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writingcold · 2 years

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Neapolitan Pt. 9

A/N: Howdy to Pt. 9. You can find the rest of this on this master list.

Gotta say this once more: I do not know any of the gentlemen of GVF. This is a piece of fiction, through and through. Jake is just my blueprint to a very interesting character to me. A muse if you will.

Pairing: Jake (switch) X fem OC (switch)

Content Warnings: Angst, partying, you know it these guys like to drink a lot, Jake’s strawberry, Jake soft dom, control, sexual situations, sex, smut, outright dirty smut, I’m blushing it’s just … damn.

Word Nerd Corner: approx. 4800 words

Pt. 9

Nine in the morning found her stirring and finding Jake gone. Cleaning up and dressing, she made the bed and headed downstairs, knowing it would be quiet. Looking out to the deck, she found him, sitting at the table in the sunshine, notebook in hand. She noticed that he didn’t even have coffee in front of him, so she fixed two cups before heading out.

“There you are,” she said softly, setting the cup down before him.

“Thank you,” he said with a smile and a kiss. “I got this idea and needed to write it down.”

She barely got her cup down on the table before Max’s arms grabbed hold of her. “I don’t want to go!”

Violet laughed. “I’d keep you here forever, sweet girl.”

Jake snorted as Josh stumbled out the door. Violet tried not to laugh, but the man’s hair stuck out in so many directions that it was hard to concentrate on anything else. Max just beamed in her post sex high, not caring who the hell knew about her hook up.

“Darling, you hold a hell of a court here,” he said, sitting down next to his twin.

“I do try, Sir Joshua,” Violet commented, taking note that Jake trained his eyes back to his notebook for his brother to see.

“Shit, is that it?” Josh said as he practically ripped the paper from him.

She listened as they hummed the melody that Jake had lulled her to sleep with. Josh’s face turned critical, almost like a total shift in person, as they went through it a few times.

They continued to work on whatever it was that Jake had in front of them, while Violet waved Max back to the kitchen.

“Doing better this morning?” she asked, her hand warm against Violet’s skin.

“Yeah. You guys gave me exactly what I needed. Thank you,” she said, dragging out the bowl of cut fruit to set out on the counter.

“It was a great night. Perfect,” her friend mused with a nod. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you with all the stuff going on, I got that job in Grand Rapids.”

Violet smiled wide as Max acted like it was nothing. “We could’ve been celebrating this whole time?”

“Well, I kinda did last night,” she answered with a few pumps of her eyebrows.

“Shit yeah you did.” Violet belted out, twirling the woman around in a hug. “When do you start?”

“Next month. I’ve already got the house sold and will be moving out next weekend. I was supposed to stay with Alison,” she sighed with a shake of her head. “Everything that’s been going on down there makes so much more sense now, Vi.”

She felt conflicted. “He’s bad, Max. Really bad.” Swallowing hard as she looked out across the deck at the men that sat at her table, she shook her head. “I can’t believe that I’m going to say this, but all we can do is hope like hell the bitch wakes up and knows that we still love her.”

Max nodded as she wrapped her arms around Violet’s waist. “That’s why I love you. You can say things like that even after everything and mean them. Had I known what was happening, I would’ve castrated the bastard then and there. How fucked up are we that we’re trained and trained and trained to see this in patients and we can’t see it in our own damned friends.”

“Okay, enough,” Violet said, hugging her friend tight. “We have some planning. You know you’ll only be about an hour from here, right?”

The twinkle that shone in Max’s eye solidified the woman’s fairy-ness. They set out the rest of the breakfast items for the easiest access to those who would mill through. John was the first to arrive on the deck, followed by Teddy and Julie. Ollie stumbled up, shaking his finger at Josh and said that indeed that last double mojito was not needed at the end of the night. They laughed at him while he held his head together.

Slowly, they filed out. Max was the last to leave, having hitched a ride with Ollie and his crew. She twirled and flitted around with each goodbye until it was her turn. She plowed over Josh to grab at Violet and soak up one last snuggle with promises of visits on the weekends. Josh watched after the RV for a long moment.

“Wow,” he sighed, his eyes moving to Violet. “Fairy goddess was right on.”

Violet smiled at him as he retreated to the deck. “I should get you two back to your place, huh?”

“Actually,” Josh said as Jake handed him the notebook. “Danny and Sam should be here soon.”

“Oh,” she said, beginning to straighten up around the deck.

The sight of her kitchen startled her. Ollie and John had cleaned up, but the amount of booze and food in the house was just staggering. She moved back to the deck to look at the coolers.

“What’s going on, darling? You look a bit frazzled,” he remarked from his spot at the table.

“I’m going to pawn off most of this beer on you guys,” she said trying to figure out how they were all so damn drunk but they did not seem to even go through half of what she had purchased for the event.

She began to drag coolers to the edge of the deck. She had to admit, she was not ready for the house to be quiet. It would give her too much time to think over the situation that she did not want to address. She married up coolers, tipping over the empties. She breezed inside and found some paper and a sharpie. When Danny showed up with Sam in tow, she quickly wrote on the paper “FREE BEER” and held it up to them.

“Hey Sunny,” Sam called as he got out.

They loaded the coolers into the truck before joining them on the deck. Josh was showing them the notebook and all four of them, heads nearly pressed together, began to debate over whatever it was that Jake had ‘figured out’. Violet stood in her kitchen, wondering where to start. She started to set nonperishables on the kitchen table. Most would go to Chase - starving student and all. Turning her attention to the fridge, she sighed as her eyes moved to the guys outside. They did not seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. Nodding, she took out veggies and the grilled chicken that Ollie had made. She started to put together a meal. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she smiled as the guys moved the umbrella around for shade and continued on. Putting some music on, she continued, putting the fresh veg into a saute pan with a satisfying sizzle. The chicken she cut into strips. She twirled around as everything started to heat and fill the kitchen with aroma.

She dug a little deeper and found some of the cut fruit and tossed salad from Teddy and Julie. Violet freshened it all up while Josh was signing and Danny was tapping in time. She looked out across the deck at the sight. The soft smile that tugged at her mouth made her heart warm. The way they felt safe enough in her home to work the way they were made her feel good.

Jake, Danny and Sam were harmonizing while Josh started belting out notes that blew her mind. The smile on Jake’s face was blinding as they continued. She grabbed her wine and continued on. Pulling plates out and glasses, she started to set up the kitchen island. She filled a bowl with ice and took beers from the fridge. There was also some sangria that she discovered in the back. A little happy dance and another glass later, she started to set everything out for the guys to just grab and go when Jake appeared at the sliding door.

“What’s all this?” he asked, stepping in, his face tinged with heat.

“Leftovers,” she smiled as she stuck spoons into bowls. “I hope to feed you all.”

“Damn, Sunny,” Sam remarked standing behind his brother. “Leave you alone for a few minutes…”

She stood back as the four loaded plates, grabbed beers and headed back outside. Jake walked back in when she did not follow.

“Hey, you okay?” he asked, cornering her.

“Yeah, I’m good,” she said softly as he pulled her arms up over his shoulders.

He swayed a bit, keeping her close. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

“I’m glad you guys are here,” she answered as he nipped at her neck. “You make it seem not so empty.”

“Come on. Make yourself a plate and come out,” he said, trying to steer her towards the food.

“I don’t want to interrupt your work,” she sighed, picking up the dish towel to start cleaning up.

“Fuck that,” he said, starting a plate for her. “Your company is now required.”

She smiled as he finished a plate for her and then pushed her outside to the other three and the chaos that was them.

***

Strawberry. She had texted the singular word to him Wednesday and had not heard back. She took a picture of the strawberries on her counter and sent it. Nothing. She took a picture of strawberries in lemonade. Nothing. She did not have strawberry ice cream, but she did have whipped cream in the fridge. She put strawberries in cream, took a picture and sent it. Nothing. She took a rather large strawberry, dipped it into the cream, angled it against her mouth, took a real close up picture like the whore she was and sent it. Nothing. At least when he barraged her with vanilla she had the balls to text him back each and every time.

Violet groaned, not wanting to wait until Sunday. She spent the entire day Monday and Tuesday cleaning up after the friend visit. He had stayed Sunday night and didn’t leave until Monday afternoon, helping out where she let him. He said that Tuesday was going to be an away day - something about having to conference with ‘people’.

The quiet of the previous night was the first time that Tim hadn’t haunted her thoughts. It was the first time that she knew of that the wounds he inflicted did not hurt in their ghostly manner if she skimmed her hand across her scalp or the bump on her collar bone that he snapped, or the numerous other fractures and cuts and bruises that he had caused over the course of three years. She had even dared to put on music while she read a book and found herself truly relaxed on her own - no need for work, no need for house stuff, no need for another body to be next to her.

After showering the long day off, she checked her phone to see if she missed a text from Jake. Still - nothing. Putting on her jams, she didn’t bother drying her hair. Going downstairs, she made herself a cup of coffee and grabbed her book for an early evening in bed. She started locking up when a car pulled into the driveway. Watching as it parked, she sighed as Jake got out of the car, his hair blowing around in the wind. Setting her cup and book down on the counter, she opened the slider door and stepped out to greet him with a smile. His face was serious; his eyes hard.

Taking a step back, she knew that face. The inner whimper nearly screeched in joy as he climbed the couple of stairs and moved right for her. His hands cupped her face as he kissed her hard, overwhelming her senses. Backing her up through the door, he closed and locked it while she tried to catch her breath. He bent, grabbing her around the thighs and lifting her so she went up and over his shoulder. He smacked her ass with a loud crack.

“My little whore thought it would be nice to torture me all day long,” he said firmly. “I couldn’t answer. I had to sit with my dick hard while the management droned on and on about whatever the fuck they have to talk about.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” she gasped as she bounced against him.

He cracked her on the butt again as he moved towards the stairs. Violet tried not to giggle as he nearly dropped her. She slid down his body, landing with a thump right on her ass. His eyes broke for a moment, his lips rolled into his mouth in an effort to hide his smile.

“Upstairs, now,” he said firmly.

She clamored up the steps as he watched her. He was slow to follow. She made it into the bedroom, her hands just about to lift her shirt off when he stopped her.

“I didn’t tell you to take those off, Violet,” he said in a hard tone. “My goodness, what a little slut you are for thinking I’m needing you to be naked.”

She felt her stomach swoon as she lowered her shirt back down. He walked into the room, authority dripping off his body. She watched as he opened his belt and undid his jeans.

“Knees, now,” he ordered with a jab of his finger. “You don’t deserve to be fucked by my cock tonight, little whore. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said meekly, falling to her knees.

He sat down in the fluffy chair against the wall, just staring at her, like he was plotting something. “That last picture,” he whispered, his tone threatening, “that last damn picture sealed it. You don’t even deserve to suck me tonight.”

She bit at the corners of her mouth as her heart pounded. He fell into silence again and her eyes fell to his knee as he leaned back. When Violet brought her eyes up to his face, she found that a glint was forming in his eyes.

“So, my dear sweet fuck, what do you think is going to happen tonight for your insolence? For your temptations when they were not expected?” he asked in a taunting manner. “Punishment.”

The word lingered in the air around her. Violet felt her core quiver in excitement, and she tried to cover it by turning her chin down to keep her eyes from betraying her thoughts. He remained silent for a long time, just eyes on her, face hard.

“You are going to have to really listen to get back into my good graces, Violet. You will go into the bathroom and remove all of your clothes. You will return to the spot that you are in right now with every vibrator and dildo in your possession - except the precious blue one. You don’t even deserve Jakey Jr. You will set each one out for me to select from in a nice pretty line. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“You may go prepare.”

She stood up and nearly tripped over her own feet trying to get to the bathroom in a hurry. Her brain was racing and her heart was thumping at the prospect of putting on a show for Jake, if that was indeed where he was going with this notion of ‘punishment’. She was trying to slow her mind down as she opened her toy drawer. For a moment, she realized that the number of toys she did have was a bit staggering. What the hell. Did she really need eight different fake dicks? She gasped as she realized that she was no different from Margie and her dick pictures that she kept hidden. She wanted to laugh and cry, perhaps scream a bit at the thought.

“I’m waiting,” he said loudly from the bedroom, his voice annoyed.

Blowing out a breath, she grabbed the eight, leaving big blue behind and wondering when Jake had named it. She snapped up a towel in between her fingers on her way out. She must’ve looked ridiculous carrying all the dicks between her breasts and against her belly, but a girl’s gotta do and all that. His eyes narrowed as she knelt back down, dropping the towel before her and spreading it out before glancing up at him with a smirk. Violet began to set the fake cocks before her. At first, she thought she would just set them on the towel and sit back. But then, she decided it would be better to put them in order - smallest to biggest. Grinning at her work, she finally sat back on her heels, looking up at him.

“Cheeky bitch,” he whispered. “I would suggest that you do as you are told, or I will not let you cum tonight. One more fuck up like that, and I won’t even blow my own load on your tits like I want. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Jacob,” she breathed, feeling the tether to the man tighten exponentially.

He shifted in the chair, his eyes drifting across the toys laid out before her like he was picking out chocolates. He even did a little hum and tapped his chin with a finger. “I bet you’re already soaked. Spread them and let me see.”

She spread her knees apart as far as she could, even leaning back for him to view her. He tsked her, whispering something for only himself to hear.

“I’m surprised, Violet,” he said lazily. “I was expecting you to be dripping. Poor thing. Am I not exciting enough for you anymore? I want you to take that mini one and only rub your clit with it. Let’s light this party, yeah?”

She lifted the small one as instructed and pushed it in between her folds, circling her clit with just the tip and back round again. He sat back, legs crossed to hide himself from her, but she was sure he was straining against his jeans. She pushed the little button that would turn the thing on. With the faint hum, she grinned as she pulsed it against herself, moving from side to side, forward and back to just ghost her entrance. He watched in silence as she began to move her hips like she was grinding.

“Stop.”

Violet brought her eyes up to look at him through her lashes. He was absolutely stone faced.

“Swallow it.”

She brought it up to her mouth like she would his own dick, wrapping her lips around it, sucking herself off it and pulling it out with a pop. She continued to slide it in and out of her mouth as she watched him, trying to get some kind of reaction. The control he had over himself was amazing. He almost looked disinterested, but there was a gleam in his dark eyes that goaded her on.

“Stop.”

She pulled the mini out of her mouth and dropped it to her side as she waited for his next instruction.

“Show me.”

She leaned back, hand on her low belly to show off how wet she was just for him. He hummed as the tiniest smirk tugged at his mouth.

“We’re done with the little fucker. Take the next one and fuck yourself.”

She tried not to grin, but she picked the next one up and palmed it before she slid it between her thighs. Leaning back on one hand, she lifted her bottom to allow her knees to spread even more, giving him the best view possible. She let her head drop back as she pushed the dick into her, rubbing her clit with the side of her thumb as she did so. She heard the faint inhale from him as she started to work it, arching her back to give her breasts a lift and bounce.

“Faster.”

She began to pump the dildo into her, trying to concentrate on anything that he may display for her. Her breath started to hitch. She made eye contact with him just as she shimmied her shoulders to make her boobs wobble. The lust that spiked in his face was reward enough to make her continue on.

“Stop.” His voice was raspy before he cleared his throat.

Violet withdrew the second dildo and held it up as she returned to sitting up on her heels. He waved his hand for her to put it down.

“Lay on your back with your cunt pointing at me,” he ordered, his body not moving.

Violet moved so that she lay on her back, letting her legs fall open for him.

“Not nearly fucked enough are you,” he whispered. “Pull on those nipples. Make them bitches stand up all nice and pretty.”

She began to twist and tug on her breasts, much to his delight.

“Okay, let’s see if you can fit two dicks in there,” he said with a wicked smile. “Take the next two and put them both into your pussy.”

Her brain fuzzed over. Two… Two? She tried not to make a sound of opposition, but she struggled to hide her ‘what the fuck’ as it passed her lips.

“Do you require assistance, cock slut? Because if you do, then we’re done here,” he threatened.

Violet moved slowly, first taking one into her with a soft moan. She grabbed the second one while she was pumping in the first to lube herself up. She swallowed hard as she lifted the second dildo, this one was thinner, but curved. Finding her resolve, she began to insert the second one. The fullness surprised her, but it was delicious.

“Goddamn, you’re a fucking goddess,” he encouraged. “Fuck yourself on them.”

Bringing her right hand across both, she began to slowly pump herself. She could not stop the breathy moans that she let go as the feeling was unlike anything she had had before. Between the two very different shapes, she cooed like the whore she was. Her eyes sought his, finding him leaning forward, a devil grin on his face. She watched as he stood, the bulge in his pants looking painful as he kicked his boots off. He pulled off his socks before yanking his shirt off. Finally, the jeans and boxers were sliding off his body to slam his dick back onto his belly. Her eyes began to roll back as her whole body fought against the orgasm that wanted to death drop her through the floor.

“Stop,” he sighed as he palmed himself.

She ground out a frustrated growl, but she stopped, holding the two dildos in place. He disappeared for a moment into the bathroom before coming back with her tube of lube. He stepped over her middle, kneeling down to rest on her stomach. The smell of his skin made her mind fluster as his heat flooded her. Her arm was pinned in place by his thigh, holding the dicks inside her. She tried to calm her breathing as he drizzled the lube over himself.

“You’ve been so good,” he whispered, meeting her eyes. “But not good enough… yet.”

The soft whine that escaped her filled the air around her. He began to jack himself off as he palmed one of her breasts. His fingers twisted and pinched as he moved his eyes from her face to her tits to his dick, and back again like a slow journey that needed to be savored. He began to up his pace, his mouth hanging open, breath coming faster. She watched as his beauty just unfolded above her. With one hand, he reached back, rubbing against her clit, setting her skin on fire. He was so close. She slid her tongue across her lips as his eyes locked on her face. Her mouth started to drop open. She was not going to be able to stop herself against the tide of her orgasm. She felt it heading towards her with a proverbial wrecking ball. She wanted to touch him. She fought the urge, instead allowing her eyes to drop to his dick as he frantically pumped himself. The strangled gasp that erupted from her as his fingers brushed against her pinned hand, making the fake dicks shiver within her, excited him all the more. He did it again, this time slapping at her hand to move the toys within her. Her eyes rolled back as her whole body began to bend to his whim.

He erupted in a wall of sound, cumming on her tits just like he said he was going to. He was gasping for breath as he looked down at her. There was something that was beyond her, that he was thinking through.

“What can you do to make me want to let you cum, my goddess?” he said, his eyes growing heavy, but looking down at her like he owned her.

Violet knew it was an opportunity to dazzle him. She held his gaze for a full minute, allowing him to come down and clarity of thought to return. With her free hand, she swiped the cum that had begun to pool in her cleavage. Slowly, she brought it up to her mouth, all the while keeping her eyes on his until his jaw grew slack and his lips parted like he was willing her to swallow. Instead, she grinned, lifting her fingers to him and gently pushed them past his lips and across his tongue. Before he could stop her, she pulled him down against her mouth, robbing him of himself.

“Fucking bitch,” he whispered before he slammed his hand back behind him, shoving the dildos deep within in a satisfying push.

He moved his thigh enough for her to free her hand before he started to pump the dildos into her, slowly, deliberately, so that the wide knuckle of his thumb would push into her clit. She began to coil, to bend and arch beneath him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered, his face full of light. “Cum pretty for me. You’ve earned this.”

She blew up. Her body was reduced to embers beneath him as all the air evaporated from her lungs. She was sucking for breath as he worked her, his flaccid dick rubbing on her skin. Her brain grew fuzzy and her eyes squeezed closed as he pumped a few more times, letting her body buckle beneath his frame.

With care, Jake moved himself down her legs before taking the first one, then the other dildo from her body and set them on the towel next to her. The way his eyes shone let her know that the scene was over. He reached for her, bringing her close to study her face, wiping the hair that was stuck to her forehead back.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“Fucking blissed,” she managed as he made his way to standing

Helping her up, he pulled her against him. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

He walked behind her as they both moved into the shower. She leaned against him as he washed her, a satisfied hum moved through her throat.

“Guess you really like the strawberry,” he teased, pinching her bottom.

“I like it all,” she cooed as he moved to kiss her.

Washed, dried, dressed and on the deck with two smokes and two whiskeys, Violet felt like she could sleep for a full twenty four hours. He was thoughtful as she curled into his side in the wide lounge chair.

“What’s going on in that brain of yours?” she asked as she was reaching for her drink.

“The significant others are going to be up here tomorrow.”

“Oh,” she said in a small voice, backing off a bit. “Do you…”

“What? No, I’m not that guy,” he said with a smile. “Jess and Calli will be up.”

“Gotta love booty calls, right?”

“Pretty much,” he continued with a soft laugh, but obviously was feeling awkward about it. “I was wondering if you would like to come over Friday night for dinner. I mean, the girls are great. Well, Jess is great. I think you’d like her.”

She looked at him. She looked at how he was running the pad of his thumb across the rim of his glass and how he kept his eyes down and away. It was really adorable how he seemed nervous at that moment.

She had a quip on her tongue that she swallowed. “Of course, I’ll join you. Then we can come back here and I’ll destroy you with some chocolate.”

His eyes grew soft as a warm smile pulled at his mouth. He pulled her back down to him as he held onto her tight. That’s when the idea hit what she wanted for Friday and it made her heart flutter and her breath to release in a long, slow stream.

Taglist: you can join here or send me an ask

@lvnterninthenight @doodle417 @luverleaver @niallsboxx @jakesgrapejuice @fictional-duchess @maverick-rose @joshkiszkas

#jake kiszka x oc #jake gvf #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka smut

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shoshiwrites · 2 years

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while spring is making promises outside — a flower shop AU featuring my OC Jo. Chapter 8/9. Some chapters a little NSFW.

