get into a comfortable position, but not long afterwards they lay with their arms around each other, Taka laying across Mondo's chest with his head tucked just beneath his chin (perfectly positioned so that the biker could still press soft kisses against Taka's forehead with ease).

Taka let out a contented sigh, snuggling closer. From where he lay he could just about hear Mondo's heartbeat, steady and comforting. He felt like home. "This feels really nice ... we should do this more often, kyoudai."

"Yeah ..." Mondo agreed, nuzzling Taka's neat, spiky hair affectionately. "We really should. Hell, you wanna come to my room at three in the morning just so we can cuddle, I'm not gonna object to that."

Taka let out a little gasp. Mondo flushed red again, feeling Taka's lips moving against his chest. "I would never interrupt your sleep schedule, Mondo! What kind of awful boyfriend would I be if I were willing to do something like that?"

"The best kind?" Mondo suggested. He heard his boyfriend scoff, and smirked.

They lay there in a comfortable silence for several minutes, each of them listening to the soft sounds of the other breathing in and out. Mondo sighed happily, his eyes sliding closed. This did feel nice. Really, really nice. Why hadn't they done this before now? He adjusted his hands on Taka's waist, intending to pull him closer, and was surprised when Taka jolted away from his touch, a high-pitched, startled noise coming from the back of his throat.

"Taka?!" Mondo exclaimed. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Do you want to stop?"

"No! No no no no no!" Taka cried out, scrambling back into his original position. It seemed almost as though he was trying to hide his expression from Mondo. "Sorry to worry you, kyoudai, I'm completely fine! Let's just continue cuddling and pretend that never happened!"

Mondo hesitated as he was putting his arms back around Taka. Normally when the prefect made a suggestion or asked him to do something, Mondo, always eager to please him, would jump to it. Especially when Taka said it so urgently like he did just now. But something about Taka's reaction to Mondo moving his hands across his waist made Mondo curious. He'd jumped back so quickly, which was unusual ... he was normally never eager to escape Mondo's touch. And that noise he'd made in the back of his throat had sounded almost like ... laughter.

Experimentally, Mondo pressed his fingertips into Taka's waist and dragged them back again like he had before. He got a similar reaction; Taka once again made a noise that sounded somewhere between a laugh and a squeal, jerking his body away from Mondo's hands. "MONDO! I know you did that on purpose! Stop it!" He looked down at Mondo grumpily, pouting slightly. So cute.

"Taka," Mondo asked, feeling a grin spread slowly across his face. "Is that tickling you?"

He got his answer when Taka flushed almost completely red, his eyes widening in horror. "N-no! Of course not! What an absolutely ridiculous suggestion, Mondo!!!"

Mondo sat up and leaned in closely to Taka's scarlet face, smirking even more smugly than Byakuya Togami. This may have been the most important discovery he'd made so far in his relationship. "You never told me you were ticklish, babe," he chuckled deviously. He moved his hands closer to Taka's sides.

Taka scrambled backwards hastily as Mondo slowly crawled towards him. "I-I'm not! I swear I'm not! Don't say such foolish things!" He glanced down at Mondo’s hands and went pale. “Mondo… Mondo, what are you planning? MONDO, DO NOT - “

His words were cut off as Mondo tackled him to the bed, hands on his sides, and began tickling him mercilessly.

“Mondo! No! Stop it, please!” he laughed, desperately trying to fight his way to freedom. “THIS IS WHY I NEVER TOLD YOU I WAS TICKLISH! I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!”

He was pinned helplessly to the bed, Mondo straddling his hips as he tickled him, his fingers going up underneath his shirt to get at his bare skin. He hit out at Mondo weakly, kicking his legs, but it was no use; Mondo was on a mission and he was not going to stop until … well, until tickling his adorable boyfriend and hearing his breathless laughter and protests stopped being enjoyable.

So yeah, it looked as though he wasn’t going to stop the tickle attacks for a long time.