Catch up at the link!

In July, she finds an apartment with Lena, Evie's friend. It's tiny but it's got hardwood floors and it's full of light. The walls are begging to be decorated. With entirely removable installations, of course.

Move-in day somehow turns into a gathering, with Clara and the boyfriend who's no longer a face on the screen bringing beer and a rug for the floor, and Frankie with a cooler and Tupperware for the fridge that still needs to be plugged in, and her and Bill and Joe with the boxes. There aren't many of them, which she feels something about, and maybe the next thing is hope. Fran stops by later with the baby, toddling around the plush flowers and birds of the carpet's design.

A while after they've all left, and Lena's gone to meet a classmate for coffee — in Clara's absence Jo feels obligated to raise an affectionate eyebrow — Joe comes back with a clean shirt and a bunch of dusk-colored roses in his hand.

"You need a record player," he says, switching on the radio.

She makes a face. "Don't tell me you're secretly a snob." They've gotten in play-fights over his cassettes before, the ones he still insists taking with him in the truck on long rides to events. It is possibly very annoying that the truck, old enough to still have a cassette deck, justifies him in this regard.

"I got a friend who fixes 'em up."

"Can you get me a discount?"

"You think I'd make my girl pay for her own gift?"

Her heart jumps at that, without warning. "I'm your girl?" It sounds ridiculous when she says it like that, when she doubts what's standing there in front of her putting flowers in a jar.

"You want me to prove it?"

She exhales, rolls her head back all exaggerated, and he laughs.

"You like it when I say that?"

"Stop," she laughs.

Faintly on the radio behind him there's a shimmering bassline, a drawn-out vocal. "Dance with me?" She doesn't move. "C'mon, gotta practice for the big to-do."

It's not for a couple more weeks, Bill and Fran's wedding. Joe's tux hangs in his closet, under the plastic, and her dress is still back at her old room.

"I'm proud of you," she says, nuzzling up under his chin. The words are so quiet, and only for him. He kisses her hairline in agreement. They sway for a few moments, letting the second stretch. His voice is warm against her ear. "Ma says I'm bringing you to dinner next week or I'm not invited." She freezes a little, and he only holds her tighter. "Hey, she'll love you. I showed my sisters some of your stuff and they're fighting over who gets to hire you first." She's still trying to straighten her shoulders. "Listen," he says, "they'll love you." Because I love you. "You're my girl."

The wedding spills over with joy. The arrangements are huge, orange and red and pink, and beautiful against the ivory. Fran has a crown of roses, and a little matching headband for her daughter. Everything is summer. There's fans everywhere for the heat, cold lemonade at the VFW hall for the reception. Jo hand-lettered the signs, with line drawings of the flowers. She can't hide her smile when she overhears the compliments.

Frankie sidles up somewhere between the hors d'oeuvres and the dancing and squeezes her hand. "We did good," she says.

"Hey, I'm not the genius visionary."

Frankie rolls her eyes, but it's full of affection. "Talent can only get you so far." She's smiling, blonde curls escaping her messy bun. Her voice goes soft after a minute, and low. "It was never about charity, you know that right?"

Jo's surprised to hear the tightness in her own voice. "Yeah."

Bill gets in his I told ya so's about 47 times while they're dancing. Her dress is stuck to the small of her back, the floaty chiffon printed with watercolor flowers, and her hair curls around her ears. Joe tells her she's beautiful; she's happy just to feel like a person, someone here in their body, taking up space.

At some point they all kick off their shoes on the floor. It's all the old hits, the ones that get the grandparents dancing and the ones that make the twenty-somethings reminisce. Somewhere between Frankie Valli and Edwin McCain, he pulls her even closer. She's pressed against his chest, the dress shirt he's pushed up to his elbows.

"I think I love you," she murmurs, quiet enough for only him to hear. It still shakes a little, bare. She can feel the way his hold goes even more tender around her.

"That's good," he says. "Because I'm building you a desk."

"You're what?"

"You'll see it when you're over this weekend." They're not so much dancing anymore as him pulling her along, still caught on what he'd said. He kisses her, when he doesn't hear her say anything. Her nose brushes against the medallion half-hidden under his shirt. "And I love you too." The song ends, but they don't break apart. "You think I woulda hung around that much if I didn't?"

#shoshi writes #jo's tag #while spring is making promises outside #almost theeeere #that moment when you're formatting and joe gets in another line #what is in the lemonade at this wedding that we're being so clear with our feelings #shoshi's au problem

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fluffy-critter · 1 year

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#crosspost #busybee

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marcholasmoth · 1 year

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OSRR: 3052

today was really productive.

i woke up to my alarm this morning! and then i fell back asleep. and then i woke up again not too long after! and i took my meds because i'd brought them upstairs with me last night because i knew i wasn't gonna wanna get out of bed to go get them but i needed to take them still, so i kept them by my bed. which was a great idea.

and then after taking then i fell back asleep again for an hour.

when i woke up, it was about 11:30 and mom asked me for help decorating, which i was planning on doing anyway, so i got up and showered and made my way downstairs to help decorate. mom gave me a working time of 45 minutes so i could get to work on my paper, and in that hour we got stuff organized and put up and problems solved and i'm pretty happy with how things look, even though we're definitely missing a box of greenery. i have some lights to put up soon, so hopefully the snow we've gotten today melts. which i doubt it will very much, but tomorrows supposed to be in the mid 30s and it'll be in the 40s later this week, so it probably will. who knows.

anyway, i spent the day editing the 54-page group document for our capstone. as the 4th person exiting it, i was shocked to see how many problems were left. repeated words, improperly hyphenated words, and missing citations, along with poorly formatted end citations, which i fixed all of, some of which entirely. that was fun.

but i got it done in time for our 5pm class meeting before our presentation tomorrow, so that was good.

and then i volunteered to cover the small business section. so i gotta do that tomorrow. eh.

and after dinner, after i finished up doing some other things and looking at rings because mom saw that someone got engaged and i was like "i picked out the ones i want, wanna see?" so we looked at them for a while.

i also helped mom move some empty boxes out of the way so it's less cluttered around the house, and james took our cars one by one to fix them in some way, and i learned i'll need new brakes which shouldn't be terrible, and i'll need a new something else which i anticipate being more expensive. but the good news is that i have some money i can use to pay for things, so that's good. it was nice being able to pay for tires myself.

and then, after all that, it had started to snow, and i switched tasks to the discussion posts i had left to do for my capstone. i had my textbook open so i could understand what i was supposed to be looking at, which didn't end up helping so much as google searches and looking at what my classmates commented. so i got all of those remaining posts done, so the last thing to do for my capstone is that presentation tomorrow. and then it's done. and all i'll have left is the few pieces that go to my paper for my other class. and then i'll be done. i'm so excited.

in the meantime, i've been so busy i haven't texted joel in a couple days, but i have thought about him. mostly in passing, though, like "joel would enjoy this," or "this reminds me of joel," and most frequently "i miss my joel :c" but i haven't reached out besides the other day of asking "do you need anything." i assume he's okay. he would tell me if he weren't, if for no other reason than he'd need a ride somewhere or need someone to watch the dog for a bit. joel is funny, but i understand. how babies have object impermanence, i have people impermanence. if they're not there and i'm not constantly reminded of them, i forget they're there. so i understand not reaching out. it's just. people don't exist if they're not in my top messages on here, facebook, snapchat, over text, or on discord. womp womp.

oh well. i'm fine. just tired. time to sleep.

#molly rambles #operation srr #osrr #3000s #3050s #sunshine boy

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dzpenumbra · 2 years

Text

9/11/22

Twenty-one years since 9/11, huh. That's... that's hard to process. I remember it pretty damn clearly. I was in English class, in high school. We had some assignment where we were supposed to like... write an essay based on a news article or something, I don't remember the exact assignment. We went to the computer lab. You know, the old one with the CRT monitors because they hadn't switched to flatscreens quite yet. The library computers had, those were the fancy Dell towers, but the old building still had the light grey CRTs. I remember fucking around, not wanting to do the assignment, and my classmate Vinny came over with a printed sheet of paper showing Breaking News from CNN - I think. It was about a passenger plane that struck the World Trade Center. This was back when they still thought it was a civilian plane, like a private plane. I remember he joked about "how did they not see it?!"

The next memory was from the next class - which was an elective class called Science in the News. We had two TVs in the classroom on and we were all glued to it as it was unfolding. I remember panicking and trying to find maps of like population density and shit to try to identify their pattern and where they would be invading next. It felt like this was the opening volley for a full-scale war, I expected land invasion. Things were cleared up slowly over time as news stations started getting reliable information, but I remember that pretty vividly.

This was right after I joined up in the video program, where we had a really sick state-of-the-art news center. My old teacher used to work for CNN, so he got us the hookup. We even had a live Reuters feed coming in to the studio at all times, the same raw feed the legit news stations got. Right as the Iraq War hit. I saw some shit, but I guess by today's social media standards, it wasn't that out of the norm. Which, in my opinion, is not a good thing.

It's pretty crazy how I just happened to have an English assignment that had me looking for news sites. And I just happened to be in the next class, Science in the News. And just happened to be going to the news room later that day. Even my spiritual side can't really make sense of what that would mean... why I would need to be close to that. I mean, my Dad used to work there... so... maybe that's it? He used to commute there. Until we moved away, and we moved away... I guess like 4 years before that? He probably didn't commute for like a few more years before that but yeah, that was probably pretty fresh in his mind. That's gotta spook ya. I don't know.

This is pretty dark, I don't really like lingering on stuff like this. It's just upsetting things that powerful people do to try and punish and deter other powerful people. On all sides, regardless of factions. It is just depressing and sad and I don't want to linger on it. I just wish we were better than these kinds of things. That's all.

I'm going to pee. Kitty got hyper and circled my ankles again. I quickly sought out her toy - a clear plastic bottle ring from a cranberry juice bottle tied to a piece of high gauge fishing line. She's been playing with bottle rings since she was a baby, it was always her favorite. She definitely wanted to play. She has been so talkative since my pup passed. We've grown much closer. When she was a baby - I've had her since she was like... able to sit in the palm of my hand... a few weeks old at most - she would squeak, but after she got fixed I just didn't hear her voice anymore. She was always very quiet. The past few years, and especially the past few months, she's just started talking constantly. I'm guessing it's because I haven't been conversational with her. Not in a very long time. It makes me sad. I bet this is what parenthood is like, but on a much more impactful scale. The regret. The "I could've done better", "I could've been better", "If I only knew then what I know now." That shit is like... it really fucks people up. Myself included.

I feel like I've gotten much better with it over the years. Being branded as a fuck-up has really helped me get acquainted with regret. I still feel it extremely deeply, it shocks the system and drains me, but I have kinda learned how to accept it. And how to turn it into a learning experience, and a demonstration of how far I have come. How much I have grown. It took a LOT of work to get here, and it's far from perfect, but it's been a very big factor in me growing. I need to stay connected with that ability and lean into it as much as possible. That feeling that goes "holy fuck, I've been streaming since like... 2015. If I had just stayed on Twitch, and streamed consistently, and done YouTube and uploaded consistently and stayed on Facebook and linked stuff consistently... then I would be just like the people I watch on Twitch right now." I need to take that feeling and go - welp, I can start today. I can get back up, dust myself off, and start making that life a reality. I need to get that attitude back in my life. I need to start skating again! That's where that attitude came from. Riding up, trying to boardslide a rail, getting hung up and falling, getting back up, doing it again. Again and again and again until you land it. Every time, learning and getting used to something new. That force is what will drive me to success, that force is why Rodney Mullen gave two TED Talks. I need to keep it strong within me, I'm afraid lately it has been fading.

Winter is gonna bring some really cool shit if I get the right crowd. Even if not... I'm going to snowskate. A lot. And I want to film. And do YouTube, or even stream skate sessions, if possible. It would be so much easier to do with people to film, but I'm gonna work with what I've got.

I streamed tonight. The first time since last September. 3.5 hours. It was good. The highschool kids were there, but he wasn't as bad as I made him sound. At least this time. My old regular was there, he went back and revisited my old YouTube series that I busted my ass on. That warmed my heart so much. That series meant so much to me that as I was streaming the end credits, I broke out into tears live on stream. It was 5 months of my life at the beginning of the pandemic. Streaming 5+ days a week, releasing two videos a week on YT - until my therapist insisted I dial it back to one a week so I didn't burn myself out. He subbed and got a gift sub for the highschool kid. It was a heartwarming night, and I got to share my favorite game with people that legit were invested in the story as much as me. I missed it so fucking much. I've been around too many really negative people who just don't like their lives.

Nothing brings me more pleasure than to share my passion with people, my "ooOOOOooo oh oh oh check this out, this thing over here? This is really cool because of blah blah blah". To show them the way I look at the world, with wonder and amazement, curiosity and intrigue. They look at computer code and they just go "I don't know what this is, this is nonsense, move along". I look at computer code and go "oh shit, this is like a puzzle, okay, I wonder what that weird lookin chunk over there does..." And if my passion and creativity have latched on to that concept, I will deep dive on it for actual hours. I will listen to lectures on coding to start to learn the basics, jump to pet projects. I will actually engage with it. It doesn't seem like others do. Maybe it's because I have the freedom to? Fuck it, let's use the really filthy word people keep saying hatefully nowadays, get ready to need a shower. Privilege. Maybe it's because I have the privilege of being able to pursue curiosities and passions.

But honestly, I think if you took some of the people I've met and gave them every tool they need, every resource they need, took care of everything, and put them in front of things like that... they still couldn't find the passion. They still wouldn't be into it. I think the pandemic kinda proved that to a lot of people. I hope so, maybe then they can stop shit-talking people who want to pursue hosting, narrating, podcasting, exploring for a living.

I mean, look at how fucking long my posts are! How many other posts this long do you see? Maybe I don't dig around enough, but... I mean... that's pretty unique. And people will try to paint it as a bad thing automatically, right? Instinctually. "Oh my god, I don't have time to read all this!" So you'll browse and scroll 200 posts for an hour, but you won't read one post that would take... maybe 20 minutes to read? Do the math, cowboy.

But my point with my post length is... I don't know if the people in my life (I really need to start correcting this phrase to "in my past") that would shit-talk how much I ramble and rant, how much I just go on-and-on. I don't know if they would be able to write this much. I doubt they'd care enough. I doubt they have anything they're passionate about enough to write like this. And I do it every fuckin night. So... who are they to judge? It's weird.

Anyway, big tangent there, but a bit more uplifting than revisiting 9/11, yeah?

I'm going to get to sleep before it gets fully light, I'm getting too used to going to sleep with the sun already up. Back in the streaming saddle, it feels good, ready to build some habits, make a schedule and start takin some goddamn leaps. :D

#diary #journal #stream of thoughts #spilled thoughts #stream of conscious writing #online journal

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timbrrwolfe · 2 years

Text

I guess I could talk a little about what I've been up to in the years since I was last on this site.

I started therapy. Then stopped therapy after like a year and a half because it seemed like we weren't making a ton of progress with therapy alone (I have plans to do the whole testing for adhd and autism so we can figure out what's in my neurodivergent soup aside from the anxiety, but there was apparently a waitlist for the few people in my area who do that kind of testing). And, to clarify, the thing we weren't making much progress with was a specific goal of therapy that seems held back by adhd/autism/anxiety that will either require more specific resources to work through than the therapy. The therapy itself was actually pretty good for what it was. Though because of how I ended up at the practice I did (i.e. my mom got me in with someone who worked in the same building as she does) it ended up being a Christianity-based therapy. As a Christian, I didn't exactly mind this. But as a Christian who's been, uh...less than active, we'll say, and has had my issues with the current state of Christianity in America, it was not without its flaws. But I can talk more about that in a different post.

I got a little more serious about wanting to be a writer and make money off of that. And then proceeded to completely fall flat on my face when it came to actually doing the writing. I still have a million ideas rattling around in my head but I've not gotten much better at actually sitting down to do it (one of the things I was trying to sort out with therapy but might require like adhd meds or something). But man once I get that sorted out and start actually writing it's over for y'all. (No I don't know who y'all refers to there).

Reading has actually been down for me lately, but I've been watching more movies and playing more games, which has been nice. Still awful at sitting down to watch shows, and my backlog in everything is ever-growing. Still gotta figure out a balance there. Right now I'm reading through Dune after watching the movie and BOY the book is slower. I think I'm right around where the movie ended, so about halfway through the book, so we'll see if it picks up now that it's newer info. On the topic of games I ended up playing board games online with a few people more now, which has mostly been games that were new to me, which has been fun. I will forever be meaning to set up game nights with friends and never actually doing it (one of these days, surely). On the video games side of things I found out my library actually has switch games available so I've started renting those (they are, unsurprisingly, a hot commodity, and the selection is admittedly limited, but it's still a good way to play games I might not have earlier). So far I've only rented New Pokemon Snap, which I didn't finish in like a month because choice fatigue from choosing which pictures to save burned me out a bit (as well as it being pretty repetitive with the area leveling system requiring multiple replays of the same area with little variation) but I got pretty close still. And I requested Super Mario Odyssey which is probably a longer game but also a more concrete game, goals-wise, so hopefully I'll be able to burn through that pretty quickly. Also my current focus in terms of ongoing games has been Pokemon Unite (which I am, I think, pretty good in and the game is decently fun but boy does it have some stuff to fix before I can call the game as a whole good) and Fall Guys. Though I realized recently that a lot of my motivation for playing those games is tied to being able to customize characters. Which like. Not that surprising in hindsight, but it still caught me off guard to notice.

Still unemployed (see aforementioned stuff about therapy), so that keeps piling on. Still single. And...probably not ready to mingle? I dunno, my lack of drive in finding a partner is mostly related to that ongoing unemployment because I don't want to be that much of a burden on a partner. But I guess if someone I was interested in and felt would be a good match asked, knowing my situation, I'd be willing to give it a shot.

#Random Timbit #Tim rambles #in which Tim journals publicly instead of privately #still at least I'm getting the writing juices flowing again #ignore that I'm posting this at 430am local time Orz

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thesolferino · 3 years

Text

Pretty Girl

⤷ georgenotfound x f!reader.

⤷ genre: fluff literal pure disgusting fluff

⤷ word count: 2k

⤷ requested: yes, by this lovely anon

⤷ note: happy valentine’s, everyone <3

— summary: you decide to spend valentine’s day the best way you can think of - watching cheesy romcoms and sleeping on your boyfriend’s lap.

If George is anything in this world, he’s a homebody. Your homebody, you’d always correct him, whenever he started defending himself for rather laying on your bed and rocking from side to side like a lazy cat, scrolling through his phone while you made dinner and shouted at him for not helping from the kitchen instead of going out for movies or to the mall - your homebody, but a homebody nonetheless.

Luckily for him, you didn’t mind - crowds weren’t really your thing, and living in London made it impossible to avoid those, so you happily agreed to stay inside with him, as long as he agreed to washing the dishes. True to his homebody status, the two of you agreed to spend Valentines together at your place, watching shitty romcoms and cuddling, because doing cheesy couple activities gets a little boring after 17, and you’re more than fine hanging off your boyfriend and sleeping on him like a sloth in the warmth of your home compared to the cold wind that brutally swept aside everything in its way outside.

That’s why you jumped from your place on the couch when you heard the doorbell ring, fixing your hair a little when you passed by the mirror before opening the door, George’s smiling face greeting you, half covered by a thick scarf that he seemed to try and wrap around his whole head and his hair covered with a woolen beanie too. He held a box of chocolates in one, and a far-too-large bouquet of flowers in another glove-covered hand, ready to step in.

You immediately stepped aside, letting him in.

“Happy Valentine’s, baby.” he said, offering you the gifts which you gladly accepted with a loud “aww”, unwrapping the scarf around his neck so you could press a soft, thankful kiss to his lips while he took the beanie off as well. You walked over to the living room to set the gifts down as he took off his boots and jacket.

“It’s actually so cold outside, like, this is crazy. It’s not snowing but it should be, I almost got blown away!” you heard him shout from the entrance, making his way to the living room where you sat on the couch, Netflix already pulled up, scrolling through the movies section. You chuckled at his complaints, side eyeing him as he walked into the room.

“If you got blown away I’d never forgive you for ditching me on Valentine’s.” you said, gaze returning to the TV as he plopped down on your couch with a loud exhale, basking in the warmth of the gracious heating inside your house, a stark difference from the cold he stomped through.

“What do you mean you wouldn’t forgive me? How would that be my fault?” he complained, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him, head lightly resting on his right shoulder as you continued scrolling.

“That would mean you just didn’t try hard enough for me.” you argued, and you heard a chuckle escape him at your absurd claim, seeing him shake his head.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? That means I tried more than hard enough.” he said, fingers lightly rubbing up and down your shoulder. You nodded, stifling a giggle.

“You wanna watch the Titanic?” you asked, finger hovering over the OK button on your remote, waiting for him to read the description of the movie that played next to the trailer, even though both of you knew well enough what the movie was about.

“Didn’t you say you find it boring, though?” he said, gaze flickering between you and the screen.

“Yeah, but it’s cheesy, stupid and romantic. Perfect for Valentine’s, eh?”

“Just like you.” he murmured under his breath, a grin stretching out on his face at the dumb joke, carefully watching you to check if you heard. And you, of course, heard and immediately looked up at him with an offended look.

“Excuse you?!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking!” he laughed, pulling you in closer, hoping you’d forgive him as you continued glaring up at him the longer he laughed.

“I know you think you look very scary and mad right now, but you just look like a… cute puppy, or something, trying very, very hard to look angry and intimidating.” he said, and your facade deflated, now looking just mildly irritated as you huffed and turned your gaze back to the TV screen.

“This is so not fair.”

“I’m sorry love, but you’re too cute to be scary in the slightest.”

“I’m not! Tremble before my wrath!” you shouted, hearing him giggle in response.

“Oh, you’re right, I’m so scared, please spare me!” he played along and you laughed, pressing your face into his shoulder right before pressing play and adjusting yourself on the couch, ready to fall asleep somewhere in the middle, considering the movie was three and a half hours long and there was no way in hell you were making it through the whole thing.

Barely five minutes had passed when you were already shifting in your seat, inspecting the box of chocolates he bought thoroughly. You decided to reach out and busy yourself with reading the packaging and maybe opening it, instead of following the rather slow pace of the movie.

Only when you grabbed the box had you actually realised it was painted gold, the Ferrero Rocher logo printed on it and you shook it, as if expecting for there not to be any chocolates inside.

“Damn, Ferrero Rocher? Alright, rich boy, goddamn!” you said and he laughed loudly in response, gaze switching from the TV over to you.

“Gotta spend all the YouTube money on something.” he replied.

“Maybe your Minecraft obsession is good for something after all.” you muttered, carefully opening the box and you heard a whine of protest come from him.

“Hey!”

You ripped the box open, inspecting the gold wrapped candies before carefully picking up one of them, slowly unwrapping it and then holding it up to George’s mouth, expectantly looking up at him from below his shoulder. He opened his mouth and you plopped it inside, and he immediately started chewing, almost pleasantly surprised noises rumbling from his chest.

“This is actually really good, I forgot how good these were.” he mumbled while he still chewed, nodding his head as he searched for your eyes, almost as if looking for confirmation.

“What, you were gonna get me shitty candy on purpose?” you said, unwrapping another candy for yourself and munching down on it, tossing the wrapper to the other side of the couch, assuring yourself that you’d just clean it up tomorrow.

“How do you manage to spin everything I say into something bad?” he complained again while you giggled, knowing exactly how to get him annoyed. “I obviously knew they were good, that’s why I got you the crazy expensive ones!”

“I know, I’m just playing, Georgie.” you weakly hit his arm, and then continue, much quieter: “Thanks for getting me this stuff - I love you, you know that?”

You see the corners of his mouth lift upwards and he pulls you in closer, hand snaking up from your shoulder into your hair, tucking a strand behind your ear gently. “Yeah, I do. I love you too, baby.”

The atmosphere quiets into a comfortable silence, and his fingers still lightly comb through your hair, his gentle touch paired with the quietness of the movie making your eyelids fall heavier and heavier. He notices when you let out quite a big yawn, and his fingers untangle themselves from your hair, hand pulling at your arm to push you away from his shoulder. You’re quite confused as to what he’s doing, but as soon as you’re off his shoulder, he pulls your head back down into his lap. You adjust your head on his thigh with a smile as he softly pulls a few strands of hair away from your face, his left hand now slowly scratching at your scalp instead of his right.

As soon as you face the TV your eyes burn, and you’re forced to close them as exhaustion washes over you. You fought the sleep that crept up on you and harshly pulled you towards itself the best you could, and maybe you would’ve actually made it through the movie if George’s hands didn’t feel so nice and soft buried in your hair.

One second you were watching Jack dine with Rose and her fiance in first class with tired, weary eyes and the other you were peeling your eyes open slowly, tiredly blinking away, trying to get your blurry vision to finally focus on something other than the ceiling. That something happened to be your boyfriend’s face that finally came into your line of sight, his warm, chocolate eyes peering down at yours, paired with one of the biggest lovesick grins you’d ever seen him wear. His hand still threaded itself through your hair carefully, wrapping tiny strands around his pointer finger before letting them go, going back to running it through and brushing over your scalp. You couldn’t help but shyly giggle at the way he stared at you, the light of the TV reflecting in his already shiny eyes.

“Hi.” you greeted, voice hoarser than expected. He laughed in response, eyes trailing over every inch of your face.

“Hi.” he repeated. A beat of silence passed with him still staring down at you, and you staring back, a blush creeping it’s way up your neck to your cheeks.

“What?” you whined, rocking your head side to side in his lap. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” he asked, playing dumb, grin only growing wider the more he spoke.

“Like… I dunno.” you responded, cheeks fiery. “Did you turn me around from the TV so you could stare while I slept, you creep?”

“No, you turned around in your sleep. I couldn’t help it. You look so pretty.” he said, head cocking to the side as if to get another look at your face from a different angle, and your hands shot up to cover your face, heating up even more than before. His free hand immediately flew to yours, trying to push them away gently.

“No, stop, I wanna see!” he argued, trying to push them down as you persisted, giggling, burying your face in his leg as he started laughing as well.

“Stop it, George!” you say, pulling your hands off just to try and slap his away, grinning up at him, cheeks flaming.

“See, that’s better.” he mused, looking at your uncovered face again. “You look so peaceful, and... pretty when you sleep, you know that?”

“No I don’t, babe. I’m asleep, I can’t really see.” you roll your eyes and he laughs, hand darting back to your hair immediately as that lovesick look drowns his eyes again.

“Well then you’ll just have to trust me.” he responds. His gaze returns back to the TV and you switch places, now being your turn to stare up at his features while he pays attention to the movie.

“I can’t believe I still make you that flustered, even after all this time.” he laughs after a few seconds of silence, and you can’t help but laugh along.

“I can’t help it! You’re so- you’re so cheesy, like, I can’t…” you argue back, and he laughs, looking back at you again.

“You love it.” he says, then turns his head back to the TV. “Pretty girl.”

You let out a surprised whine, hands shooting up to cup your cheeks again, and he lets out a loud laugh at your reaction. “Shut up George, I swear!”

“I’m telling the truth! Why are you attacking me for telling the truth?”

“Enough! I can’t take this, my heart is going to burst, and then you’ll be responsible for my heart attack.”

“That’s not how heart attacks work-”

“Oh yeah, smartass? Well, explain to me how-”

Safe to say, you definitely enjoyed your Valentine’s.

#georgenotfound imagine #georgenotfound x reader #georgenotfound x you #georgenotfound x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #dream x reader #dreamwastaken x reader #dream team x reader #georgenotfound fanfic #georgenotfound fluff #mcyt fanfic

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tonguetiedraven · 2 years

Note

bonrin 15 for the number ship thingy

15 was meet in the ER/AE and I loved the idea. I went with them both being injured instead of one party being injured and the other being the medical personnel for a bit of a twist, lol.

Thanks for the prompt!

There are mentions of broken bones, but I don't go into a lot of detail on any injury.

-- -- -- -- --

“It’s not like this is the first time,” Rin pointed out as Yukio continued to screech worried filled words on the phone. “I mean, I work at a college kitchen. Accidents kinda happen.”

“You broke your leg! How are you even walking there?!”

“Oh, Yang loaned me one of her canes. It’s awesome. I can go fast and whack annoying people.”

“Don’t go fast! You’ll agitate the leg! Damn it, why’d they put me on night-shift if I can’t even help you.”

“You work with the medicine stuff, don’t ya? Do you even know how to fix a bone?”

Rin grinned at the immediately indignant ramble that earned him and hobbled towards the front door. The handicap button was only a few inches from the door, but he’d have to shift his balance around a lot to get it. As much as he was pretending to be entirely okay for Yukio’s sanity, he was actually in a shit-ton of pain and shifting like that seemed horrible.

“Sorry, gotta go. I’m here now. Call you back soon!”

“Rin—!”

“Hey!” A tall, muscular dude in a hoodie with an undercut was next to the door, and as far as Rin could tell, he had working legs. The man’s head turned towards him, and Rin plastered on a bigger smile as he caught sight of the handsome face. “Could you get that door for me? Kinda hard to move like this.”

“Huh-Oh. Sure thing.” The man moved to push the button with his left hand instead of holding open the door like Rin had expected. It swung open, and the man promptly shuffled over to stand in front of it so it would stay open and clear for Rin.

He was even better looking up close. The undercut showed off a strong jaw and pronounced cheeks, along with an array of piercings that made him look tough as well as rugged. The hoodie was evidently old and comfortable, and had a faded logo on it from True Cross Academy, Yukio’s old school. So the dude was probably a nerdy punk. Nice.

“Thanks!” Rin offered his biggest smile and tried not to make it too obvious he was checking the guy out as he hobbled forward.

“I don’t wanna sound rude, but did you break your leg?”

Rin nodded and continued his hobble. “Yep. Miso soup got to me, and I went down for the count. Heard the crack, and couldn’t really get back up.”

The man followed after him and let the door swing shut. “You know you’re supposed to use two crutches for that? You’ll put pressure on your broken bone otherwise, and make it worse.”

Rin looked down at his slightly too short stick. “Well that's all I had.”

“Hold on, just…” The man shuffled forward and motioned for Rin to grab his stick with the other hand. “Put your arm over my shoulder, but, uh, try not to touch my right arm? I can take your weight so you don’t put any on that leg. We gotta get to the nurse on duty, and she can get you a wheel chair if you need it.”

“I don’t need a wheel chair, it isn’t that bad.”

“That cane’s too short, bud.”

“Okumura. Rin Okumura.” He shoved his hand forward with a grin. The man blinked and looked down at it before awkwardly shaking it with his own hand.

“Suguro. Ryuuji Suguro.”

Rin shook his hand twice before letting go and trying not to wince obviously. “So why’re you here, Suguro?” He switched hands with his cane, and reached for Suguro’s taller shoulder. Ryuuji bent a little to accommodate their height differences.

Ryuuji’s lips quirked up the slightest bit with a smile. “Broke my arm, funnily enough.”

Rin laughed and hopped towards the line for the nurse with Ryuuji’s help. “Well ain’t we a pair.”

“Bad day for the right side.”

“Are you right handed?”

“Yes, but I’m mostly ambidextrous. Still can’t write for shit with my left hand.”

Rin laughed. “This next bit is gonna suck then.”

Ryuuji eyed him, entirely unimpressed. “At least I didn’t try to hop my way in.”

“I didn’t ‘try’ to hop my way in. I did hop my way in. You didn’t show up until after I got here.” He shrugged with a grin that was probably too big for this stupid situation. He had to meet a cute guy in his silly outfit with the stupid dancing ramen on it. Not his impressive uniform, nope, the comfy clothes. And with a broken leg. Hardly the best introduction.

“I can help you two,” A nurse with bright blonde hair interjected. She had a nice smile and big green eyes. “Which of you are the injured party?”

“We both are.” Suguro pointed out as he steered them over. “Broken leg and broken arm.”

“Alright, did you get injured together?”

“We just met, ma’am.”

Her eyes shot up to them and the arm Ryuuji had around Rin’s waist. Rin rather liked the arm there, and hoped Ryuuji didn’t draw away just because of that look. Plus, he really did need that support.

“Oh! Do you need a wheelchair, sir?”

“Nah, it’s not that bad right now. I can make it to the waiting room just fine.”

“We’ll have a chair ready for you in a few minutes.”

“It’s —” she ignored his stuttering and directed her attention to Suguro, firing off a round of questions he answered in an even tone that didn’t sound even mildly pained. Rin was a little jealous because he kind of wanted to scream with his own pain. A broken arm probably wasn’t less painful than a broken leg.

She took their blood pressures and temperatures, and handed them an alarmingly big stack of paper, two clipboards, and two pens. “The waiting room is right there, sir. Sir? We’ll have your wheelchair here in a moment if you’d—”

“I can make it over there. Really, no problem. I’ll wave my right to sue you over it.” He flapped his hand and shifted his stick to move forward only for Suguro to grip his waist a bit more tightly.

“Careful, you moron. You’ll fall over again. You don’t want two bum legs, do ya?”

Flustered by the concern and how strong Ryuuji’s grip was, Rin immediately plastered on a bigger smile and propped a hand over his heart. “Aw! You care!”

Ryuuji blushed, and if Rin wasn’t in so much pain, he’d crow with delight. The tint of pink on Ryuuji’s freckled cheeks was adorable, even under the harsh fluorescent lights.

“Shut up,” Ryuuji muttered, looking to the side as he helped Rin towards the chairs over the nurses objections, “I just wanna know how you broke a leg over soup and you won’t be able to tell me if you break the other one too.”

Rin chuckled. “It isn’t that much of a story,” Ryuuji steered them towards two empty seats, and Rin’s heart sank a little at just how full this room was. “Kinda stupid honestly.”

“Do broken bones ever happen for reasons that aren’t a little stupid?” Ryuuji stopped in front of the chair, let go of Rin’s waist, and took his arms instead to help him lower into the chair. Rin accepted the spot and managed not to bang his leg any. He still wanted to cry from pain, but he blinked the tears away and smiled.

“What about you? How’d you break your arm?”

“Stupidly,” Ryuuji responded without missing a beat. He smirked and took his own seat. Rin passed him his paperwork and tried not to show just how much he loved that answer, even though he really wanted to know the actual answer.

His phone was vibrating like crazy. Yukio was probably really worried, but Rin could talk to him in a few minutes.

Ryuuji carefully set the clipboard on his leg and wrote his name extremely slowly in the top box. Despite the careful way he wrote the characters, it still looked sloppy and hard to read. Rin’s writing was neater.

“Want me to do that for you?”

Ryuuji’s eyes darted towards him and his own sporadically filled page. “I can manage.”

“You sure? I won’t fill in the address stuff if ya don’t want me to, or the numbers. Or, I know! You can hold my information while I do it? That way we’re even?”

Ryuuji looked back down at his form and filled in another line with slightly neater characters. “If you’re trying to get my number, that won’t work.”

“Hey!” Rin sputtered, and now he was the one blushing, “I’m just trying to help.”

Ryuuji gave him a small smile. “Just focus on your own paper, Miso.”

Oh, teasing Ryuuji was just as cute as blushing Ryuuji. This was turning into a better night than he’d thought it would be. If he could just get some pain meds, this would be fun.

“No fair! I still don’t know how you broke your arm!”

“Fill out that form and maybe I’ll tell you.” Ryuuji kept writing without showing any indication of discomfort. Rin scratched out a few more lines and tried not to think of the way his entire leg was throbbing. He was a sweaty mess from the pain, and if the clothes weren’t appealing, the disheveled hair and sweat certainly wouldn’t be. The apron they’d wrapped around his leg also looked kind of silly, even though it was all they really had.

“You know,” Rin drawled after a minute of silence, “my brother’s a doctor? He’s into medicine though.” It wasn’t much of a conversation topic, but Rin only had so long with Ryuuji and he wanted to know more about him.

“You mean your brother’s a doctor and you still hopped your way over here?”

“My twin yelled at me the whole time if that helps.” Rin flipped the page and scanned the medical history with a frown.

Was there a place to just write ‘adopted and don’t know any of this shit’ or did he have to individually fill in all the ‘unknowns.’ This part always sucked.

“Twin, huh? That’s neat. Does he work here?”

“Yep! He’s upstairs fussing over some weird lab results. And probably pissed that he can’t get down here. Probably good for me though. I’d get a lecture.”

Ryuuji side-eyed him again. “Do you deserve one?”

“No! It wasn’t my fault that Tadashi spilt the Miso.”

“So you slipped and broke your leg?”

Rin stuck his tongue out. “I’m not telling until you give me some details.”

Ryuuji carefully turned to the next page of his form. “It also involved falling.”

“Come on, I want more than that.” Rin twisted in his eat to lean closer to Ryuuji, entirely uncaring that a lot of people were glancing at them, and put on his best smile. “Please?”

Ryuuji glanced up, and promptly blushed at Rin’s sudden nearness. “Uh,” he stammered, “I… Fine. One detail,” his (pretty) brown eyes dropped to the form and he fiddled with the edge of the page. “It involved a rooster.”

“What?!”

“Shh!”

Rin glanced around and realized he’d attracted more stares. Whatever. He looked ridiculous and didn’t care about stares any more. He lowered his voice anyway. “Come on, you gotta tell me now.”

Ryuuji tapped his form. “Finish that and maybe.”

Rin sat back in his chair with a pout. “Fine,” he huffed, trying to get comfortable without shifting his leg. He did a speed round of unknown checks and flipped to the other side. It was a lot of long words he didn’t understand at all, and hopefully not important. Yukio would tell him if he’d had some horrible illness, and probably would use the proper name. He was annoying like that.

The back was more words he couldn’t really understand. But he filled out the bits he did understand and hoped a nurse would let him know if he missed anything.

“Done!” He twisted in his seat and immediately bit back a string of violent curses as it jarred his leg again.

“Hey,” Ryuuji stretched his left arm awkwardly across the space and gripped Rin’s arm to tug him back into the seat. “Not like that. You’ll get dizzy or pass out if you keep breathing like that. Deep breaths, slowly. Try to match me. It’ll help the pain, promise.”

With a frantically pounding heart, Rin turned his gaze to Ryuuji and watched the way his chest expanded and fell. He hadn’t realized he’d started hyperventilating, but the hand on his arm and the slow rhythm helped. He concentrated on matching with Ryuuji, and after a few minutes, he didn’t feel nearly as dizzy and the pain had returned to the consistent throb instead of the fiery agony.

“Rooster?” He panted, wishing he wasn’t sweating and trying to blink the residual tears away.

Ryuuji chuckled low in his throat. ��Damn, you’re one track minded, aren’t ya?”

“Can’t help it. I gotta know.”

“I was helping fix up my mother’s inn. She’s got chickens and stuff in the back. One of the hens got herself stuck on the roof — I have no idea how she even got up there — and I went to fetch her. Karura, her rooster, came up behind me when I wasn’t looking and pecked my ankle. Knocked me off balance and down I went. At least I managed to get Princess down.”

“Princess?”

“The hen.”

“That is such a better story than slipping on Miso soup. You were sabotaged by a rooster who didn’t want you to be the one rescuing his princess. It’s romantic and hilarious.”

Ryuuji did his small smile again. “I don’t know, miso’s fun. Plus, you were dressed for the part. Did you at least get to eat the dinner first?”

Rin shook his head. “I was making it. I’m a cook. Well, sorta. I’m an instructor mostly, but I help run the college kitchen.”

“Yeah? That’s neat.” Ryuuji filled in the last line of his form and flipped it back to the front. Reaching over, he took Rin’s as well. “I’ll turn these in.”

Rin managed not to grin like a moron when Ryuuji’s warm hand brushed against his. “Sure, show off your working legs.”

Ryuuji tried to hide it, but Rin could hear the small snort as he moved towards the front desk. He returned a moment later and resumed his seat. “She said it should be any minute now. They’ll give you some meds before they set it, so it shouldn’t be much longer?”

“Yay.”

Ryuuji shrugged his good arm and settled back. He stretched his legs out in front of him, and Rin took the briefest moment to discreetly appreciate them. “You get a lot of good or bad cooks?”

“Good mostly. We do a few beginner classes as well, and that’s where the miso spill happened. Waste of good soup.”

Ryuuji raised a pierced eyebrow. “The leg seems like the bigger loss.”

Rin shook his head. “Clearly you haven’t had really good soup. Definitely the bigger tragedy.”

“Don’t really think there’s soup that good.”

Rin made the most indignant noise he could at their quiet volume. “That’s it! I’m cooking for you when we get outta here! You need to have really good soup.”

Ryuuji’s cheeks went adorably pink, and Rin realized what he’d just said and joined in on the blush. “I mean, only if you want to.”

“Okumura?” Rin jolted as a young nurse with soft brown hair called his hame. He raised his hand like he was back in class and she moved towards him with a wheelchair. Ugh.

“Guess this is my ride,” he looked back at Ryuuji and smiled even though he didn’t want to. “I’m serious about the soup though. I’d like to make you dinner?”

The nurse grabbed his arm and helped shift him into the chair. Ryuuji guided with his good arm as much as he could, and a moment later, Rin was seated.

Apparently soup wasn’t going to happen. Ah well, it had still been more fun than sitting by himself.

“I’m Paku,” the nurse said politely as she steered him towards the elevator. “We’re going to get you situated and on some pain relievers as quickly as we can.”

“Hey, miso!”

Rin practically flung himself out of the seat to look over the back and see Ryuuji who had half risen out of his chair.

“Yeah?” He called, strangely breathless.

“I’d, uh, like it. Dinner? Maybe we can meet for coffee tomorrow to talk about it?”

Rin whacked the side of the chair like an impatient child. “Roll me back! Roll me back!”

The nurse chuckled and steered him back to Ryuuji. Rin reached for him with grabby hands. Ryuuji got up properly with a barely noticeable wince and shuffled closer. “Yeah?”

Rin stuck his arm towards Ryuuji’s left hand. “Better write neat, mister. I want your number.”

“What?” Ryuuji laughed, and Rin was well on his way to loving that laugh. With the promise of pain meds in his very near future, and the hope of more than just soup, he beamed up at Ryuuji.

“You heard me, rooster,” he teased, “write your number on my arm, and make sure it’s neat.”

“Alright, miso.”

Ryuuji wrote each digit with care, and Rin didn’t care if the nurse was trying to stifle a laugh, this night had been awesome.

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heart-stomper · 3 years

Text

Unspoken Trust, Unspoken Fears

Gathering my thoughts on Sasha and Marcy’s dynamic before S3 proves me wrong shows us what’s going on with these two.

It’s time to look at The Dinner and Battle of the Bands, and then use it as a guide to read the room in True Colors.

No worries! You just gotta speak their language. - Sasha, Reunion

Or in this case, know when to stay quiet.