“Why … “ Taka wheezed in between laughs. “Why are you doing this to me? I thought you loved me!”

“Shut up, you adorable fuckin’ drama queen,” Mondo chuckled. His hands slid further up Taka’s sides, earning him a loud squeal of protest and a rain of soft punches on his upper arms. It was then that the biker noticed Taka pressing his chin into his collarbone, almost as if he was trying to protect his neck. His lips curved into a sly grin as he almost reluctantly tugged his hands out from under Taka’s shirt.

“Whatcha covering your neck for, babe?” he asked deviously, leaning down until his face was centimetres from Taka’s. He looked like he would welcome death right about now. “You trying to hide it from me or somethin’?”

“Mondo, I know what you’re thinking and if you love me you won’t - NOOOOOOOOOO!”

His reaction was even better than Mondo had expected. Almost as soon as Mondo’s hands were on his neck and shoulders, Taka jumped again. This time the motion was violent enough to dislodge Mondo. Taka took advantage of his newfound freedom and rolled off the bed, still shrieking indignantly. He landed on the floor with a loud THUMP.

Mondo, who had been laughing uproariously at Taka’s heroic escape, stopped almost immediately. He scrambled over to the other side of the bed and looked down at his boyfriend, feeling like the most despicable person who had ever lived. “SHIT! I’m so so sorry - I should have stopped - I didn’t think you would - oh never fucking mind all of that. Are you OK, baby?”

He hopped off the bed and grabbed Taka’s hands, pulling him to his feet. The prefect grimaced, rubbing his head where it had smacked off the floor. “Ow … “ Noticing Mondo’s panicked expression, he quickly added, “But I’m OK!!! At least I think I am!!! It only hurts a little, I’m sure I’ll be just fine!”

Guiltily, Mondo reached for Taka and began pulling him into a hug. “Taka, I really am so fucking - “ He stopped as Taka pulled away from him, raising his arms up in a protective stance. “... Huh? What are you doing?”

“How do I know you’re not going to start tickling me again?!” Taka exclaimed, frowning at Mondo with distrust. “I have to stay valiant, Mondo! You know too many of my weaknesses! How do I know you won’t exploit them again?”

Mondo stared at him incredulously, unable to believe what he was hearing. “So, what, I’m just never allowed to touch my own damn boyfriend ever again? Because you’re worried I might tickle you?”

“EXACTLY!”

Mondo reached up to run his hand through his hair in exasperation. “Taka. Oh my god. I’m not a completely insensitive bastard. You’re hurt, and it’s my fault, and I just want to make sure you’re OK and help you feel better. I’m not gonna fucking tickle you again. Not now - Hell, I’ll never do it ever again if you really don’t want me to. I’m sorry.”

Taka stared at him for several seconds, slowly rubbing his sore head, before walking up to him and wrapping his arms around his waist. He laid his head against Mondo’s chest and closed his eyes.

“If you tickle me I’m breaking up with you.”

Mondo chuckled weakly, putting his arms around Taka’s shoulders. He started kissing him softly all over the top of his head. “So … you’re ticklish, huh?”

Even though Taka’s face was pressed into Mondo’s chest, the taller boy still knew in his heart that his boyfriend was rolling his eyes at him. “Wow, how could you tell?” Taka joked.

“Shut up,” said Mondo affectionately, holding him closer. “So how come you’ve never said anything about this?”

“Because! I knew that if you found out you’d start tickling me! And then I’d pee myself or something and it’d be really embarrassing!”

Mondo frowned. “... Did you pee yourself?”

“NO!!!!!!”

“Hey, I’m not judging.”

Taka glared up at him, his cheeks flushed redder than his eyes. He looked so cute that Mondo couldn’t resist giving him a quick kiss on the nose. Taka scrunched up his face, but didn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve just always been really ticklish,” he explained. “My sides are pretty bad, as you can tell, but my neck and shoulders are the worst.” He surprised Mondo with a sudden but very welcome kiss on the lips. “But honestly? Even though I hated it, it felt kind of … nice.”