Sasha gets really really frustrated this episode. Like, so bad, that if that Volcakeno didn’t erupt, she might have been the one to end the friendship. Even Marcy and Grime couldn’t calm her down. But that’s the thing, before this point, they were the only ones to get through to Sasha without provoking her.

Grime keeps Sasha in line; she rolls her eyes and is clearly annoyed every time she has to hold herself back, but her willingness to keep it cool shows she ultimately agrees with Grime’s plan and sees it as the best path to success. When Marcy chimes in, it’s with a helpful answer to Sasha’s question. She reminds Sasha of why they stopped Doing Thing by explaining how their plan failed. She avoids judging Sasha for it, and frames it as the repercussions of their actions, as a group. Marcy is on Sasha’s side, so Sasha doesn’t put up any defenses. When Sasha decides to avoid arguing with Anne however, it isn’t for Anne. It’s for the plan, for her and Grime.

Marcy has enough faith in Sasha to believe she’d never want to purposefully hurt Anne, but is careful about broaching the subject. Sasha feels attacked very easily, and will quickly trivialize or downplay things if she feels the other person is being unreasonable or doesn’t ‘get’ her.

And that is the only time Marcy speaks up besides The Big Argument. She only jumps into actual conflicts if things get too heated. Otherwise, she just lets Sasha do her thing, and lets Anne argue with Sasha... sort of.

This isn’t collaboration. It’s a hostile takeover. Why do things always have to be your way?

Now, for the bait and switch. Let’s talk about Marcy’s behavior in Day at the Aquarium and New Wartwood, and Sasha’s in Toadcatcher and Barrel’s Warhammer… while tying it all back to Battle of Bands!

You didn’t tell me you were writing a song! Let’s do it! I mean, if that’s okay with you, Sasha.

In A Day at the Aquarium, Marcy’s first instinct to Anne saying she’s going back with the Plantars is to make a plan. To show that it isn’t actually what will benefit Anne’s Goals. She doesn’t even consider opening up as an option, and avoids saying anything that could cause conflict. New Wartwood, Marcy tries to chat with the citizens of Wartwood and get to know them. But when that doesn’t work, she decides that impressing them with her knowledge and usefulness is bound to make them like her. It has to.

It does seem simpler.

Trying to win people over by claiming a plan is of mutual interest and necessary, carefully choosing which words to use, viewing relationships as a puzzle to be solved… this isn’t the sort of thing Marcy needs to do to get along with someone like Anne. It’s how Marcy copes with Sasha. Sasha lashes out and belittles bad ideas. Sasha has to be convinced the plan benefits her, suits her. Vulnerability and love aren’t enough to make her care, so Marcy does what she can to prove she’s worth being around. She might even sometimes wonder if Sasha actually likes her, or just likes what she can do for her. She rather not find out.

Whenever she’s afraid of people not liking her, or is worried that she’ll lose them, she dives right into those bad habits. She can give her opinions, but they aren’t supposed to get in the way of what Sasha wants. She’s supposed to say “That’s amazing! What do you think Sash’?” not “Let’s do it!”

Listen. There’s another reason why I’ve been training so hard. To protect the one person I know I can count on right now. You. You’re right, I already lost one friend. I’m not about to lose another. - Sasha, Toadcatcher

In Toadcatcher, there’s that scene, where Sasha looks at the BFF picture and the wind cuts off Anne for a second so it’s just her and Marcy. This is where Sasha is at. Anne might have rebelled, but when Sasha reunites with Marcy? Oh, she’ll show Anne, one way or another. They’ll get her back (like, joining the team or revenge wise, depending on Sasha’s mood.)

Listen here you buffoon! What’s it gonna take to prove that you should follow us? - Barrel’s Warhammer

Aaaand Sasha freaks out royally when she learns the two are alone together and doing just fine. On some level, she fears Anne and Marcy “getting along without her” because it means they might decide they don’t actually need her to make plans; that she isn’t necessary to have fun. In the The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers, we see that isn’t as big a catastrophe as Sasha seems to think it’d be. As time goes on, the girls do gain a healthier relationship to their feelings about Sasha, but that doesn’t mean they’d want her gone even if they don’t need her there. But Sasha doesn’t know that, she doesn’t even consider it till reuniting in The Third Temple. All she knows for now, is that she can be a bit... much... so if she isn’t in control, if her way isn’t “the best”, why would Marcy put up with her either?

Listen. If things get too wild out here, just give me a signal and I’ll call the whole thing off.

For sure, teach it to us Anne.

Every Sasha plan starts with an empty reassurance. So much of Sasha’s dialogue follows a pattern where she says stuff like “we’ll call it off” (she did not call it off) and “for sure, I don’t mind” (she did mind) that it could be it’s own game. Sasha talks the talk, until it gets in the way of what she wants.

Sorry guys, but we’re way to close to bail. I am not going back empty-handed.

It’s good. I just have a few tiny notes that I think could make it even better. ... Boom! Fiixed it!

If they just follow her lead and let her fix it, everything will work out. They should believe in her and trust her. After all...

That’s not true! Besides, we did it. ... You’re not actually gonna throw this all away are you?

I just wanted all of us to succeed. I was just being a good friend. Why couldn’t they see that?

It all worked out, right? Percy and Braddock made it out okay even if she didn’t follow through on her promise. They won, she’s reliable. But of course, Sasha lost something more important than their belief in her abilities, she lost their trust. In Battle of the Bands however, Sasha recognizes that Anne and Marcy don’t want to follow her ambitions and will be pushed away by them just like Percy and Braddock were. So she takes it upon herself to end things, accepting that she’s lost.

Sorry it took so long.

Except this time, she manages to realize that maybe “what she wants” is to be there for her friends. Sasha’s finally had the space to relax and really think about what she wants, at least a little. This isn’t a real battle after all. Doing things her way all the time isn’t as important as she thought. Maybe she should trust in her friends more. A change of pace isn’t “wrong”, just different. It’s fun.

Sorry we lost, Sash’.

Just like Percy and Braddock, Marcy knows Sasha is capable. She understands that Sasha just wants the team to succeed. That’s why she apologizes when Grime beats them in the competition. She wants Sasha to know she appreciates what she did, but keeps it a bit indirect. She gets Sasha probably didn’t want to push them away. Marcy tried to catch herself and back Sasha up, but when Sasha had her argument with Anne, she stayed quiet. She couldn’t bring herself to go against Anne.

That was ultimately for the best, as Sasha learned a valuable lesson. Except... She’s in too deep with the rebellion to back out now. This is the episode she’d spill the truth and give up on the whole thing, except... Grime. A part of her knows leaving would make Grime her enemy. She can’t risk that. So, she keeps going with the plan. She decides she’ll somehow win it all back. Because the thing she’s actually most afraid of, is losing another friend.

Sorry things got a little crazy back there. You guys good? ... Sheesh, don’t be a sore loser. Look, I’m gonna stay here and get this toad regime off the ground, but I can totally send you two home if you want. Or, you can stick around and give me a hand! So what’d’ya say?

Sasha’s final offer; the last chance she’s giving the girls to stop acting weird and go back to being her obedient friends who do what she wants. Sasha lost at Toad Tower, but now she’s won. So Anne should go back to normal, she’s supposed to, like some unspoken “rule”.

And Marcy is supposed fall back in line too. The offer and apology are just as much a plea directed at her. Sasha’s trying to be generous, in her own awkward way. She has bit her tongue so far. She’s thrown a temper tantrum or two, but she hasn’t been this forward in asking Marcy for help till now. She wants Marcy to say that everything’s okay. Make it clear she doesn’t think she’s the bad guy, and that she forgives her and wants to be there for her. That they’re on the same page again. She wants Marcy to help make Anne look overly dramatic and silly for making such a big deal of all this. Sure, if Anne figures that out by herself, that’d be great, but if Marcy could just speak up.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

Marcy’s too busy worrying about Anne’s reaction. Knowing that she’ll be upset about this. She doesn’t dare side with Sasha, and is disappointed and betrayed that she actually did something like this. Marcy already has her own secret plans, so when she finally tries to calm things down, all she can give is a non-descript “we can still fix this”. And then, she’s once again shocked when she sees Sasha threaten Anne and the Plantars. Seeing Sasha act so willing to actually hurt people rather than just push them around... it finally hits her just how serious “tried to kill them” was. And of course, losing Anne or being sent home with her would completely mess up her own plans.

Sasha’s isn’t a vulnerable person. She’ll go on about loving her friends if it makes her look good, but she actively avoids doing anything that could be seen as “weak”. She wouldn’t dare ask Marcy to drop Anne and choose her. If Marcy isn’t speaking up, she can take the hint. She still isn’t on her side, and so she gets sent to the dungeon along with the rest of them.

Marcy accepts that Sasha has become an obstacle, but a part of her still hopes the three of them can work through all this. If they do things her way, nobody has to get hurt. She'll figure out a way hold everything together, fix everything, like always.

And then Andrias betrays her.

Yeah, what plan?

Sasha stops talking once she realizes what’s going on. Quietly fuming as Marcy explains herself. The music box, the suggestion to take it back to Andrias... that wasn’t Marcy being the sweet, supportive friend who Sasha thought she could always rely on, who believed in her... that was Marcy using her. It was never going to become their plan; Marcy never trusted her and was actively working against her. Sasha lost Anne, and she never had a chance at getting Marcy back, either.

Sasha smacks Marcy away when she desperately tries to justify herself. She doesn’t want to hear it anymore. She’s furious that Marcy thinks they could be friends after something like this, after she’s manipulated them and claimed it was for their sakes. This whole time, her goal had been avoiding the move with her parents. And coming here has only torn them apart even worse.

Marcy reaches out to both girls. And when Sasha rejects her, she clings to Anne, hoping at least she’ll find it in her to forgive her. That she’ll understand she cares about them even if she messed up. Marcy knows they’d probably never pick her over their families or ambitions, so she told herself this place offered those things too. Made them all better people. But as she says her excuses out loud, she can’t find a single one that feels right. She was just afraid of losing them, and now, she’s managed to hurt them on top of that.

But the thing is. After all that. Despite how betrayed and hurt and angry Sasha was, she looks like this:

Sasha realizes this must be exactly how Anne felt about her betrayal. It isn’t just an abstract “hurt” or “bad thing” anymore. She can also sympathize with how Marcy feels and why she did it, at least a little. She can’t imagine being able to forgive this, and yet... when she looks to Anne with that apologetic look, she isn’t just hoping Anne will forgive her. She’s also asking for permission to forgive Marcy. Pleading that they all still have a chance to move past this together.

#implying toadcatcher is subtextually about Marcy #naturally these are all just my assumptions and guesses #jottin down theories and observations #and often the tone is 'what sasha thinks' or 'what marcy thinks' rather than a birds eye opinion on the situation #anne gets through to sasha and marcy with a mixture of vulnerability and honesty #it sometimes backfires and they still tend to hide a lot of their feelings #but standing her ground and finding herself really did inspire others too #sasha seems to trust marcy even if anne's messed the group dynamic up #so I wrote this under the assumption she's paying more attention to anne because well #anne is the one who 'betrayed' her #she doesn't need to worry about marcy (so she thinks)#sasha also seems to think she's 'manipulating' and 'convincing' her friends when she's simply invoking fear in them #because while she does like control the idea of them not sincerely adoring her screws her up #sasha and marcy both seem to get into these situations where they feel helpless #where their plans are 'the only option'#and they become so focused on it they fail to realize what they're sacrificing in the process #sasha straight up refuses to believe grime's warnings that she'll push people away #and marcy is desperate and doesn't think she has anyone to rely on except andrias #while marcy probably does play the game to get sasha to do what she wants sometimes #I kinda love how they've deconstructed the whole concept of a 'leader'#neither of them are really 'in control'#they're just needlessly overcomplicating their friendship #learning marcy knows how to play sasha does explain why she falls so easily into the lieutenant role though #sasha really takes other people's plans and goes 'our plans <3' haha #amphibia #sasha waybright #marcy wu #amphibia spoilers

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debbiechanclub · 3 years

Text

Know You Better Now (BTOOT sequel), Part 2

Probably not the best idea to drop this right after Extreme Rules, but I can’t wait because 😭 And that’s all I’m gonna say. Thank you for reading, and please enjoy!

Know You Better Now

Part: 2/?

Pairing: Kenny Omega x OFC x TBD 👀

Word count: 3.4k

Warnings: Language, ANGST

Find more of my fics here.

Tag squad: @galacticstat @hotyeehawman @hdbngsprnva @kingswitchblade @bec0m @betsy-bradock @heelchampbucks @linziland13 @librathepheonix13 @gabbynorth98 @exe-babymox-exe @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @brokenglassslippers @rocca09 @meteora-fc @kawaiikels @adriii-omega @thatgirlforever5 @sugar-melts-mo-fo

“Did you see the look on PAC’s face when he realized Alex broke up the pin? He was so-ho-ho piiiissed.”

Nick could barely finish speaking before he emitted a laugh that sounded more like an asthmatic wheeze, and everyone else joined in, the boisterous boom bouncing off the walls of The Elite locker room and making Alex’s ears ring. She’d never felt so out of place.

“He looked like an angry gremlin,” Karl piled on. He contorted his face and hands and made everyone guffaw and bark even louder. Alex rolled her eyes. Out of all of them, Karl annoyed her the most.

“Yeah, that was quick thinking, Alex,” Matt said. “I knew you wouldn’t let us down.”

He sent her a crooked, shit-eating grin. Had he not tacked on that last part, it might have been half a compliment. But he knew exactly what he was doing—and Alex did not have the patience for it.

“Us? Last time I checked, Kenny is the AEW Champion, not The Elite.”

The room went dead silent. Matt’s smirk vanished.

“Don’t act like you know anything about The Elite,” he bit. “You’ve been here all of two seconds. We were selling out the Tokyo Dome when you were still working bingo halls.”

“Whoa!” Kenny interjected. “Watch who the hell you’re talking to like that, Matt.”

The atmosphere went from shocked to tense; palpable. Matt’s jaw flexed, obviously embarrassed to have been put in his place in front of the boys. Alex smirked. He deserved it.

Kenny sighed into the quiet. “Alright, you know what? Everyone out.”

“What?” Gallows balked. “We gotta celebrate your big win, man—”

Don cut him off. “You heard what he said, everyone out!”

He herded them all toward the exit, and other than a few side-eyes and under-breath comments, they went without argument. It was the first time Alex had ever been thankful for Don to step in.

The door fell closed, and Alex and Kenny were left alone. His eyes were much softer than they’d been just a few seconds before.

“Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah. It’ll take a lot more than that for Matt to get to me.”

“I know, but he shouldn’t have said it at all. It was out of line.”

“It’s Matt. What do you expect?” she returned. It made Kenny purse his lips in disappointment.

“He’s not out to get you, Alex. He’s just protective of his friends.”

Her eyes darkened. “Is there a reason he thinks he needs to protect you from me?”

He breathed out in frustration. “Come on, that’s not what I said.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I wish you two would get along.”

Alex stubbornly crossed her arms and looked across the room. This wasn’t the first time he’d said that to her. She knew it wouldn’t be the last.

“Hey.” Kenny gently gripped her shoulders, and she looked back up at him. “I want you to feel like you’re a part of the group, Alex. And I know right now you don’t,” he quickly added before she could interject. “But give it time. You’ve been at home working on getting healthy, and the boys just want to be sure that you’re a team player. Which… I’m pretty sure you proved you are tonight.”

She lightly sucked her teeth. “I did that for you, not—”

“I know,” softly interrupted. “But any of them would have done the same thing.”

Alex rocked back on her heels and turned her eyes down to her shoes. She understood where Kenny was coming from, one thousand percent. But she didn’t think she should have to prove herself to “the boys.” And truthfully… she didn’t want to be a part of The Elite, either.

But she also didn’t want to get into an argument with Kenny, so she just let it go. “Well, thank you for putting Matt in his place,” she said. She wrapped her arms around his waist and drew herself close to him. “I’ll do my best to get along with him so long as he’s not an ass to me.”

“That’s all I want,” Kenny returned, and he placed a kiss on her lips that was perhaps meant to be short and sweet, but neither of them pulled away. He brought his hands to either side of her face, and she pressed her fingers into his back as she lightly sucked on his bottom lip. He smirked against her mouth. “You want to get in the shower with me?”

She pecked his lips again. “No.”

He pulled back in surprise. “Why not?”

“Because. I look way too good right now to ruin it.”

He flashed a crooked grin. She already knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Fine. I’ll just ruin it when we get home.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Alex had honestly hoped Kenny would ruin it when they got home. But unfortunately, they didn’t go home alone; Matt, Nick, and Don went with them. At least the Good Brothers had decided they’d rather go drink at the hotel bar.

“So, have you officially moved in yet, Alex?”

Nick smirked at her from across the kitchen island, his mouth full of pizza. They’d ordered some “late night celebratory pies,” as Kenny had put it, but Alex didn’t have much of an appetite. She didn’t dignify Nick with a response either, instead just pursing her lips and taking a sip of the red wine she’d poured herself. As if he wouldn’t have already known if she’d officially moved in; he was one of Kenny’s best friends.

“Shit, I forget that she doesn’t ‘officially’ live here,” Kenny commented, making air quotes around the word. “It already feels like you do. Isn’t most of your stuff here?”

“Most of my clothes are,” she answered. “But I still have an entire house full of stuff in Virginia.”

“Wasn’t your cousin interested in potentially buying from you?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “I suppose. She asked me if I was thinking about selling, but we haven’t discussed it.”

“Well… maybe you should.”

He sent her a grin. She chewed the inside of her lip. “Maybe,” she returned, and took another sip of wine.

“Speaking of official,” Don segued. “Is Alex officially with us now?”

Alex stiffened. She didn’t at all appreciate that Don had spoken as if she wasn’t standing right there. But she couldn’t really answer him, either.

“Come on, why wouldn’t she be?” Kenny returned.

“Because tonight was the first time she’s been on AEW programming in what—nine months?” He fixed Alex with his beady eyes and finally addressed her directly. “People still think of you as part of Best Friends. And even though you broke up that pin in Kenny’s interest, the fact of the matter is that you technically helped Orange, too.”

“What?” Kenny let out a loud, disbelieving laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous, Don! She would have done the exact same thing if it had been Orange going for the pin instead of PAC.”

“Would she?” Matt challenged. He glanced at Alex. “Would you?”

Kenny’s eyes widened at him. “Really, Matt?” he charged—but Alex spoke up.

“No, if they’re so concerned about it, then I’ll tell them.” She leaned forward on the island and looked Matt dead in the eye. “Of course I would have done the exact same thing if it had been Orange going for the pin instead of PAC. And you know why? Because I was out there in Kenny’s corner tonight, and tonight was the first time in months that I’ve seen or even spoken to Orange or any of the others. So no, I’m not a part of Best Friends anymore.”

It hurt to finally say that out loud; but it wasn’t anything Alex hadn’t already known deep down. She’d known it as soon as Kris had popped out of that claw machine a month ago… maybe even sooner. And their behavior toward her that night—Trent’s behavior—had only proven it.

Kenny wrapped an arm around her waist and placed a kiss on the side of her head. Matt, meanwhile, said nothing. It seemed she’d finally shut him up—for now.

Don nodded. “That’s all I need to hear.”

Alex shifted. Somehow, she doubted that.

“Well, now that that’s out of the way,” Nick interjected. “Do you guys have any ice cream?”

“Jesus, Nick,” Matt breathed; but Kenny perked up.

“We do, actually. Alex has turned me onto Blue Bell.” He started for the freezer. “Do you want some, baby? We still have mint chocolate chip.”

Alex shook her head. “No. I’m actually gonna head upstairs; I’m exhausted.”

Part of her knew that, by going to bed, she was only inviting them to talk about her more. But she didn’t care. Matt could spew whatever bullshit he wanted; Kenny knew where she stood, and that was all that mattered.

He nodded. “Okay. I’m honestly not far behind you.”

She put her wine glass in the sink and gave him a kiss on the way out of the kitchen. Her legs were tired as she climbed the stairs to their bedroom. Our bedroom, she realized she thought of it as, not Kenny’s bedroom. She wasn’t sure when she’d made that switch, but she was hyper-aware of it now after Kenny’s comment just a few minutes before. But just the thought of selling her house stressed her out; she had enough on her plate as it was, and she didn’t want to give any of it any more of her energy for the rest of the night—

Beep-beep!

But she got a text just as she crossed into the bedroom. She sighed and pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans—and stopped when she saw the screen.

It was from Trent.

I’m sorry about what I said tonight. I just didn’t know how to react.

Alex’s brow lowered as she read the message. She knew Trent, and something in her gut told her that he hadn’t sent that on his own. No; Kris had probably beat him over the head until he’d relented. He would have been better off not sending anything at all.

She purposefully opened the text so that he would get the “read” notification, and then she locked her phone, tossed it onto the bed, and went into the bathroom to do her nighttime routine. If there was one thing she definitely would not give any more of her energy to, it was that.

* * * * * * * * * *

The Dynamite following Double Or Nothing wasn’t until Friday, so Alex had nearly an entire week to mentally prepare herself. She needed the extra time. Because, in the interest of “publicly clearing up any confusion” about where her loyalties lied, Don had booked her a sit-down interview with Excalibur.

She’d been furious when he’d told her. So had Kenny—he’d set it up behind both their backs. But of course, Don had talked him down and convinced him that it was “the right move.” Afterward, Kenny had profusely apologized to her; but she’d just told him to forget it. She’d do the damn interview. She wanted to speak her mind.

But now that she was sitting across from Excalibur in one of the backstage areas at Daily’s Place, she felt like she might vomit.