“Nice?” Mondo asked, his forehead creasing in confusion. “How?”

“I mean … nobody’s ever tickled me ever since I was young enough for my mum and dad to do it,” Taka told him with a somewhat nostalgic look in his eye. “I’ve never been close enough to anyone for something like that to happen, except for you. So I suppose, if you don’t count my parents, that was the first time I’ve ever been really tickled … so it was nice, in a way.” He looked embarrassed, turning his face away from Mondo. “That probably sounded weird … “

Mondo planted a smiling kiss onto Taka’s forehead, earning a giggle from the smaller boy. “Nah, it didn’t.” They stood there with their arms around each other for some time before Mondo spoke again.

“So if you liked it, is that an invitation to do it again?”

“You’re dead to me, Owada.”

Mondo laughed uproariously before pulling Taka in for a kiss. “I love you too, Ishimaru,” he replied.

After Mondo swore on the grave of Chuck that he wouldn’t tickle Taka again, they decided to lay back down on the bed and try the cuddling again. As Mondo drifted off into a comfortable sleep with his adorable, perfect boyfriend in his arms, he thought to himself Yeah, this is home.

#my writing #gargalethesia #ishimondo #taka #mondo #mondo owada #mondo oowada #kiyotaka ishimaru #gay #fanfic #fluff #tickles #fic requests #writing prompts

[netlifxandcastielclosed]

Forrest Green Forrest Blues (ch1)

Excuse me while I cry in the corner of this site because I deleted this original post on accident and I hate myself because I am standing in the doorway waving bye bye to all of those lovely notes and reblogs and kind words. Anyways, I am reposting this and I’ll be relinking everything. 

Pairing: Castiel x Dean (High School AU)

Words: 2160

Warnings: Nothing really in this chapter. Just getting some groundwork done and meeting the characters.

Notes: This series is based on a bunch of Frank Ocean songs. I got major destiel feels after listening to him all week. So here we go, some destiel AU for your enjoyment. Pull out the tissue boxes.

Summary: Castiel Novak, Carver High’s nerd of the century, always sits at the top of the bleachers when he best friend drags him to games.  He could care less about what the score is because his entire focus is on the feeling of the cigarette between his lips. His only pull to the field is when Dean Winchester, the popular quarterback graces the field with his presence. This is their last year before graduation and everything is about to change.

Ch. 2 Ch.3

Senior year for Castiel had begun and the hallway walls were plasters with student painted banners advertising the homecoming football game. The blue-eyed kid couldn’t wait for the year to be over. He wanted to get out of the dreadfully small town he grew up in and move to California where his sister now lived. He knew life had so much more to offer than stingy diners and suburban neighborhoods where everyone knew everyone else’s business. The biggest news to hit the town this month was that Mrs. Mills’ cat was saved from the old oak tree. What a joke.

Castiel walked mindlessly down the south wing with his best friend Charlie while she rambled on about her new classes and how she was planning to hack one of the teacher’s lesson plans.

“It will be the biggest laugh of the year if I get Mr. Singer to show the class that video within the first week,” laughed Charlie. She saw that Castiel was staring off into the distance, not paying attention to a word she just said. “Hello? Earth to Cas… It’d be funny, right?” She waved her hand in front of Cas’ face to bring him back to reality.

“Huh? Oh, yeah… sure, “murmured Cas, as he kept walking and nearly running into a stray garbage can.  

“Thanks for your support, best friend,” Charlie said sarcastically while she punched him in the shoulder.

“Sorry, Charlie. I’m just distracted.” Cas sighed and shrugged.

“No kidding… What’s got your brain all fuzzy?” They both stopped when they reached their neighboring lockers.

“Nothing. I just was thinking about California again.”

“Oh right. Your big plans to leave me high and dry after graduation! How could I forget?” Charlie closed her locker after picking out a few books and then leaned on it, waiting for Cas to gather his supplies. “You just can’t wait to leave us all here in the dust, can you,” moped Charlie.

“It’s not like that… plus you could always come with me if you wanted.” Cas finished up and they started walking to their next class.

“You know I can’t do that, Cas… I’ve got my mom to think about.”

“True. Sorry.” There was a brief moment of awkward silence but the five-minute warning bell cuts it off.

“Don’t worry about me, Cas. I’ll be fine here! I’ve got all these lame-os to keep me entertained.” She gestured to the rushing late students sliding through the halls. “ Tell you what… you can make it up to me by coming to the homecoming game tonight with me. I hacked the cheerleader’s uniform order and now their skirts are two inches shorter than they were supposed to be! It’s going to be glorious!”

“Really? A football game… can’t I just make it up to you by doing your English homework?”

Charlie didn’t answer him back. The screechy voice of their math teacher yelled at them through the door to take their seats. There was no use in arguing with Charlie anyhow; she was annoyingly persuasive without effort.

That night, Castiel sat at the very top of the bleachers while the rest of the school stood, cheered and sang along to their team’s fight song.  Sports were never Castiel’s cup of tea. He’d much rather be at home, reading books and listening to music. But the least he could do was pretend to have a good time. He watched Charlie gush over the cheerleaders and giggle at each of them trying to pull their skirts down further.

Cas was the only one who knew Charlie liked girls. In a small town like theirs, that news wouldn’t go over too well with the community. So he understood why she kept quiet but he felt special having been the only one she trusted enough. Cas hadn’t even fully come to terms with his own ever-changing sexuality. He hadn’t even told Charlie about it yet. But he wasn’t even sure what he could label himself as; he just loved… everyone. Not anyone in this town of course, but just people in general. They were all beautiful to him and he wanted to be able to experience it all without boundaries.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the song was over and the game began. Castiel paid as much attention as he could to the game before some kids playing tag on the playground nearby distracted him.

“Wow! Did you see that play? There’s no way the other team can catch up now!” Charlie whooped and hollered down to the field as the team ran by and waved to their fellow classmates.

Castiel was just about bored out of his mind when something caught his eye. The quarterback was doing a victory dance surrounded by cheerleaders. He put his hands behind his head, made an arrogant duck face with his lips and swayed his hips from side to side.

“Oh great… here we go again. The beloved Dean Winchester, eating up all the attention being thrown at him. He just loves being a ham, doesn’t he?” Castiel rolled his eyes and pulled out a cigarette and lighter from his back pocket. He lit it and took a long drag.

Charlie wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore. For a nerd, she was surprisingly very into sports and she was wrapped up in yelling at the ref for a bad call. So Castiel sat back and babied his death stick while watching the next play. Without knowing why Cas couldn’t peel his eyes away from Dean. He scoffs at each of his arrogant movements but appreciated the way his body gracefully spun and dodged the opposing team. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself when Dean reached the end zone. Cas didn’t understand why he was taking such an interest in this guy… there wasn’t even anything entirely intriguing about him other than his obvious good looks. Castiel shrugged it off and then extinguished the ending butt of his cigarette onto the bleacher seat.

--

“Okay, class… today we will go through chapters two and three. Then I will assign you project partners for the year and we can get started on our first assignment,” explained Ms. Hanscum.

The instructions generated some bothered grumbles and a few eye rolls. Most of the class wanted to pick their own partners, which the teacher knew would just end up in a mess of distracted teens. So, she chose to randomly assign partners and avoid any of those issues. Ms. Hanscum was Castiel’s favorite teacher. She was funny, smart and accepting. All of which are rare characteristics to find in people of this humdrum town.

“Okay… let’s see… Kevin! You’re with, Lena. Hm… Sam? You’re with… Jo! Now Charlie… who should we pair you with… let’s go with Lisa.” Charlie whooped under her breath, happy she got partnered with the beautiful head cheerleader.