He spoke to the camera as he opened up the interview. “I’m sitting here with Alex Hawthorne, who made a surprise return after a nine-month absence at Double Or Nothing this past Sunday… and before we get into the interview, Alex, I just want to say welcome back. You were gone rehabbing a shoulder injury, and you’ve clearly come back in fighting shape. I think we all did a double-take when you walked out with Kenny Omega on Sunday.”

Alex felt herself relax a bit. It felt good to be acknowledged. She hadn’t felt that in a while. “Thank you, Excalibur, I appreciate that. It feels good to be back, and I have come back in fighting shape—not just physically, but mentally, as well. When I found out that my shoulder needed surgery, it was a bitter pill to swallow. And I’m not gonna lie; I struggled with it at first. But I distinctly remember waking up in that post-op room after surgery, and I realized right then and there that I could either let this injury drag me down, or I could use it as an opportunity to come back even better than before. And I promise you—and the entire AEW women’s division—that this isn’t the same Alex Hawthorne who competed in that ring nine months ago.”

Excalibur nodded. “Which begs the question: when can we expect you back in the ring?”

She breathed out. “Soon,” she nodded, her tone determined. “I still have some work to do, but it’ll be soon.”

“And we all look forward to it,” he said. “But you mentioned that you’re not the same Alex Hawthorne you were nine months ago. We’re used to seeing you at ringside in support of Best Friends… however, you returned in Kenny Omega’s corner for the AEW World Championship match at Double or Nothing, a match that also included Orange Cassidy. Is it safe to say that this new and improved Alex Hawthorne has moved on from Best Friends?”

Alex’s heart jumped into her throat. There it was, the million-dollar question, the reason for this entire interview, and if she didn’t know any better, she’d think Don had fed that line directly to Excalibur. But he didn’t like Don any more than she did—and she needed to give an answer. So, she did.

“It’s safe to say that, yeah.”

Her stomach churned and she looked down at her hands in her lap. It was out there now. She couldn’t take it back.

“Well, I have to ask,” Excalibur started, and she flicked her eyes back up at him. “You interfered in the match on Sunday and most likely prevented PAC from winning the AEW World Championship. But you also prevented Orange from taking the pin. Is there no part of you that did that for him?”

Alex’s brow lowered. First Don, and now this? Why was everyone so confused about her motive? “No. I did that for Ken—”

“Who cares who ya did it for!”

She was abruptly cut off by an angry, distinctly accented voice, and then PAC unexpectedly stalked into the interview area. He fixed Alex with a wild-eyed glare. “It’s like Excalibur said… you cost me the AEW World Championship.”

Alex leaned away from him in her chair as he moved closer. The entire sight of him was jarring, that ubiquitous scowl of his contorting his face, his dark, wet hair dripping water down his bare chest. She looked him over in confusion. Why was he already in his gear, ready to go? He and Penta had a match that night against the Young Bucks, but the show didn’t start for another two hours.

Excalibur tried to intervene. “PAC, we’re doing an interview here—”

But PAC just talked over him. “I know you’ve been gone a long time, Alex. And I have to admit, you do look good. So, here’s a bit of advice: instead of interfering in his matches, why don’t ya stick to being Kenny Omega’s arm candy.”

Alex’s eyes darkened. Suddenly, all her surprise turned to anger. “Arm candy?”

“You heard me,” he spat.

“Do you even own regular clothes? Or do you just live in your gear dripping wet like you emerged from the Atlantic Ocean?”

“Hey, PAC!”

Another person interrupted then, and Alex and PAC both looked over to find the Young Bucks, Brandon Cutler, and the Good Brothers stalking toward them. But it wasn’t just them. They had Rey Fenix—and it looked like he’d already been jumped.

Matt smirked. “Did you lose something?”

PAC growled in his throat. He charged toward them—but they dumped Fenix to the floor and retreated, laughing as they did. Nick held up his hands. “We’re saving our energy for the match tonight!”

PAC let them go, choosing instead to help his friend. Meanwhile, Alex jumped up and ran after them—the interview was over.

“Hey!” They all turned to look back at her, but her focus was zeroed in on Matt. This was his doing, she knew it. “What the fuck did you do that for?”

He scoffed. “To send a message, obviously. Come on, Alex… I thought you were with us now?”

He flashed another crooked smirk, and then they all started off again, patting each other on the back and hyping the Bucks up for the match that night. And Alex just stood and watched them go, all the while realizing that she was with them now—and she’d all but said it for the entire world to hear.

* * * * * * * * * *

“You ready to head home?”

Alex looked up at Kenny, re-emerging from her thoughts. She nodded. “Please.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile and held out his hand, and she took it and let him pull her up and lead her out of the locker room. It was the end of the night, and she’d been ready to head home before a single match had even been contested.

To her great surprise, Dynamite had started off by airing the footage of her interview. Alex had barely been able to watch, knowing what was coming, what she’d said. But when it was all said and done, it didn’t even feel like it was about her anymore. The interview had led right into the tag match between the Young Bucks and PAC and Penta—the story became the Super Elite’s attack on Fenix, not her return. And Alex wasn’t sure if she was more relieved that they’d distracted from the fact that she’d basically disowned Best Friends, or more angered that they’d taken away from everything else she’d said.

“I am ready to just relax and spend the weekend alone with you,” Kenny said as they walked down the hall. He grinned at her. “I told everyone to lose my number.”

Alex returned his smile, and Kenny lifted the back of her hand to his lips; but she barely noticed as he kissed her. She was too distracted by the group of people who had appeared in the corridor.

Best Friends. All of them. And it didn’t take long for Trent to say something.

“Where’re you going, Alex? Kris has a Dark match. Oh, wait—that’s right. You’ve moved on from us.”

“Dude,” Kris chastised and lightly smacked his shoulder. “Don’t.”

Kenny scoffed. “I’d listen to your alien friend, Trent.”

“No one was talking to you,” Orange returned.

Kenny narrowed his eyes at him. Alex squeezed his hand in protest; the last thing she needed was for him to go on one of his power trips. Thankfully, he let it go.

“I’ve already taken care of you, so I won’t embarrass you in front of your friends,” he dismissed. “Come on,” he said, and he started to pull Alex past them; but Trent just couldn’t keep his mouth shut.

“Was that you giving that interview? Or were Kenny and Don pulling the strings on your mouth?”

“Fuck, Greg,” Chuck breathed—but Alex spoke over him.

“Was that you who sent that text Sunday night, or did one of them make you send it?”

She glared a hole through Trent, unwavering and angry, waiting for him to say something for himself. Anything. But he just bit down on his jaw, silent. Alex scoffed. It was just as she’d suspected.

“What text?” Kenny asked in confusion. Alex didn’t take her eyes off Trent as she answered.

“Trent sent me a text after Double Or Nothing apologizing for being a dick to me before your match. He said he ‘just didn’t know how to react’ to seeing me.”

“I didn’t know how to react,” Trent fired back.

“Oh, so it was just the apology that was bullshit, then.”

He breathed out and looked stubbornly away, nothing to say again. And as she continued to stare at him, Alex realized that she wasn’t surprised or even hurt by his reaction. Instead, she was vindicated in everything she’d been feeling.

Her gaze sharpened. “But since you asked so nicely; yeah, that was me giving that interview, one hundred percent. And you have no room to be angry about it, Trent, because whether you want to admit it or not, you all moved on from me months ago.”

Chuck’s brow furrowed in confusion. In hurt. “What? Alex—”

“Save it,” Kenny cut him off. “Good luck in your match, Kris,” he added, and then he tugged on Alex’s hand, and she turned and went with him, ignoring the way her sinuses burned.

#kenny omega fanfiction #kenny omega fanfic #matt jackson fanfiction #matt jackson fanfic #the elite fanfiction #the elite fanfic #aew fanfiction #aew fanfic #best friends fanfiction #best friends fanfic #pac fanfiction #pac fanfic

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revengeisourlullaby · 3 years

Text

Thousand Eyes

Warnings: Pro Hero Au, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, dom/sub-themes, overstimulation, begging, choking, oral (receiving), jealousy, hair pulling, claiming, slight breeding kink, fluffy ending

Shoto Todoroki x Female! Reader

Word Count: 7.4K

a/n: Happy Holidays everyone! I hope whoever comes across this is having a good end of the year and finding the positives in all the craziness. I have a few more fics in the works and will start pumping them out since I’m on break. Maybe I’ll start incorporating hcs, fluff only stuff, drabbles, etc and not just the long fics. Much love <3

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through your phone waiting for Todoroki to arrive home from work. You had just finished fixing up dinner and he typically came home around the same time so the two of you could eat together. While switching from Tiktok to Twitter, you heard the front door click signaling to you that Todoroki had come home. Bringing yourself up from the couch you walked over to the door to greet him with a hug. You barely left any room for him to remove himself from his shoes before you wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled into him. Todoroki looked down at you, smiling.

“Hi, baby.”

Dropping his work bag off to the side he returned your hug, squeezing you a little tighter than normal. Pulling away from him, you moved back a bit to finally let him all the way through the door.

“How was work today?”

Grabbing his duffel bag up from off the floor and bringing it into the bedroom you heard him respond from the other room.

“Not too bad. Actually, it was pretty calm today, mostly patrol over anything.”

“Well, that’s nice to finally have a break of sorts.”

Walking back into the main room, you saw him towards the bathroom.

“Yeah, it was a nice change of things. Actually, something else came up. I want to talk to you about it but I’m gonna shower first if that’s alright?”

Nodding lightly in response, you waved him off. Walking back into the kitchen you turn the burner back on the stove to give the dinner that you made some extra heat.

“We can talk about it over dinner.”

Hearing him hum an okay and disappear into the bathroom, you hopped back on your phone and scrolled through Twitter again. Mindlessly scrolling, you saw a post reminding you about your childhood. It was a meme regarding the Grinch and you went deep in thought about your life in the earlier years. Thinking about how much you loved the Christmas season, and how that film somehow brought your family together no matter the occasion. The memories sticking with you dearly. You were so lost in thought that you hadn’t seen your phone shut off or Todoroki slipping out from the bathroom. He was standing in front of you and you still hadn’t noticed him standing there.

He walked up to you, placing his arm on your arm and his other hand finding his way under your chin lifting it slightly so you could look at him.

“Hey, my little ember. You there?”

He softly chuckled which brought you back to reality. Staring up into his eyes, you realized once again how beautiful he was. His hair was halfway dried, a few beads of water snaking their way down his strands. His brows were slightly furrowed in an attempt to silently understand what was going on in your head. Even though you guys had been together for a few years now, seeing him in front of you like this after you had zoned out and made the blood rush to your face. Making you heat up instantly.

“Y-yeah I’m fine. I was just thinking about old memories and got lost in them. You uh, you ready to eat?”

“Yeah sure.”

Grabbing two dishes from the cabinets you plated the food for both you and Todoroki. Bringing them to the table you turned back around to grab two glasses you turned around and asked him what he wanted to drink. Bringing the two cups to the table you finally sat down and the two of you began to eat. Swallowing you looked up at Todoroki.

“So what was it you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh! Yeah, I completely forgot.”

Taking another bite of food Todoroki began to speak through his mouth full of food.

“So when I was leaving work today one of my interns informed me of this gala being thrown for all the heroes. I called Midoriya to see if he knew anything about it and it seems that it’s more festive than formal. Like a Christmas get-together. So, this is a long-winded answer of me asking if you’d want to join me?”

Your mind was racing about what you were gonna wear to this gala because the last thing you wanted was for you to feel underdressed.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah! No, I'd love to go. I was just thinking about what I was gonna wear.”

Chuckling softly, you rubbed the back of your neck, kinda embarrassed at yourself for being so vacant of reply for your boyfriend.

“You’re always thinking about how you look...and I don’t understand why because you know you’re gonna be the hottest one in the room.”

“Sho! You’re gonna make my head big.”

“What?! It’s true. You’re too hard on yourself”

Shoveling another bite of food in your mouth you brushed him off

“Yeah, yeah I know but still I wanna look good. I can’t be next to you and then not put out. Can you imagine how that’d look?”

Looking at him incredulously you were waiting for him to respond and when he did you wanted to slam your face in your hands.

“It’d probably look fine because you look fine regardless.”

“Shotoough-”

Exasperating at his response it caused him to let out a small laugh. Following suit with the small laughing fit, you shook your head and regained yourself.

“So you said it’s kinda festive like we’re supposed to dress up?”

“I suppose. I’m pretty sure either way is fine.” he responded flatly standing up to go help himself to a second serving of food.

“When is it by the way?”

“Tomorrow.” he said, turning around to come to sit back at the table.

“Tomorrow?!” choking on your food a bit from the shock of this event being tomorrow.

“Yeah..”

“Well, now I really have to worry about what I’m going to wear. Shit.”

Todoroki stayed silent noticing that you were deep in thought trying so fervently to figure out what you were going to wear to this gala. You didn’t want to disappoint but at the same time, you didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal for Todoroki’s sake.

Suddenly, your eyes widened and you realized that you had the perfect thing to wear.

“Todoroki! I got it!”

“Huh? Got what?”

“What I’ll wear for tomorrow!”

Standing up from the table you walked into the bedroom speaking to him while walking away.

“Do you remember when I was making that Santa outfit but never wore it out because I was afraid it was too obnoxious? The one I based off that rich lady in the Grinch.”

Sliding the hangers to the side you were sifting through all your clothes trying to find this dress that you made a couple of years ago. Sliding over to the side of your clothes that you had your winter wear organized in you saw bright red fanned out on the floor of the closet. Bending down to pick up the fabric from the floor, your backside brushed up against something. Standing up with the dress in your hands you turned around to see Todoroki standing behind you. Holding the dress out to your side, Todoroki wrapped his arms around your waist. Your bright smile plastered across your face

“Look! I found it. I’m gonna have to go get a petticoat tomorrow so it lays right but I think it’ll work well! And I can find you something too while I’m out.”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, baby. Wouldn’t wanna steal the show from my girl now would I?”

Dropping your arm that was holding the dress you wrapped your other around Todoroki’s neck. Threading your fingers at the base of his hair, massaging lightly into his scalp.

“No, I guess not.”

Smiling up at him, Todoroki lowered his head to meet your lips. Engulfing your lips in a tender kiss that warmed up your entire body. Every time he kissed you it felt like it was the first and you never wanted them to end. His lips were always somehow so soft and inviting. Pulling away and looking back up at him an idea popped in your head.

“Maybe we can just add a lil something to your tux then.”

With a small smile now on his face, he nodded his head in agreement. With a yawn beginning to dawn on him, your body followed suit against your will. A sudden wave of tiredness falling over you both. Stepping away from you, Todoroki began heading toward the bathroom.

“Why don’t we get ready for bed? I have to get up a little early to finish up the paperwork from today’s shift.”

Nodding slightly you followed him into the bathroom beginning your nightly routine. You finished before Todoroki and walked back into the bedroom. You picked your costume up from the pool it was in on the floor and hung it back up in the closet. The cheeky smile that spread across your face was something that didn’t slide past Todoroki when he came back into the bedroom.

“What’s got you smiling like that?” a breathy chuckled punctuated his question.

“Nothing really. Just thinking about how we’re gonna look tomorrow. I’m excited.”

Climbing into bed, you snuggled up into Todoroki as well as the sheets.

“Well don’t stay too excited, you gotta get your rest.”

Placing a kiss atop your head you told each other good night and Todoroki shut off the lights.

Waking up the next morning, you’d had gotten up a little later than you expected. You usually were able to catch him before he left. Throwing the sheets off yourself you stretched and tried to get yourself out of bed. Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes you opened up your phone and when you saw the time the leftover sleep left your body and you started getting ready in a hurry. It was almost noon and you still had to go out and grab a boutonnière for Todoroki and a petticoat for your dress. You got ready in record time and left your home to get said desired items. You wanted to be back in time to do your makeup and get properly dressed up and not be rushed for the event.

By the time you got back home, it was around 2:30pm. Who knew finding a mistletoe boutonnière would’ve been such a feat. Finally settling into the couch you let out a sigh a relief and your stomach let you know for the third time within the hour you should eat something. With a groan, you waddled into the kitchen and fixed yourself something quick to eat. Todoroki would be home around five so you had enough time to screw around a bit. After you finished up you looked at the clock and decided to start to get ready for the evening.

With your speaker blasting Christmas music you were clad only in black lingerie and adding the final touches to your makeup. Stepping back away from the mirror to get a full look at your face you smirked at yourself and went into the bedroom to get your dress and everything on. Pulling up your red fishnets and petticoat you walked over to the closet to grab the dress.

Slipping it on you fastened the belt and then bent over to grab your red heeled boots from the bottom of the closet. As you got the zipper up on the boots you heard the front door open, signaling that Todoroki just got in. You glanced over at the clock and noticed it was about 5:30pm.

‘Just in time’ you had thought to yourself. Todoroki called out for you and with a quick

“In here!”, you let him know that you were in the bedroom. You stood up and straightened yourself out while looking into the mirror embedded on the closet door.

“Wow.”

Turning your head to look at him you posed and smiled at him.

“Ya like?”

“Yes, my little ember. You look amazing.”

You walked a little closer to him wrapping your arms around his neck. You felt heat travel up into your face as his gaze seemed to pierce through you.

“I know what that look means, and you need to get ready, or otherwise we’ll be late.”

Planting a small kiss on his cheek you walked away and heard a small groan come from him which elicited a chuckle from you. While you were waiting for Todoroki to finish getting ready, you were stuck in front of the mirror in the main room deciding whether or not you wanted to add the Santa hat or not. You decided to keep it on hand and just put it on when you arrived at the gala. You didn’t want an indent in your hair to be too noticeable and if worse came to worse you would just have to fluff out your hair in the bathroom.

You heard the clearing of Todoroki’s throat and you looked behind you. He always looked so good in anything he was in. His black tuxedo fitted nicely against his body and his hair was slicked back, a few pieces falling loosely in the front.

“Well, look at you.” A cheeky smile following your words.

“You like?” Todoroki wore a smug smile referencing back to how you greeted him earlier. Catching on you continued the charade.

“Yes, very much. But, I have something to make it even better.”

Walking into the kitchen where you dumped your findings from your outing earlier, you grabbed the mistletoe boutonnière. Going back over to Todoroki you began to pin the boutonnière onto the lapel of his tux.

“I told you I was going to find you something to make it a little festive. So now, whenever I come next to you a part of me will be under you. So I’ll just have to kiss you.”

Finishing pinning it onto his lapel, you looked up at him, his heterochromatic eyes seeming to sparkle with a new endearment to bestow upon you.

“Very funny, now let’s get going.” He pressed a kiss on top of your head and you stretched back to grab your hat and clutch that you left on the counter and walked out the door.

The drive to the venue was quiet but that was nothing out of the ordinary. What was though was Todoroki’s hand on your thigh occasionally squeezing at the plushness of them. You were smirking to yourself trying your best to keep your composure, but he gave your leg one particularly hard squeeze and you pressed your legs together out of habit.

“You alright?”

You could hear the smirk in his voice but you refused to give into him this early, you hadn’t even pulled up yet. Clearing your throat you fixed yourself in your seat

“Yeah, great actually baby.” Moving your hand onto his thigh closest to you you asked him,

“You excited for it?”

“Yeah, I think it’ll be fun for the both of-” You had grazed your hand across his lap, running over his clothed sex to reach his other thigh and give it a squeeze causing his breath to hitch.

“Guess I should’ve known that was coming sooner or later.” An airy chuckled left him but you knew that you had him right where you wanted him. Pulling up to the venue, he parked the car.

Stepping out you grabbed your clutch and hat, staring into the tinted side window to place your hat where you wanted it. While checking yourself in your makeshift mirror, Todoroki came up behind you wrapping his arms around your waist. Nestling his chin into your neck

“You look so beautiful, baby.”

“I know, now let’s go in so everyone can see.” You knew where he was attempting to go with his compliments but at least wanted to experience a little bit of the gala before your makeup would be indubitably ruined. The both of you walked up to the hall this event was being held in and you could hear Christmas music blasting. The doors of the hall were open so you knew exactly where to go.

Stepping in the hall looked like a winter wonderland. There was soft blue lighting throughout, snowflake and icicle decorations hanging from the ceiling. Centerpieces on the tables were filled with snowbrushed branches and accents of green. And of course in looking at the scenery in front of you, you failed to noticed the mistletoe hanging above you and Todoroki’s heads until Midoriya came up to greet you guys.

“Hey! Todoroki, Y/N, how are you guys.”

“We’re doing great, it’s really good to see you Izuku!” You moved to go and hug him but he backed away slightly.

“I can’t step under there with you Y/N, Todoroki is right there.” A nervous laugh left him but the overtone of joy covered it up.

“What do you mean?” Looking up you noticed the mistletoe and then glanced at Todoroki

“Oh, that’s what he means.” Todoroki verbalizing your thought. With a quick kiss to Todoroki you moved back over to Midoriya giving him a hug.

“You’re still such a goofball, I love it.” As you two were giggling you looked over at Todoroki who signaled to you that he was being motioned over with some work friends. Giving him a nod you hung around Midoriya for the moment.

“You wanna grab a drink? They have this killer spiked eggnog, you can’t even taste the alcohol.”

Raising your eyebrow you lightly elbowed Midoriya

“Sounds like my kinda thing.”

While walking up to the bar, you noticed Bakugou hunched over scouring the floor of the hall. He hadn’t noticed you yet so you picked up your steps and called out to him.

“Hey! Kaachan!”

An audible groan left his mouth, cutting through the music that was blasting through the speakers. You knew that nickname pinched a nerve in him and seeing his reaction killed you every time. You came up closer to him and enveloped him in tight hug.