“Sebastian? I’m putting you with Richard. Just don’t take advantage of my kindness on this one, okay? No funny business!” The two trouble making boys gave each other knowing smirks and chuckled to themselves. Ms. Hanscum went through the roster one by one, pairing everyone off. Just when Castiel thought he was forgotten, he heard his name.

“Castiel?”

“Yes, Ms. Hanscum,” Cas looked up from his desk patiently waiting to hear who he’d be stuck with for the new few months.

“I’m pairing you with Dean Winchester.”

The charming green-eyed student looked up and caught eyes with blue ones. They exchanged awkward smiles and waves across the room and then waited for the rest of the class to be paired off. Class ended and the room was nearly clear when Mrs. Hanscum called Castiel to her desk before he left.

“Mr. Novak? Do you have a moment? I need to speak with you about something.”

“Sure, Ms. H,” Cas replied. “I’ll catch you later Charlie. Save me a seat in Bio.” The messy haired kid waved to his friend and then dropped his bag into a seat.

“Okay… so Castiel… I asked you to stay back after class to discuss this year's project partners situation.”

“Okay…”

“You’re probably wondering why I paired you with Dean Winchester.” The kind-hearted teacher sat against her desk, facing her student. “I originally planned on pairing you with Charlie because I know how well you two work together. Then I thought about you and about how incredibly smart you are and how it would go to such a waste if it couldn’t help other people.”

The praise made Castiel blush. Sure, Cas was smart but he also was kind of a rebel. Always making it a point to stick away from the social norm. But he made sure that everything he did, no matter how crazy or fun, it would never compromise his intelligence. Ms. Hanscum was still rambling on about how impressive Cas’ test scores were last year and to Cas it just went in one ear and out the other.

“So back to my original point… Dean Winchester.” She paused for a moment waiting for a response.

“What about him,” Cas asked nonchalantly.

“He’s smart. I know it… but he’s got this bad rap. He is under a tremendous amount of pressure to be perfect. He is the star of the football team and popular… he is under the microscope of this entire school and everyone expects beyond greatness from him. But his grades are slipping; he barely passed my class last year. I think he’s dumbing himself down to look cool. Like some cracked up joke that makes his friends laugh. I’d hate to see him fail over something so immature. So I think it is time for him to surround himself with other types of people.”

“Other people,” Cas asked curiously.

“Yes. People like you. People that aren’t afraid to be themselves or to take risks when they seem scary.”

“Okay,” said Castiel, still confused about her main point. “What exactly do you want me to do about this?”

“So I not only want you to be his project partner this year but I also want you to tutor him… and maybe think about spending time with him outside of school. You know… show him what life can be like beyond this town. There is a whole other world out there and I know you know this... I even hear from Charlie you are thinking of going to college in California.” Ms. Hanscum stood back up and started to organize her desk.

“But Dean doesn’t even know I exist. I don’t even know what I would say to the guy beyond giving him a few book suggestions. We come from two completely different worlds…”

“Exactly,” smiled Donna. “That is what I am hoping for… I know you can do this, Castiel. Just be yourself and everything else will fall into place.” She finished packing up her book bag and started to head out the door. “Thanks again for doing this, Castiel. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Castiel sat for a moment trying to figure out how it was possible to have agreed to this without even saying yes during that entire conversation. He shrugged it off, gathered his things and left the classroom. He was half way down the hall when he saw Lisa leaned on the lockers with Dean pressed against her. Of course, they were making out… typical. Head cheerleader dating the captain of the football team. Their school might as well have been the site for a bad teen RomCom movie. Castiel tried to avert his eyes as much as possible and scurried by them unnoticed. He was suddenly stopped short by a captivating voice. It was deep and smooth like a well-aged whiskey. 

“Hey, Cas! Wait up!”

“Huh? Me? Oh… Hello, Dean.”

“So I guess Ms. H talked to you about tutoring me after school, huh,” Dean commented through his side smile. Castiel noticed his perfect teeth and smooth lips. God, that was annoying.

“Yeah, she mentioned it I guess,” lied Castiel. “You knew about that?”

“Mhm… she asked me if I’d be cool with it yesterday.” Castiel was surprised. He didn’t think Dean even knew who he was, let alone have the guy talk about him with their teacher. He even used the shortened version of his name. “So did you agree? I could really use the help with this class.”

Then Cas realized that Ms. H probably only talked to Dean about the tutoring part of the deal, not so much the being friends part. He figured he’d spare the guy the embarrassment and act as if he knew the same.

“Yes. Of course, I’ll help you,” Cas said sternly but with a small smile.

“Great! That’s awesome… thanks, man.” Dean slapped Cas on the shoulder and he practically fell over from the impact. “This is going to be a great year.”

Castiel would later come to realize this was true. He just didn’t know it yet.

#SPN #Supernatural #spn family #spn cast #mine #my gifs #please credit if used thx #Castiel #Cas #Misha Collins #my angel boo #the great love of my life #Dean #Dean Winchester #Jensen Ackles #Destiel #fgfb #forrest green forrest blues #destiel series #netflixandcastiellllwrites

[lonsdalewrite]

Unfolding Summer - Prologue (TEASER)

No one could ever know exactly with what it had begun. Maybe it had started with something minuscule, like a velvet mite or an amoeba in a pond. Maybe it had been a shark far out in the ocean or a parrot in the depths of the rainforest. In any case, the first officially-recorded change (but in whose records?) was to that patch of grass that Phyllis Viato, the at-the-time assistant professor of botany, had found in the gardens of Blazing Light University.

It had been a pleasant day weather-wise: not too hot, as so many days were, but at the same time clear-skied and only slightly breezy. In other words, a perfect day to go for a stroll.

Phyllis didn’t have to think too hard to decide where she wanted to go: as always, she headed to the university’s famous gardens. Covering over three square kilometres and hosting nearly two hundred species of plant in addition to several dozen of fungi and small animals, it was the institution’s main claim to fame, overshadowing even the titles that belonged to its alumni. It was also Phyllis’ favourite place: she loved to walk there, admiring every flower and tree. She saw herself as privy to a slow-motion symphony played by the sun itself.

She had spotted it below an outgrowth of a blackberry bush. A small patch of grass, only a little larger than her hand, was discoloured to a degree that was clearly visible even in the shadows. As she knelt down and carefully pushed aside the bush branch, it became clear to see that the grass in that patch was bright purple.

Phyllis’ first thought was that it might be some sort of practical joke. But why would a prankster choose such a small and incredibly easy-to-miss spot for their joke? And when she gently brushed the grass blades with her fingertips, she didn’t feel any sort of coating on them.

Perhaps a malformation? But these were all separate plants. Why would they all share a single, never-before-seen (to the best of her knowledge) condition? It had to be a contagious disease, then. That, or some kind of chemical in the soil.

And if that was the case, the entirety of the gardens could be at risk. Her good-weather walk now having lost all priority, Phyllis hurried back to the main campus. All she could think about now was mysterious plant-purpling diseases or soil-borne chemicals or whatever the cause of this was.

As luck would have it, one of the first people she saw as she hurried back onto campus was Professor Wesley Teraclas, the head of the biology department and her former mentor. He was standing in the grand archway of the building’s lobby, reading a newspaper as he leaned against one of the smooth greenish marble pillars.

“Doctor Teraclas!” she exclaimed, rushing to meet him. “I require your assistance!”

The professor looked up from his paper. “With what?”

“I suspect that some of the plants in the garden are ill with an unknown sickness.”

Doctor Teraclas almost threw aside his newspaper in shock. Keeping the garden healthy was a matter of utmost importance, after all - who knew to how many species a pathogen or parasite could spread?

“You must show me!”

They ended up carving the patch of grass entirely out of the ground, along with an attempted cube of soil about six inches deep. Phyllis took it to the botany room, and a team of botany professors and exceptional students was assembled and tasked to figure out what was ailing the plants.