“Oh c’mon don’t be like that. You know I can’t resist screwing with you.”

“Yeah yeah, now get off me.”

“Not until you give me a proper hug you dumbass”

Reciprocating the hug with one arm you stepped back and he finally got a full look at your outfit. Lifting his glass to his face he motioned to you

“Nice outfit.”

“Right! I finally had a place to put it to use to.”

Midoriya had chimed into the conversation now, “That’s the dress from the live action Grinch right?”

“Yeah! God I love that movie.”

Sitting up on the stool next to Bakugou, you asked for some of that eggnog Midoriya was raving about. You spun around so you could face both Midoriya and Bakugou while at the same time trying to spot Todoroki in the crowd of people. You spotted him chatting with Momo and a few other people that you assumed he’d done work with.

You hadn’t noticed that Midoriya had walked over to Todoroki, you were too busy wrapped up in your thoughts at the moment. You sucked your teeth and a small sudden wave of jealousy was flowing over you. While in your head you turned your head to see your drink waiting on the bar counter and you took a big gulp of it.

“God damn Y/N, did you even taste it.” Bakugou teased you.

“Yeah I tasted it. Midoriya was right saying you couldn’t even taste the alcohol. Shit is like juice.” You laughed trying your best to cover up your jealousy with alcoholic tendencies and low rate jokes.

Bakugou noticed the quick change in your behavior and tried to follow to where your eyes were boring holes into. Once he saw Todoroki and Momo sitting a little too close for comfort he understood the current state of upset you were in.

“Stop staring at it, it’s just gonna make you more upset. It’s probably nothing anyway.”

“Staring at what-”

“Todoroki and Momo. You couldn’t hide your emotions to save your life Y/N”

“Guess you’re right about that.”

Sighing you swiveled the chair back around ordering another glass in a piss poor attempt to keep your nerves at ease and not think about the scene in front of you. You trusted Todoroki and never even thought of him having ill intentions with you.

You just felt a little competition with Momo considering they went to school together, she was stunning and he once had a crush on her that you found out not too long ago. It was all too much for you to process in the moment and Bakugou was attempting to figure out what to do to pull you out of your funk. Putting his glass on the counter he put his his arm on your shoulder.

“Look, you’re too pretty and look too nice to be feeling like this.”

Standing up he held his hand out to you and looked up toward the speakers,

“And by the sound of things, seems like it’s the perfect time to share a dance. So, care to dance with me?”

A small smile spreading across your face, you chugged the rest of your glass of eggnog and took his hand.

“I’m never gonna forget that.”

“Oh shut up.” Lightly laughing you trailed behind Bakugou leading you to the floor. Sia’s Snowman was coming through the speakers and you seemed to forget what it was you were upset about while swaying with Bakugou. He seemed to catch onto this and looked down to you only to be met with your eyes looking up at him with that of a doe.

“Thank you.”

“Oh don’t start with that I just didn’t want to sit with someone mopey.”

You nudged him while still swaying to the music

“Oh whatever, I’m still thanking you.” He looked down at you again

“Try not to think about it too much. He’s still somehow ridiculously oblivious to things and doesn’t think about stuff like that too deeply. He doesn’t mean nothing by it. Wanna go get another drink and go over there?”

“Sure why not.”

Getting your drinks you walked over to the group of people you had become acquainted with through Todoroki. Old school friends of his that you seemed to flawlessly get along with. Walking in front of Bakugou you heard him mumbling about something.

“What’d ya say?”

“Why are you walking in front of me?”

“Seriously?! That’s why you’re making all that noise.” You knew he screwing with you and you just waved your hand and walked over to the group. When you got there you noticed Todoroki wasn’t there anymore. Momo was the first to greet you out the group.

“Hi Y/N! How are you, it’s been so long.” She was also in a Santa dress but less dramatic than yours. She had a cute little santa hat headband to top it all off.

“I’m doing great! And you look gorgeous as always. This is a little off topic but do you know where Shoto went? I needed to ask him something.”

“I think he went to the bathroom. If you go to the back of the hall and turn left that’s where they are.”

“Okay cool, thank you. I’ll be right back!” You announcned to the rest of the group and they all nodded you off, acknowledging your absence. Walking to the bathrooms you went to turn into the hallway but instead turned into boyfriend.

“Oh there you are, I just coming to look for you.”

His demeanor seemed unreasonably sharp and you couldn’t place whether he was mad at you or something else.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing why don’t you go hang up on Bakugou again.”

Your face contorted in surprise and complete shock about how he was addressing the situation. He tried to walk away but you grabbed his wrist.

“Hold on, you’re not gonna jab at me like that then walk away. If it bothered you that much why didn’t you just come up and switch with him. I didn’t come up to you because it seemed like you were enjoying yourself chatting with Momo and everyone and I didn’t want to interrupt. That’s all.”

“It’s a little hard to pay attention to a conversation when I’m focused on you dancing with another man, let alone it being someone I’m close to.”

With that he walked away from you and back to the group from before. You watched him in disbelief, in absolute shock about what just happened. You took a deep breath and huffed walking back to group as well, instead when you arrived you didn’t sit on the couch next to Todoroki but rather leaned on the back of the couch standing over everyone.

Looking up you saw Bakugou coming back with two drinks in his hands. He looked down at the couch and noticed Midoriya slumped out on the couch, unsure if he was sleeping or trying to focus himself on not making a mess everywhere.

“Got this for him, but I think this is that last thing he needs so you can have it.” You smiled a thank you and continued chatting with everyone. You looked over at Todoroki who’s face was blank but his eyes held a fury that was unmistakable to you. You grabbed your phone out of your clutch to send him a text but he didn’t respond, let alone look at his phone. You sighed and excused yourself to the bathroom this time actually having to go. When you left you ran into Todoroki waiting in the hallway.

“Hey…”

“Save it, we’ll talk about it later.”

Mumbling an okay you walked back to the group slightly stumbling, all the eggnogs finally catching up with you. You took a detour to the bar to get a water to try and balance everything out. While sitting up at the bar Bakugou came up beside you.

“What’s up with him?”

“He’s upset with me for dancing with you. Guess he does think pretty deeply about these things.” You rolled your eyes not having the energy to put more thought into your partners antics, knowing that if you did you’d completely ruin the rest of your mood. You looked up towards the group and saw Todoroki giving what looked like his goodbyes to everyone. You swiveled back to face Bakugou

“This blows, but at least I looked cute while it happened.” Shaking your head you took another sip of your water.

“That you did.”

You looked at him through your lashes, unamused knowing that he was part of the reason you were in the predicament that you were in. Chuckling to yourself you spoke one more time

“This will make for a funny memory in retrospect but right now I’m so over it.”

The two of you were lightly laughing with each other when Todoroki made his way up to you too.

“I’ll be taking her now.”

Whipping your head to him you couldn’t believe the way he was speaking.

“I’m sorry who the fuck is her?” The alcohol making you a little more loose lipped than normal as well as bringing your bubbling frustrations of the evening to the forefront. Bakugou snorted at the sight in front of him and got up from the bar

“See ya around Y/N. Call me.”

“See ya man.”

Todoroki was glaring at the two of you and the ending interaction before he turned on his heel with your hand in his. Completely numb to the situation and with the help from alcohol you were almost a blank slate, not really thinking about anything that was going on.

“Can you stop walking so fast, please, baby?” You were met with silence until you got to his car. Mumbling to yourself you didn’t think he’d hear you but to your surprise he did.

“If you’re gonna say something, say it so I can hear it.”

“Oh will you quit the act already. I was dancing with him I didn’t fuck him Shoto.”

“Sure looked like you wanted to with the way you were looking at him-

“-And I could say the same about you and Momo but you ain’t see me throw a fuckin hissy fit about it Sho! All up on her n shit, give me a break. Let’s just go home.”

You grabbed the door handle and let yourself in the passengers side sitting in silence when Todoroki got in and started the car. The tension in the car couldn’t be sliced with the sharpest blade, it was so thick it was almost suffocating. You took your hat off and fluffed your hair out in an attempt to hide that you were trying to get a look at him. His hands were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were turning white and his veins were jutting out from his hand.

You couldn’t deny that that sight alone was enough to send your mind spiraling elsewhere, but you couldn’t shake the guilty feeling that was beginning to well up in you. Pulling up into the driveway the two of you continued the silent treatment to each other. Walking inside the house you slipped off your heels, your feet relieved to be let out of their cages. You walked over to the kitchen to grab a glass of water but didn’t get the chance to make it to the fridge because Todoroki had come up behind you caging you to the countertop.

“Sho, I don’t have the energy for this right now”

Moving his hand to your waist he spun you around to face him

“So you have the energy to pay attention to Bakugou but can’t give me the time of day.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Moving yourself out from under his arms you moved to go to the fridge but once again Todoroki interrupted you plans. This time it was with his hands around your waist pulling you into him.

“I think you might want to rethink your choice of words baby. It’s not wise to upset me further.”

“What are you gonna do-punish me? Please.” Scoffing you tried to move away from him but his grip on you was tighter than you expected. All of this was too much and you were trying your hardest to keep your arousal at bay. You hated fighting with him but something about the way he was going about this was making your brain spark.

“Is that what you want? Cause I think it can be arranged.”

“Actually what I want is for you to be an adult about this and to stop acting lik-”

“Shut up.”

“What?!”

Catching you off guard he pressed his lips against yours the sexual tension finally dispersing between you too. The frustration and anger of the situation being displayed through the fiery kiss between you two. Todoroki picked you up and placed you on the counter top, his hand trailing up your back and landing at the base of your neck, lacing his fingers into the bottom of your hair.

Your hands planted on his chest pulling at the fabric of his jacket trying to bring him as close as possible to you. He pulled away from your lips and moved down to your neck finding you sweet spot immediately. He sucked on it until it seemed like it would hurt if he did for a second longer. He moved down to the plunged neckline of your dress and attacked the top of your breast that was exposed. With an airy moan escaping you you found yourself giving up on fighting him.

“Sho~ baby please.”

“I thought I told you to be quiet.”

You were almost caught off guard by his response but instead was caught off by him picking you up off the counter and carrying you into the bedroom. When he plopped you on the bed, his boutonnière fell on top of you landing in your lap.

“Now would you look at that. Guess I have to kiss what under it huh? Scoot back for me baby”

Moving back, Todoroki ran his hands up and down your thighs. His lips began kissing up your thighs while he was squeezing the sides of them. When he came close to your heat he breathed on it, pressing his nose into your clit but instead of finishing the job he moved to your other thigh teasing you.

“Shoto please, I need you. You can’t keep teasing me like this.”

Lifting his head up from in between your legs he looked up at you.

“For someone who is the reason why we’re here in the first place, what makes you think you can order me around like that.” Cocking his eyebrow he awaited your answer, but your answer never came because he was teasing your clit. Rubbing his finger lightly up and down between your folds you couldn’t focus on your words.

“That what I thought. Now shut the fuck up and let me do my work.”

With that he ripped at your red fishnets creating a hole right where your panties resided. You went to scold him for ripping your tights but before you could say anything he had used his quirk to singe off your panties leaving you bare in his wake.

“Now, I know you can’t stay quiet for long, but I want you to try your hardest to keep quiet for me baby. Okay?”

You nodded vigorously looking down at him. He took that as his cue and licked a fat slow strip between your lips. Your breath hitched but you kept your silence. When he began circling your clit that when his request became a little more difficult to complete. Picking up his pace he began lapping at your clit making you lose your composure. A moan slipped past your lips. You began bucking your hips into him signaling that you were close to you release, something you should’ve held out on because Todoroki stopped his movements. Bringing his head up to face you he smirked

“See, you can keep quiet. All night you’ve been running your mouth but apparently you only listen when my mouth is on you. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, but please Sho, please I wanna cum so bad.”

“Don’t worry my little ember, I’ll let you get to your release. You just have to listen to what I say. This time make as much noise as you want. I want to know how good I’m making you feel”

With the tip of his tongue he licked a quick strip across your clit, making you squirm on your back

“Fuck!”

Chuckling to himself he began lapping at your clit again. Creating figure eights you lost all your senses. You completely gave into him and couldn’t hold back. Moaning, you were writhing in tempo with his tongue lost in the pleasure he was giving you. Your drenched hole began to flutter and heat started to flow to the lower end of your stomach.

Overwhelmed with your orgasm your body convulsed against Todoroki, but he didn’t stop. He kept thrashing his tongue against your overstimmed cunt. Panting and moaning you grabbed a fistful of his hair trying to lift him away from you but he wrapped his arms around your hips locking you to the bed and his face.

“Shoto, fuck! It’s too much, I-I can’t take it.”

Instead of responding, Todoroki hummed against your pussy the vibrations sending you into your second orgasm. You screamed out Todoroki’s name unable to handle the stimulation running through your body. Todoroki finally lifted himself from your legs, staring at you like a predator does its prey.

“Didn’t know you could do that baby.” A smirk stretching across his face while he removed himself of his jacket and dress shirt.

“Do what-” You cut yourself off suddenly feeling a cold wet spot on the inside of your thigh. The realization of you squirting on his face threw you into a moment of embarrassment where you almost forgot he was in the room.

“Baby, stay with me. Cause I’m not done with you yet. You have a lot to make up for for the stunts you pulled back at the gala. Don’t you think?”

Kissing you, you tasted the tang of yourself fresh on his tongue. You slid your tongue across his lip, asking for permission and he obliged. Your tongues danced a waltz that only you two knew the steps to. The fire from the both of you radiated off each other and fueled the jealousy ridden passion from tonight. Pulling away from you, he trailed his deft fingers down the valley of your exposed breasts and stopped at the belt of your dress.

“I think it’s time for this to go.”

Gently taking your articles of clothing off you sat up from your flattened position of the bed and pulled your arms from the sleeves. You wrapped your arms around Todoroki pulling him back into the bed and flipped yourself onto of him. You heard his shoes hit the ground and you began working on his neck. Sucking a small hickey onto the skin right underneath his collar bone. Grinding yourself into him you felt his bulge begging to be set from the confinements of his pants.

Sliding yourself off of him you fumbled with the button of his pants and pulled them off along with his underwear. Taking advantage of your current position you were going to try your hardest to stay in control of it. Coming back up to kiss Todoroki you felt in between your legs for his length and positioned it at your entrance.

His head was enough to make you go feral, making you want nothing but the rest of him. Hearing Todoroki’s breath hitch was just enough encouragement to push you to fully bottom out on him. The both of you groaned in pleasure at the sensation.

“Fuck you feel so good wrapped around me, baby. Feel good on me. Use me and only me. You’re mine and I’m yours remember that.”

Though you knew what he meant, his last statement almost rubbed you the wrong way and brought back the frustrations from before. He was still bringing it up and you were getting sick of it. Rolling your hips back and forth on him you decided to use him to your full advantage.

Finding your rhythm you bounced up and down on his cock. Focused on your pleasure and also taking out your emotions on him. His moans were so blissful though that you couldn’t help but be intoxicated by him at this moment.

“Y/N, you’re so good, Fuck! Keep doing that ah~”

Feeling a sudden wave of confidence flood through you you decided to see how far you could take this position of control with him.

“Yeah, you like that? You’re the only one that gets it. Not Bakugou, nobody but you.” With a ballsy move, you wrapped your hand around his neck and choked him. It didn’t last long though. Within a second you were flipped over, Todoroki hovering over you with sheer lust adorning his eyes. His hand wrapped around your neck, fingers pressing into the blood vessels on either side of your neck.

“Don’t say his fuckin name while I’m inside you. You think of me and only me. Understand?”

Nodding quickly you recognized your reign of power was now over. Todoroki then slid his length almost all the way out before slamming it back into you kissing your cervix with blatant ferocity.

“Fuck! Sho! Fuck fuck fuck”

Panting you were desperately looking for something to grab hold of. You shoved your hands into the sheets of the bed before slamming your nails into his back. The pace he set was vicious, clearly taking out his frustration on you.

“All night it’s been about him but right now I want all your focus on me. You belong to me Y/N.”

Grabbing your face he squished your cheeks together forcing your lips to pucker.

“Look at me while I fuck you. Burn this into your memory of who makes you feel this fucking good.”

You looked at him and felt yourself about to reach your peak. Your fluttering alerted Todoroki to your climax and he pulled out.

“Sho, please. Please don’t do this to me again.”

“Hush and get on your hands and knees.”

Flipping yourself over, you pressed your face into the mattress and wiggled your ass in the air, waiting for Todoroki to line himself up with your sopping hole.

“There you go, give me those hips. Ahh, fuck baby.”

Again his pace was unrelenting. The fat on your ass rippled with each contact of his hips.

“Come on, you know how to fuck me. Show me you deserve it.”

Todoroki tangled his hand into your hair and brought you up so your back lay flush against his chest.

“I’m gonna dog fuck you, fill you up with so much of me that you don’t even have time to look at someone else without thinking of me. Every time you think of me you’re gonna think about my cum dripping out of you. Now, who do you belong to.”

“You.”

“Who? Sorry I didn’t hear a name”

“You, Shoto fuck! It’s you, it’s only ever gonna be you. Fucking hell.”

“There it is baby. You’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? That’s why you’ve been mouthing me off. Well, fuckin take it.”

Letting loose of his grip on your hair and submissiveness taking full control of you, you began whining into the sheets. His cock attacking your walls was sending you into a space of mindlessness.

“Sho- please, please can I cum. I need to cum so bad.”

“Go ahead baby, squeeze all the cum out of me. I’m gonna make you mine in every sense of the word.”

His thrusts began to falter and became deeper and slower. With one final thrust, you came around him, your pussy dancing around his cock milking him of his seed.

“Fuck! Holy-”

“Y/N shit~”

Todoroki stilled inside you, hovering over your body while you collapsed into the bed, exhausted mentally and physically. As Todoroki pulled out of you, you felt so empty but didn’t have the energy to move anymore.

As if he could read your mind Todoroki picked you up and pulled you toward the top of the bed rest you on a few pillows. He stood up to walk to the bathroom and grab a warm towel to clean you up. Coming back into the room he kneeled down to your core, gently cleaning your sensitive areas.

“Am I hurting you?”

“No, I’m okay, just keep doing that. It feels nice actually” Sighing you let your body fully relax into the mattress underneath you. Todoroki stood up and tossed the towel into the hamper and came back to lay on the bed with you. Giving your poor attempt at grabby hands due to your exhaustion he chuckled and slid next to you. Grabbing your hand in his he rubbed his thumb over the side of your hand.

You scooted closer to him moving his arm so you could lay your head on his chest. With all the attitude having left your body you were completely soft with him.

“Are you still mad at me?”

Instant regret filled him, all of his actions from the night finally catching up with him.

“Y/N, I could never stay mad at you. Sometimes I don’t realize how much I ignore my emotions. I’m sorry for having you be at the receiving end of my frustrations. I just can’t bear the thought of losing you. You mean so much to me.”

“It’s okay, at least the sex was good. I would just hate you ever truly being mad at me and I wanted to make sure.”

“Y/N. I am thoroughly and undoubtedly obsessed with you. You’re my little ember and I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I couldn’t ask for anything more in life because you’ve given me everything I could’ve ever wanted.”

With a smile across your face and sleep beginning to take over your eyelids, you tried your best to stay up with him while he confessed himself to you.

“You know I’ll love you forever Sho.”

Todoroki looked down at you with a dubious gaze trying to pick apart your affirmation.

“Forever?”

“Forever Shoto.”

“Good, because I could use a bit of forever in my life.”

#my hero academia x reader #my hero academia smut #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #shoto todoroki x reader #shoto x reader #my hero academia

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maximons · 3 years

Text

Into The Sanctum

Chapter Summary: Doctor Strange brings Y/n into the sanctum as he explains to her the situation at hand. However, the introductions to the team don’t go very smoothly.

Word Count: 3,021

A/N: Here we are with chapter 2! This one is a lot shorter than the first, and honestly the rest of the chapters will likely be around this length lol Hope you enjoy!

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

“Y/n Fenton. 26 years old, acquired her abilities in 2019 after a lab accident.” Wong started explaining as he brought up multiple images and video clips of you throughout the years, using his magic. “Known abilities; Able to switch between human and ghost form at will, Invisibility, Intangibility, Flight, Able to overshadow other humans, Super Strength and Speed, Can summon ghost energy in a ‘ghost ray’, and Cryokinesis.” The sorcerer finished, leaving everyone in a moment of silence, not sure how to proceed after all that information.

“Whoa, that’s awesome.” Peter said in awe, but no-one else shared his excitement.

“We’re going to recruit a ghost...to fight other ghosts?” Loki was the first to ask.

“Fight fire with fire and all that.” Strange responded.

“How do we know we can trust her? Isn’t she one of them?”

“Yes, but she’s also human. Besides, just because she’s a ghost, doesn’t mean she’s automatically bad.” Wanda now piped up. “And you’re one to talk, Loki. Aren’t you technically a Frost Giant?”

“Yes I am, and look how well I turned out. Not exactly a good sales pitch.”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Strange interrupted. “This isn’t up for debate. The ghost realm is bleeding into our world more and more every minute, and Fenton is our best shot.” Strange slipped on his sling ring and began opening a portal. “I’m going to talk to her.” Before anyone could respond, Strange stepped through, portal closing behind him.

Everyone stood in silence for a moment, before Peter spoke up. “C’mon, I can’t be the only one who thinks this is cool.”

“The very fabric of our reality being at risk and our world being overtaken by ghosts is ‘cool’ to you, Peter?” Wong asked, causing Peter to scratch the back of his neck shyly.

“Well, when you put it like that...”