The team eventually ascertained that the plants were not, in fact, ailed. Nothing could be seen on the microscope slides, and the grass appeared perfectly healthy despite its bizarre colour - nothing dried or wilting and, as the next few weeks proved, normal growth. After looking long and hard at the chloroplasts, they came to the conclusion that the grass was “merely” (merely!) using an unknown purple pigment instead of chlorophyll.

While Phyllis was signing off on a paper detailing the team’s findings, Professor Teraclas received a telegraph from his good friend Sarah, who lived in the village nearest to the city.

THE ROSES ARE GROWING VERY STRANGELY THIS YEAR STOP THEY ALL HAVE LARGE TOUGH PETALS MORE LIKE BROMELIADS THAN ROSES STOP AND LIKE BROMELIADS WATER IS GATHERING IN THEM AND SMALL ANIMALS ARE COMING TO DRINK INCLUDING SOME UNUSUAL INSECTS I HAVE NEVER SEEN BEFORE STOP THE ROSES APPEAR HEALTHY APART FROM THIS MALFORMATION STOP

Professor Teraclas looked back down at the newspaper he’d been reading.

SEA MONSTER CAUGHT ON COAST OF SALTLAND, the headline proclaimed. The article described how some Saltlandic fishermen had caught a strange animal that resembled a larval eel, but eleven feet long and with the stinging tentacles of a jellyfish growing out of its back along its spine. The writer went on to suggest that this creature might somehow be related to other recent sightings of bizarre life-forms all over the Tellurian continent: large butterflies with six wings spotted fluttering over Orston, a colony of mushrooms in Dallenis that had survived a fiery accident completely unscathed, lion cubs with flat teeth and a preference for grass over meat sighted near the border of the great desert, and, perhaps most strikingly, a human baby in Pernior who had been born with dewclaws.

And in that moment, Teraclas understood what was happening. But being a man of science, knowing by itself wasn’t an option: he needed to propose his hypothesis, and then work to prove it. And his idea was so wild, and had such terrifying implications, that he didn’t even feel comfortable hypothesizing about it.

But it didn’t take too long for it to become clear that his revelation had been correct.

As the months went by, as countless more altered plants and animals and fungi appeared all over the world, it became increasingly clear that a huge biological upheaval was happening on the planet of Andanos. Valiant attempts were made to discover the cause, but no pathogen or chemical or any other kind of material cause was ever found. Eventually, the cause would be decided to most likely be some sort of unknown energetic force that had suddenly appeared.

The phenomenon often seemed to transplant traits from one species to another, creating odd “hybrid” species. However, as it was energetic in nature, it was concluded that it was merely replicating the traits of other species it had come across, rather than actually transplanting anything physical between organisms. And of course, there were many creatures that had changes not traceable to any other species, either very generic ones (like being able to see ultraviolet light when they couldn’t originally) or entirely novel ones with no precedent in nature (like the many non-green plants becoming more and more common). Additionally, it only worked on life-forms with nuclei - animals, plants, fungi, and protists - with bacteria and such being completely unaffected.

The name initially given to the phenomenon was “the Tachytely”. It meant “rapid evolution”, which, while not an accurate moniker, was the closest comparison the scientists could make.

But as it turned out, they hadn’t needed to worry about the accuracy of the name, because it didn’t stick anyway. As the phenomenon progressed, it started to be noted that a good number of the phenomenon’s creations were actually quite useful to humans in some way. Take the brightly-glowing hand-sized fungi that could grow practically anywhere, making for an excellent substitute for electric lights. Or the algae that could be taught to manufacture practically any organic compound. And so, many people began to call it “the Thaumageny” instead.

“The coming of miracles,” said someone sitting on a hill, looking down at rolling fields that bloomed with the world’s newest flowers. “Quite the appropriate name!”

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #am writing #original writing #science fantasy #Unfolding Summer