Amity Park

You and Tucker were walking down the street, heading to your favorite donut shop. You stared at your phone as you walked, not really worried about bumping into anyone or anything as you used your powers to subtlety phase through them.

“Hear anything?” Tucker asked and you shook your head.

“No, haven’t heard in hours now. She’s really mad.”

“Well, you did manage to almost get yourself killed the other day.”

“I’ve been doing this for years now, I know what I’m doing. Besides, I’m already literally half dead.”

“Not the point.” Tucker sighs. “C’mon, you’ve been dating her for over a year, and have been best friends for even longer. You should know her by now. She’s scared.”

“I’m not faulting her for being scared, but I can’t keep going through fight after fight with her for just doing my job.”

“Is it really your job though?” Tucker shrugged, causing you to stop in your tracks. Him following a second later. “I’m just saying, there are a bunch of heroes back now after the blip. It wouldn’t kill you to take a few days off.”

“They can’t do what I do. And they don’t know what we know.”

“You don’t gotta be all cryptic” Tucker laughed and you couldn’t help but chuckle along.

“Yeah, maybe not.” You shrugged. “I don’t know though, we’re the only ones who really know how to deal with these ghosts. I love helping people, but I’m tired of this too sometimes. I’d love to be able to leave Amity Park, really start my life, but...I can’t. All the ghosts come from here, and I gotta do my best to keep it that way.”

Tucker opened his mouth to form a response, but before he could, a bright orange light appeared. The light began to form into a portal and a man with white and black hair, dressed head to toe in blue robes and a read cape, appeared.

“Y/n Fenton?” He asked, which took you and Tucker aback. You looked to your best friend before looking back at the man.

“Uh, who’s asking?”

“Oh, sorry, I’m Doctor Stephen Strange, and-”

“Wait, that’s you?” You interrupted, eyes wide.

“Yes? I assume you’ve heard of me then?”

Your eyes hardened at this. You knew the name Dr. Strange a little too well. He, along with Iron Man, had been part of the reason behind the death of your parents, having been part of that fateful fight in New York. You knew logically that this man didn’t go out of his way to kill your parents, and that he likely didn’t start that fight, but still. You didn’t appreciate the reminder.

“Yeah. I have.”

Strange noticed the shift in your tone and tilted his head in confusion. You two stood in a stand off for a few moments before Tucker coughed beside you.

“Sorry, but uh, you’re one of the Avengers right?” He asked as he started to fanboy.

“I guess you can say I was, though they aren’t really around anymore.”

“Still, that’s so cool! Hey, did you know Iron Man before he-”

“What do you want?” You interrupted as you crossed your arms, eyes still glaring at the wizard.

Strange regained his composure as he continued. “I need you to come with me. It’s quite literally a matter of life or death.”

Your hard glare faded and in turn you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Ghosts are pouring into our world, their reach is now far outside of Amity Park.” Your eyes widened when the wizard said this. You figured you shouldn’t be surprised that Strange knew of this, but you really weren’t sure how to react. “And I know you’re a little more than familiar about ghosts...considering your biology.” Now you really didn’t know how to react. You dropped your arms as you tilted your head towards Tucker.

“So much for that day off.”

Sanctum Santorum

Wanda stepped out of the room as the back and forth between the boys started. She needed a moment to herself to think, she needed air. She made her way to the rooftop and leaned on the edge, looking over the city.

She knew that her life would always entail having to deal with potential world ending threats. It was that way when she was an Avenger, and even more so now after becoming the Scarlet Witch. It got tiring, but she wouldn’t give up the responsibility. Not after Westview. Besides, it beat the alternative that Agatha had predicted for her, destroying the world.

But damn, a break would be nice.

Ghosts? Seriously? She guessed that she really shouldn’t be surprised that they exist, over the last year she’s seen some crazy stuff, but ghosts seemed like a scary concept. And not in a ‘Halloween spooky’ kind of way, it was more of a fear of the unknown. If all ghosts had the same capabilities as the Fenton girl had, she had no idea how she would be able to combat that.

Speaking of the Fenton girl, she couldn’t help but be intrigued. From what she’s seen and heard, the girl knew what she was doing, so she failed to see why she and the rest of the team had to get involved. Still, she figured that they should do whatever they could to help stop this threat.

She also agreed with Peter in that she was ‘awesome’, but she wasn’t about to voice that.

She took a deep breath as she bowed her head, calming her nerves. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad. Maybe it could be easily fixed and they could all get back to their lives quickly. She knew that was unrealistic, but she had to have a sliver of hope every now and again or she’d go insane.

“Wanda!” She heard Peter’s voice in her head, way too loudly. She cringed as she held her head.

“Peter, we’ve talked about this. You don’t need to be so loud.”

“Sorry, Wanda. Doctor Strange told me to tell you to come back down. Y/n is here.”

“Okay, thank you Peter.” She felt the boy’s presence leave her mind as she picked her head up. She shook her head, ridding herself of the pain while preparing herself as she headed downstairs.

A Few Moments Before

The telltale orange sparks started forming in the main hall of the Sanctum. Soon after, a portal opened and Strange had stepped out, but this time was followed by two people. A woman who was looking around in a mix of confusion and awe, and a man who seemed to be bursting with excitement.

“Whoa! What was that!? That was so cool!” The man turned to the woman in excitement. “Was that magic!?”

“Yeah Tuck, but we gotta be cool here, okay?” The woman told ‘Tuck’ in a hushed whisper.

“Right, sorry.”

“Don’t worry, I had the same reaction.” Peter piped up with a smile. He walked over to the two new figures, hand stretched out. “I’m Peter Parker.”

“Tucker Foley.” Tucker’s smile reappeared as he shook the boy’s hand excitedly.

Peter turned to the woman standing next to him. “And you’re Y/n Fenton, right?” You chuckled as you grabbed Peter’s hand, shaking it as well.

“I guess I’m famous around here.”

“We just found out about your existence an hour ago, but I suppose you can call it fame.” Loki piped up, and you turned to him. Eyes widening a second later.

“Holy shit! Aren’t you the guy who led the alien invasion in New York?”

“That was over ten years ago, darling, let’s leave the past in the past.” Loki shrugged. “Besides, I’m doing the whole ‘hero’ thing now.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“It varies.”

“Okay that’s enough for the introductions, now-” Strange started before Peter cut him off.

“Wait, what about Wanda?”

“Get her down here while I catch our new guests up.” Peter nodded as he began to call to Wanda with his mind. “Now, Y/n, you’ve done a lot of good over the last few years. Keeping the ghostly threat contained to Amity Park while the rest of the world remains none the wiser is quite impressive.”

“Aw, thanks.” You smirked with a shrug.

“However, those efforts might have only delayed this.” Before you could ask what the wizard was talking about, he brought up an illusion showing ghosts starting to spill through tears that were seemingly in mid air. “The Ghost Realm is starting to tear into our own.”

“Wait, the what?” You asked, causing Strange to falter slightly.

“The Ghost Realm?” He responded with a raise of his brow.

“Yeah, what’s that?”

“Um, where all of the ghosts are coming from? The source of your powers? You’ve been dealing with it for years-”

“Oh!” You shouted, finally realizing. “Yeah, we’ve been calling that the Ghost Zone.” You started to chuckle, Tucker joining, but everyone else remained silent for a moment.

“Right...” Strange proceeded. “Well the ‘Ghost Zone’ is starting to become a problem everywhere. We need your help.”

You coughed as you regained your composure, turning serious. “How is this even possible?”

“We were hoping you knew.”

“Look, I might know a lot about the Ghost Zone, but I don’t know everything. I’ve kinda just been dealing with it as it came for the last five years.”

“Well, it looks like you’re about to get a lot more proficient.” Loki said. Before Y/n could respond though, a new presence entered the room.

Wanda walked into the main hall where she found everyone in a heated discussion. She walked in further when she finally spotted the two new faces. A nerdy looking man, and the woman who she recognized as Y/n Fenton. She took a moment to observe her. She was in casual clothing, a white t-shirt covered with a red sweat jacket with jeans and red sneakers. A brown messenger bag slung across her body, indicating that she was on her way somewhere before she was brought here.

Wanda had only really seen Y/n in her Phantom form, since that was the only relevant part of her that they needed to know at the time, but she couldn’t help but think that the human side was captivating as well.

Wait a minute, what?

No, she wasn’t supposed to be looking at other people like this. Not after Vision. She never even thought someone else could turn her head again for one, but she also felt like she was betraying Vision and all they had by even simply staring at someone else for too long.

She coughed, as she tried to get rid of those thoughts, but in doing so she garnered the attention of everyone else in the room.

“Oh, good. Y/n, this is the Scarlet Witch. Otherwise known as Wanda Maximoff.” Strange had introduced her, and she gave a small smile along with a shy wave in response.

You, however, did not have the same welcoming response. You straightened up as your face tightened, eyes widening slightly. You recognized that name. “Wanda Maximoff...as in ‘Westview’ Wanda Maximoff?” You asked the room, however your eyes never left Wanda, who’s face now dropped.

The room stood in silence for a moment before Peter spoke up. “Yeah, um, we don’t really bring that up.”

“Yeah? Well, I am.” Before anyone could register what was happening, You changed into Phantom and blasted a powerful ghost ray towards Wanda.

The blast hit her square on, knocking her to the ground. The witch shook the attack off quickly as she stood up. The awe that she had previously while staring at you was now replaced with anger, as she shifted from her current outfit into the Scarlet Witch. Hands and eyes glowing red, as your own hands and eyes glowed green. The two women stared each other down as the men stared in varying states of shock.

Tucker was the only one who seemed to know what was going on as he brought his hand up and grabbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh man.”

“What the hell was that for!?” Wanda asked, almost shouting in anger. Your face didn’t waver however. You gritted the next words out, as you were also seething in anger.

“My sister was there.”

Everyone stood in silence for a few moments after the revelation, not sure how to continue. Wanda remained standing, but the red faded from her eyes and hands. Her gaze fell downwards for a moment as she straightened up. After no-one spoke for several moments, you continued. “I hope your little sitcom fantasy was worth it, cause Jazz is still going to therapy because of you.” You scoffed. “You didn’t even have the decency to give her a speaking part. Just one of your little extras.”

Wanda sighed as tears started to spring to her eyes at the reminder. She shifted back into her normal clothing. “Look, I really am sorry for the pain I caused. I truly didn’t know at the time.”

“Sure you didn’t.” You scoffed before turning to address the rest of the room. “She’s a fucking terrorist. Actually, now that I think about it, what the hell am I doing in a room with all of you!?”

You looked around briefly before pointing at Loki harshly. “You’re a fucking psychopath who almost took over the world!” Loki shot his hands up in surrender as you turned to point at Strange next.

“You were part of the fight in New York that killed my parents!” Strange’s eyes widened slightly at the revelation, but he didn’t get to say anything as you turned to Wong.

“I know you were there too!” You finished by landing on Peter.

“And you-” You cut yourself off as you realized you didn’t have anything against the kid. Still, you were stubborn and too into your rant to stop there. “I actually don’t know anything about you, but I’m sure you’re no good if you’re hanging around these freaks!”

“We’re the freaks?” Loki asked incredulously, as he couldn’t help himself. “Sweetheart, you’re basically dead.”

“Better being dead than a fucking murderer.” You seethed out. “I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t care. My responsibility is to my home and to those I love, that’s it. I never signed up for this life, and even if I did, I definitely wouldn’t wanna work with any of you.” You began to float and move over to Tucker, who had been watching the whole exchange in silence. You grabbed his arm, taking you up with you. “Good luck, sounds like you’re gonna need it. I’m out of here.”

With that you began to fly up, Tucker in your arms. You sped up heading towards the ceiling. You were about to go intangible to phase out of the building, when suddenly, your ghost ring appeared around your waist and separated, turning you back into a human.

Your eyes widened as you and Tucker began to plummet back to the floor, but before you both hit it, red wisps surrounded you both, breaking the fall. They didn’t last long though, as a second later the disappeared, making you both hit the ground harshly. Tucker rubbed his arm as you brought your hands up to look at them, wondering what happened.

“What the hell was that!?” You asked as you looked back up to the people in the room.

“I went into your mind and triggered your transformation.” Wanda answered, and you could’ve sworn you saw a slight smirk on her face. Your face hardened once again.

“Stay the hell out of my head.”

“Alright, enough!” Strange shouted, finally putting an end to this. “Y/n, I understand your hesitation. I do. You don’t have to like us, you don’t even have to trust us, but believe me when I say we cannot do this without you. You may be angry at the world, hell all of us are, but we need you to put that aside.”

You stood up, offering a helping hand to Tucker, but your gaze remained on Strange. You sighed, knowing you couldn’t ignore the severity of the situation. No matter how much you wanted to. You hesitated for a moment before finally speaking up.

“Okay. So what do we do now?”

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff

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unloved-cadillac · 3 years

Note

(angst prompt 1) 1,9 and 10

modern au

reader is dating mikasa but mikasa and eren have been hooking up for a while even before they started dating so mikasa breaks it off and the reader wishes them the best and luck even though they are really sad and stuff but eren and mikasa doesn’t last very long to him being an ass and mikasa realizing she doesn’t love him like that and she tries to win back the reader but it takes a lot of convincing

C/n: whoa SHIT! You have no idea how much I love this request. It’s the perfect angst. Thanks for requesting and I hope that you enjoy🤍

——————————————————————————

Is It Too Late? (Milasa x Reader)

Mikasa laid next to Eren as she smoked a cigarette. Her arm propped behind her head as she looks at the boy who made a home in her heart ever since she could remember. Eren had been there for her ever since she could remember and to have him in more ways than one made Mikasa the happiest girl in the world.

Her thoughts are pulled away as her phone rings. The caller id made Milasa frown but she answered it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Mika! Hi, babe. Listen I’m at the grocery store and I saw this cereal you like. Captain Crunch or something? What flavor do you like?”

Mikasa runs a hand down her face and puts out her cigarette. “Uh, why..are you getting me cereal?” She asks and you stop looking at the cereal. “I just thought you’d like it. I saw it at your apartment and I just wanted to confirm.”

“Don’t get me anything, Y/n. I’ll get it myself. I gotta go.”

“Ok. Bye. Lov-..”

Mikasa hangs up before you could tell her but you just sigh and put the cereal back on the shelf. This wasn’t anything knew. Mikasa and you had been dating for a few months now and even though she was the one who asked you out, she seemed to keep a lot of stuff to herself. She shuts herself out from you and hardly makes time for you. You thought it was just the way she is but if Armin’s Instagram stories tell you anything, she had time. Just not for you.

When you arrive home, you unpack your groceries and shoot Mikasa a text.

‘Hi babe. I’m making dinner tonight. Come over?’

You wait for her reply and even though she was active she didn’t reply to you as soon as it delivered. You shake your head and put your phone down and begin to make your supper. Five minutes later, your phone dings.

‘I’ll come over.’

~~~~

As you were cleaning up from dinner prep, a knock sounds on your door and you smile knowing who it is. Checking through the peephole, you quickly unlock your door and smile at Mikasa. “Hi. Come in.” You greet and she walks in. She doesn’t take off her jacket, something she always did when she came over.

Mikasa turns around and scratches her head. You pick up on her sudden mood and you start to get a bit anxious. “Mika? You good?” You ask as you walk to the kitchen island.

“No. Listen, Y/n. We need to talk.”

Oh no. You stop fidgeting with your hands and lay them on top of the counter. “Sure. What’s up?” Mikasa sighs and looks at you. That look..it was so empty. Nothing. It scared the shit out of you.

“We..shouldn’t continue this.” She motions between the two of you. “I’ve been seeing someone else and I just feel like what we have isn’t what I need right now.” She says and you lips part. Did she really just say..that she was seeing someone while dating you? “Mikasa. You were cheating on me?” You ask and she nods. You scoff and look down at your hands which were shaking.

“How long?”

“Ever since we’ve been together. Actually, way before that.” Mikasa tells you like it was so normal. Like it was a thing everybody does. “Is that why you hardly had time for me?”

Mikasa nods and you furrow your eyebrows. “How are you so calm about this?” You cry out and Mikasa looks up at you. “I don’t know. Y/n, Eren has been..” “EREN?! Eren fucking Yeager? Are you kidding me? The friend who introduced me to you? The person you told me that he was a “close” friend of yours? Well, obviously I was mislead about that.” You run a hand through your hair.

“Y/n, listen. I love you and I love him. But it just so happened that Eren and I seemed, I don’t know, better together?”

You look at her, dumbstruck. “How can you love two people at the same time? That’s ridiculous. I don’t even think you love me because if you did you would never have done this. We’re over now. You don’t need to defend yourself anymore. I hope that you’re happy with him.” You start to walk to the door and open it. “Y/n.”

“Please, Mikasa. Leave me alone.”

You tell her and she walks out the door. When she turned around, the door gets slammed on her face and she sighs. Well, at least she didn’t have to sneak around anymore. She lights a cigarette and makes her way to her car.

~~~~

Three months later, Mikasa laid on Eren’s bed as he played on his Switch. She looked at him and ran a hand on his bare chest but he clicks his tongue. “Mikasa move your fucking hand.” He shrugs her hand off and sits up and groans. “Now look. I fucking lost.” He rolls his eyes at her and wakes up rom his bed and heads to the bathroom. After he shuts the door, Mikasa leans up and sits against the headboard.

Normally when you and her chilled on your bed, you always had a limb on her no matter what you were doing. And you would always kiss her whenever you had the chance. She missed having that affection.

What is she doing? Why were you clouding her mind all of a sudden? It’s not like she still loved you...did she?

Mikasa opened her phone and went straight to her gallery. The stupid, funny selfies that you took of yourself were still there and she watched the videos you sent her. The one of the flock of cool birds flying over you. The cute dog you met. Everything.

Eren didn’t even send her pictures or a text apart from telling her to come over. She missed seeing your name pop up on her screen at 4am to tell her the weird dream you had. She missed how happy you made her feel. She missed those little moments with you.

She missed you.

Quickly putting on her pants and shirt, she headed for the door and left Eren to go back to the person she took for granted.

~~~~

When Mikasa arrived at your apartment, it was locked. Looked like you weren’t home and she wanted to call you but she was certain you had blocked her number. So she waited for you. And waited. And waited.

Finally, a car pulled up and you stepped out of it with..another guy. You smile and kiss the guy’s cheek and face your door to see Mikasa sitting there.

“Mikasa? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Can we talk?” She asks as she shoves her hands in her pockets and you roll your eyes. “The last time you said that I found out you cheated. So no. We can’t talk.” You say and shake your head. “Please, Y/n. I won’t take much of your time. Please.” Her voice trails off at the end and puts her head down.

The guy you came with whispered in your ear and you smiled. “Okay. I’ll call you later.” He smiles and kisses your temple. When the guy leaves, you cross your arms over your chest and stare at Mikasa.

“Who’s that?”

“Why do you care? What do you want, Mikasa? Why are you here?”

“Can’t we talk inside?”

“No.”

Mikasa sighs and bites her lip. “I..broke up with Eren.” She whispers and you chuckle. Mikasa did not like that. She hated how there was so much of mock in that chuckle. “And? What am I supposed to do about it?”

“No. You don’t understand. I broke up with him because I love you.”

You sigh out an irritated breath and shake your head. “Mikasa, you can’t do that. You can’t come here after three months expecting me to take you back because you “love” me,” you say with air quotes, “you cheated on me. If I did the same thing would you forgive me? If I betrayed your trust like that would you forgive me?” You ask and she walks to you.

When she reaches for you, you slap her hands away. “Y/n. Let’s just try again. I promise I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust back. I love you. I always have and I was so stupid for thinking that I loved Eren too. I’m an idiot. I’m a selfish, self-centered idiot who broke up with the only person who loved me for me.” Mikasa let a tear fall from her black eyes and you felt your heart stop. You never saw her cry before since she always wanted to be the strong one in a relationship.

“Every day for the past three months, I hoped you would call me. Not even to say anything sweet. Even if it was just for you to cuss at me, yell or anything. I just wanted to hear your voice. You made me feel so loved and all I did was throw it away. I just...want a second chance.” She looks deep into your eyes and you shake your head. In all the time that you knew Mikasa, she never showed emotion. In the words she was telling you now, it had more emotion in the entire time you dated her.

Mikasa holds your face and close your eyes. “Please, Y/n. You’re the only good thing in my life and I can’t go on without you. Please.” She kisses your forehead.

You slowly pry her hands away from your face and wipe your tears. “We can’t try again. We would only come back to square one. Arguing, bringing your cheating up again. Mikasa, it’s broken. We can’t fix it anymore.” You whisper and she shakes her head. “No, Y/n. Don’t say that. You’re my whole heart, Y/n. Just give me a chance. I’ll be better. For you, for us.” She rests her forehead against yours as she holds your hands.

It’s silent. The sounds of passing cars and rustling leaves filled the void and you couldn’t give an answer right now. So you pulled away and cupped her face. “Let me..think about this. I need time.” You whisper and she nods. “I’ll wait for you, Y/n.”

You let her go and head inside your apartment before giving her one last look. Maybe this could be saved.

——————————————————————————

“You’re my whole heart.”

🖤🤍Thanks for reading🤍🖤

-Caddy.

#mikasa x reader #mikasa ackerman fanfiction #mikasa ackerman x reader #mikasa imagines #snk mikasa #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk #aot fanfiction #aot x reader #snk fanfiction #snk x reader #shingeki no kyojin fanfiction #mikasa fanfiction #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin x reader #attack on titan fanfiction

140 notes · View notes

be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Text

Inspired partially by the twitter trend of The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It and just in time for Valentine’s Day!

Gender Neutral Reader Insert.

Enjoy my masterlist!

Support me on KoFi!

__________________________

While sitting in the car, you watch out the window. Folks buzz around you--some folks looking content, strolling about their day. Others are flitting around, a bit of crease in their forehead. And you feel for them. You know those days where there’s just not enough hours in the day to get it all done. Or it’s when one thing sets off a spiral of all terrible things. Or when you just don’t wake up on the right side of the bed. You know that crease all too well because currently you were having a bad sleeping week.

You were getting tired when you were supposed to but the second you put your head on the pillow your brain was hot wired--keeping you up with all the things you needed to do, hadn’t done, all the appointments you had kept pushing off. It was finding the littlest things to find that anxiety and keep you staring up at the ceiling. Calum noticed the tossing and turning and tried his best to lull you to sleep this week, fixing you tea in the evening, getting you off your phone or laptop a couple hours before bed. He even started reading to you, but your ears picked up on the white noise of everything in the house. Your brain picked up the embarrassing memory that you hadn’t even considered in decades and now holding it in front of your mind’s eye for hours on end during the week.

Like right now, you should’ve been at home sleeping. Your work was giving you a long weekend and you really could’ve used the time to catch some extra Z’s, but you were, admittedly, a little scared to stay home. Sure maybe you did fall asleep cuddled up next to Duke. But you worried that you’d stay up, worry yourself sick some more so when Calum told you he had some errands to run you immediately tagged along. The time running around would hopefully tire you out enough that when you got home you could actually fall asleep.

So after Calum’s personal training session in the morning, which you sort of tagged along for, but mostly went through your own routine and getting a solid breakfast, you two were now buzzing around from store to store. Calum had gotten most of the grocery the other day, but he forgot a couple things so your first objective was to grab those and bring them back up. He then had to go to the post office to mail out his mother’s birthday cards and a few other things.

While in the line at the post office, your head tucked into his back, Calum got a phone call from a guitar shop on the other side of time about a new model that had just come in. Calum had been eying it for ages, but he didn’t want to be reckless with his money especially after getting some work on his teeth and to the house. So he asked the guitar shop to keep an eye out for when more stock arrived in case it sold out before Calum felt comfortable spending a large sum of money like that again.

The store agreed to set one off to the side for him and could keep it on hold until the end of the day. Which was perfect--still gave the two of you time to get lunch. You didn’t need to get anything, didn’t need to do anything. But even after lunch, Calum made one more pit stop. Here now at the gas station, you sit peering through the windshield and can see a mother with her two sons walking from the doors. They boys hold brightly colored icees in their hand, each clutching a bag field with goodies.

You aren’t entirely sure whey Calum needed to stop here for anything. It’s not like he needed stamps, since he got those at the post office. He hadn’t pulled in to get gas. Lunch had been filling, though you tried not to stuff yourself too much just because you knew that on a long car ride, the last thing you wanted to do was be uncomfortably full.

The door opens again, Calum strutting through with his glasses covering his eyes and resting comfortably atop the chubby cheeks. Barely hanging from the crook of his fingers is a brown plastic bag. The doors click open and he climbs into the driver seat. The guitar shop wasn’t that far, but today seemed to be a busy day on the road. Took you all too long just to get to the grocery store this morning.

“Snacks?”

“Was craving something sweet after lunch.”

You peer into the bag as he hands it over to you. Some gummy bears, gum, a bar or two of chocolate you can’t quite tell. You set it onto the floor at your feet. “Let me know when you want something.” But he’s already tearing into a Twix bar when you glance at him. “Or not,” you laugh.

“The other stuff is for you--if you want to indulge. Can’t forget ya,” he pushes the glasses down for just a moment to wink at you and then looks into the rearview mirror.

“Do you think you’re going to get this one?” you asks as the SUV rolls out from the parking lot and onto the asphalt of the highway.

“Hmm, maybe. Gotta see how it feels first.”

You nod at his question, resting your head into the cushion of the seat. And it goes quiet for a while. The radio plays softly in the background, and every so often the packaging crinkles as Calum downs more of the chocolate and caramel treat.

“Valentine’s Day is coming up soon,” Calum states, while paused in a bit of traffic. “Got any ideas on what you want to do for it?”

You think for a moment. Valentine’s Day has never been your thing--being perpetually single does that to a person. “Restaurants are going to be a nightmare.”

“Yeah, they will be.” Another crinkle comes from the right side of the car and then his arm reaches behind your seat, finding the small bag of trash you stash there--though you have to be careful when Duke sits in the backseat. Generally though, he doesn’t mess with too much. “My mom sent me a recipe of hers. It’s really good.”

“I’d be down for cooking.”

“Nothing else? Don’t wanna go sky diving? Give me another heart attack?”

You laugh thinking about the first birthday you spent with Calum together as a couple. “You didn’t die.”

“But I did almost shit myself.”

“You can play on stage to thousands of people, but no, jumping from a plane is a no-go.”

“Yes, because I am a sane human.”

You huff out a small tuft of laughter and turn to look at him. One hand on the wheel with the stainless steel linked chain dangling from his wrist. His other arm is resting against the door, gently tapping out a beat with his long slender fingers. “Do you want to do anything?”

“Valentine’s Day,” he scoffs. “How long have we been dating? When have I ever been dying to do anything on some random day in February.” His statement doesn’t fall venomously from his mouth. He even looks over to you with a smile. “I don’t need one day out of 365 to declare my love for someone.”

And it’s true. While Calum wasn’t super accepting of love from new people, while it took you months to show Calum that you were trustworthy and not someone to keep at an arm’s length, once he cracked open, he oozed adoration and love for people. And you knew it was a defense mechanism. You knew that when someone did care as hard as Calum did it wouldn’t always be an easy thing to win over.

Calum, when he finally let someone one, loved hard. It could be a random Tuesday in July or a Sunday in February, and he would make sure his love was known. He never needed a special occasion to send flowers, to cook dinner, to offer to drive you to doctors appointments because he knew that sometimes you got too nervous or flustered by them to drive but did manage to push through if absolutely necessary. He’d easily pick up some gloves and an extra sponge if he saw you wiping down the walls in the kitchen or wiping through the counter. He kept fridge cleaning days marked on the calendar. And when you added reminders to wash bed sheets to the shared one, he also include rest breaks for you too.

Calum had never needed someone to force him to show appreciation.

“I mean, there is the option to literally do nothing on Valentine’s Day. Like treat it as any other day.”

“That’s still something,” he countered, turning on his signal and switching out from the middle lane. His exit was approaching in another mile and a half.

“Oh fuck off,” you laugh. “We can’t cease to exist that day. Bare minimum we need to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.”

Calum laughs softly, showing some of his teeth too. “Fair, fair. There’s another Netflix documentary coming out, true crime one. I forget what it’s fully about, but I think it’s about a serial killer if you’d be down to start it then?”

“When would I ever turn down the opportunity to be a detective with you?”

“You haven’t yet,” he states with laughter in his voice.

“And I never will.” The ramp takes the two of you down and down and soon you’re winding through streets and not too far you can see the shopping center coming into view. He pulls into the lot of the shop and the two of you step out in unison.

The bell above the door chimes as he opens it for you and you smile often in your thanks. “Hey, Calum!” one of the guys at the register calls out. The store is fairly empty. But you’re not shocked on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Hey, Derek. How’s it going?” Calum heads directly over to the counter and you look up to the left wall, at the records on display.

“Let me know if you need anything,” the second guy states to you, “or if you want to see anything.” He’s younger than Derek, both look to be equally tattooed from the pieces that peek out from the short sleeve work shirts, but his face is significantly brighter.

“Thanks,” you return and go back to the displays. You can hear Calum and Derek chatting but slowly tune it out, make it background noise to the music playing through the speakers.

You turn to walk towards the back where more instruments sit and you can see Calum leaning into the glass display of the counter. The palms of his hand pressed into the metal edge. The sunglasses sit on top of his head and you notice the younger guy glancing over at you again.

He nods again and then goes back to his computer. Nothing else is said. And you look over the stringed instruments, ukuleles, some violins and then you spin around again, done with that lap and go to head up to Calum. “See anything?” he asks.

You shake your head. “You’re the musically talented one. I just nod and smile when you talk about it.”

Derek returns, a case in hand. He comes out from the hinged doors that separate the sales floor from the registers and back of the store. You scoot a little closer to the display as the case is transferred over. Calum takes it easily heading to the corner you just abandoned to sit and check out the instrument. It’s a beautiful deep green, almost reminds you of the thick Washington forest. The body is slender.

“That’s a pretty cool color,” you note, watching Calum work his fingers over the frets.

He grins up at you. “Think so?” You give another nod. He doesn’t inspect it long before you can see the desire to give in crosses his face.

Derek’s standing close by and you turn to him and keep your voice as close to a whisper as you can while still being heard. “What’s a bass like that cost?”

He rattles off the price, one eyebrow slightly raised over the other. You know Calum will riot--he’ll pitch a fucking fit. But you reach into your wallet and slide out your card. You had been saving--for a year. You wanted to do something big for Calum. You just didn’t know what it was yet specifically though you had some ideas, a bass was top of the list. But you didn’t want to try and go out and buy a bass without consulting him, without getting an understanding of what he liked. You thought about maybe a really good leather jacket and some more boots. He loved the ones he had, wore them as much as he could.

And when you mentioned possibly getting him more, he told you the ones he had were still in good shape. Calum wasn’t the type to just buy clothes to buy them. He indulged here and there, but always made a point to wear something he had down before replacing it. You’d tease the subject a couple more times after that, but he never took the bait and you weren’t going to force him into a thing he didn’t want or need.

But it’s clear to you that this is something he wants. But he’ll tussle with himself and never give in on it. It’s pricer than you thought it would be. But you too were being smart, having finally paid off the last of your car, you start moving those payments to savings and it helped a great deal. You were fine. You get insurance and the whole deal as Derek advises. By the time you slide the receipt back across the counter, Calum comes back to the registers. “I appreciate you holding it for me, man. But I don’t think I can right now.”

Derek looks at you and you look down into the glass. “It’s--it’s yours, dude.”

“What?” Calum breathes behind you.

“They-uh, they paid for it,” Derek says, nodding at you.

You can feel the heat in your body now and spin around to face Calum in a rush. “Consider it a not Valentine’s Day gift.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“Ever since I finished paying off my car, I saved the payments to do something nice for you. Didn’t know what it was going to be for sure. But I know you, Calum. You’d want something and tell yourself no. I mean you can treat yourself sometimes.”

“You-you didn’t?” His eyes are rapidly blinking, head shaking like he doesn’t want to believe you. Like he can’t believe you as his mouth mumbles out, “No,” repeatedly.

“It’s yours,” you nod. “It’s really yours.”

If it weren’t for the weight of the bass, you’re sure Calum would’ve tipped over, maybe even rushed to Derek to hand the case back over, but instead he’s weighed down, chained to this spot in the blue speckled carpet of the store, still repeating, “No,” softly.

“‘I hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to find space in your office for it now. Because I refuse to return it.” You step forward, find the handle and slip your hands around it taking it from Calum. A small grunt leaves you and then you start to the door, throwing a thanks to Derek.

The lights to the SUV blink and you can hear the locks clicking open as you push open the door to the store. “Wait--what are you doing?” Calum asks.

“Open the trunk please,” you ask.

“Let me do it,” he demands, stepping in close to take the case with the bass now. “What the fuck did you do? Baby, this is expensive.”

“It’s not a Valentine’s Day gift,” you answer again. “Because I love you. On a random Tuesday.”

He gets the instrument safely into the trunk and then closes it, watching dumbly as you climb into the passenger side. He walks to the driver seat and climbs in, taking you gently by the chin. “That was absolutely reckless and unnecessary-- ”

“I am just absolutely reckless and unnecessary then,” you counter, “because I’m not returning it.”

“--but thank you. Thank you so much,” he continues as if you hadn’t interrupted him. “I love you.”

“I love you.” Then it’s silent, as the two of your gaze at each other, watching what could almost be tears well in his eyes, but they don’t fall.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve a person like you, but whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

“I’m glad you did it too.” The two of you return home, Duke rushing to the front door as the two of you step through it. Calum safely places the bass in his music room/office and returns shortly after to help you decide on what to order for dinner.

As the two of you settle onto the couch, Calum takes your hand and presses a kiss to teach knuckle. “I’m gonna teach you how to play.”

“You know we’ve done this before.”

“And you were good at it.”

“I was alright at it.”

“It’ll be your bass,” he whispers.

“I bought it for you,” you return tossing your head back to look at him.

He kisses your lips. “Yeah, but it’ll be the one that I teach you to play for real one and it’ll be yours--just as much as it is mine.”

“A true sap,” you laugh, but nod and return your focus back to the TV.

In the week that follows, Calum makes sure to take an hour in the evenings to set you down and pick up on the lessons. They fizzled out as work for the both of you picked up. But now things are a bit more calm. He sits next to you, assessing what you remember from last time and correcting finger placements as needed, but they go smoothly.

When Valentine’s Day does come, Calum pulls you back into bed for just five more minutes of sleep. And five minutes turns into half an hour. But finally you two pull yourself out from the sheets, figure out what to do in the midmorning that results in food being consumed and then you slowly gravitate towards different sections of the house.

There’s still a bit of laundry to be done and Calum takes Duke out for just a little bit. The two of you migrate back together by mid afternoon. He finds you making a quick lunch and presses a kiss to your cheek. You turn to face him, squeezing at his. “I bought some face masks,” he offers. “Care to join me in doing the bare minimum of converting oxygen into carbon dioxide after your lunch?”

“Don’t see how I could pass up such a wonderful offer? You want anything?” He shakes head, mentioning grubbing on some of the leftovers earlier while you took a nap.

With your lunch done and the plates cleaned, you find Calum in the bedroom and let him know you’re ready for the face masks. He shuffles to the bathroom. “I hope I got the right one for you,” he mutters. “I got them forever ago it feels, so who the hell knows what I got.” His laughter is soft as he rummages through the bins under the skin.

“I’ll be in the office,” you tell him and he nods, still pulling bins out. You settle into the couch and spy the green bass still on the stand from yesterday. You pull it into your lap and sling your arm over it. The amp next to you is off, you know but you still pluck away at it as if it were on.

Calum shuffles in a few minutes later. “Um, babe. It’s off.”

You don’t reply but do look up. He holds up three different packages. “Here’s to hoping one of these is worthwhile.” You place your bass back to the stand and take one that sounds like one you’re okay with using. Calum hands you a towel so you can wipe your fingers off after you get it placed onto your face. He helps get it right and then you help him with his and the two of you slip onto the couch, legs entangled and leaning into opposite ends of the couch.

You laugh at Calum’s story as you scroll mindless through app after app. In the boredom you snap a picture of Calum with the face masks on and don’t think too much of it, saving it to the album with all the silly and cute photos of him are--there are tons.

“I mean the sun is a star. Though the ones we see have been dead for a long time.”

Calum taps your leg with his foot. “It was a simple question--to be the sun or the stars. I didn’t ask for this philosophical crisis.”

“Why would it not weigh in your decision! If you’re a star like the ones we see at night, you’re technically already dead. You wanna be dead?” You huff, sitting up.

“I mean, no, but c’mon.”

“It’s a valid thing to consider, that’s all I’m saying!”

He laughs. “Okay, sun or the moon?”

“You first,” you return and just then your alarm on your phone goes off. The two of you shuffle back to the bathroom and take off the masks.

“Moon, maybe,” he counters.

You nod. “Fitting. When should we get started on that recipe of your moms? Is it super involved?”

“Nah, it’s pretty easy. Normal time should be good. I’m going to read outside if you want to join.”

“Maybe in a bit.”

Calum nods, grabbing his book as he passes through the bedroom and the patter of Duke’s claws follow behind him. You go back to the music room, turn on the amp and then actually play a little something. It’s nothing fancy--just the arrangement you put together with Calum as a practice exercise once. You play it for a bit, adding a little flair. When you phone rings, you pause to answer it. You wouldn’t normally, but the number looks semi recognizable so you answer it.

It’s just a scam call and you hang up but then notice some other notifications. Before you realize it, you’re deep into Twitter. You’ve run across the trend of people posting pictures of themselves and their significant others with the caption, The Face Vs The Face Sitting On It. It made you laugh just a little bit at first. And then you kept going down the rabbit hole. Some are silly, most are good pictures.

While it’s not exactly secret that you and Calum are dating, you two don’t post too much. Calum isn’t incline to post on social media in the first place and while you use it a bit more than him, you try not to post too much about him out of respect. However, as you look tap on quote retweet and bring up your photos you think maybe one silly post wouldn’t hurt. So you grab the one of him recently with the face masks and then one of yourself--it’s silly too, a little blurry too in the darkness that it was taken in.

You hit post and watch the likes come in. Then keep scrolling. Eventually you have to put the bass away and peel yourself from the couch to find Calum and see if he’s hungry enough for dinner. Just as you round the corner to the office, you spy him stepping through the glass sliding backdoor. “Hungry?” you ask.

He nods, “Yeah.”

The two of you, with Duke trotting ahead, make your way down the hallway and into the kitchen. “You’re funny,” he states, washing his hands first.

“Thank you. I’ll be here until you kick me out.”

He laughs. “No, the pictures you posted. On Twitter.”

You’re shocked that he noticed it that fast. Normally it took him a bit longer to see silly stuff like that. “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Nah. What I hope you don’t mind is my reply.”

At first you’re nervous. Calum could’ve gone one of two ways--super silly and broke out even worse photos of you possibly not sober or he went super on trend with it and pulled out a photo of you done up for a date night. Not that you preferred one over the other, but sometimes you liked to keep your relationship light on social media. It was easier that way. There wasn’t any real pressure that way. Though the fans seemed to have enjoyed it when you posted more posed and serious content.

You liked to keep it a bit more real. You and Calum didn’t do the whole nine yards a lot--you two were normal people who hated getting out of bed some days and went as well into the afternoon before showering at times and walked Duke and went to doctor’s appointments like everyone does. So you always opted for a bit of a joke, a silly Tweet or photo whenever you could.

“What did you post?” you ask.

He shrugs, taking up the knife to dice the onion. “I’m not telling you.”

You glance at the printed out recipe and get a pan on the aisle over medium heat before pulling out your phone. As you load the app, you listen to the snap of the knife fitting the wooden cutting board. You type Calum’s name and tap onto his profile.

While there’s is silly--I do want to take a moment to show off my favorite person in the world. So here we go, The Face Vs. The Face Sitting On It. Below is attached a picture of him--you snapped while you two were out for lunch one day. The black t-shirt tight around his biceps as he slyly grins into the camera. The lights in the background are just barely in focus of the resturant and Calum’s glancing out of the window next to him. You remember that you were recording him, or at least you thought you were, and told him that he was handsome. Not the first time, but everytime he did, he blushed and turn away. And you captured it here too.

The photo of you is actually one with him in it. The guys got together and did a big family dinner and the two of you posed at Crystal’s request in the slightly matching outfits. You hadn’t intended to match--though black was a staple in both your wardrobes. You were a bit different thanks to the pop of color in your shoes, but in the lighting of the street lamp, you had to admit that you did look hot. The first couple of buttons on your shirt you were undone and with your hands tucked into the pockets, you looked like you owned shit.

“While I hoped that you’d go with something more silly, I will take this,” you finally say.

“That picture is literally my background for a reason,” he returns.

You kiss his cheek and then trace over the stubble with your teeth to his ear. “Can I make a reservation for tonight?”

“The table is reserved for you literally at all times,” he returns in a breathe.

“Good,” you laugh and then glance back to the recipe.

#calum hood #calum hood blurb #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #calum hood imagine #calum hood smut #Calum Hood smut adjacent #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #h writes #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #gender netural reader

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief,@whiskeycherrypie donated $25, and requested Sam/Dean, very late seasons, switching. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

(read on AO3)

The second hunt, after, is when things start to feel real again.

First job was the shapeshifter and even after just a few weeks of post-almost-apocalypse vacation they were rusty, as much as they ever got rusty. Sam broke his damn finger, which Dean made fun of him for, and Dean limped around on a half-busted shin that Sam can just stop smirking about, any time now, but they felt—like what? Hard to pin down. Like they were stepping out into a strange world. Like they'd fire a gun and didn't know if it'd recoil the same way it always would, because the world was different. New. At least, Dean kept feeling that way, and he thinks he's known Sam long enough to guess Sam was feeling about the same. Every part of that job was—feeling for a step down in the dark, and then being surprised when it was there. Sam flicking through the local paper checking obits, cautious when he pointed out a possible connection, like he hadn't done the same thing a hundred, thousand, times before. Dean going through the trunk and pulling out their supplies and holding a fistful of silver bullets in his hand and thinking—is this it? Sam, getting the motel room after, when they'd been to the Urgent Care to check out Dean's stupid shin that it turns out, okay, wasn't broken after all, and the woman at the counter asking what kind of room, and Sam hesitating, and glancing back at where Dean was propped up in the office doorway.

But it was right, in the end. They did right. They saved most of a day and killed the bad thing and it turned out that after everything they were still the same guys they always were. After the world ended it was supposed to be maybe something else, but, shit, the world didn't quite end after all, and it turned out… Sam gave his stupid shin a few more days to rest up and kept his finger splinted and then after a week there was Sam, laptop open on the table when Dean came in for breakfast, and he said, "Hey, you want to work?" with every expectation that Dean would, and that—that was new, kind of, in the way that Sam wasn't trying to distract himself or Dean, and it wasn't to patch up some broken thing that couldn't be fixed, and it wasn't because they owed anything to anyone. It was because it turned out that after all this was who they were, and Dean looked at Sam over the island while he whipped up some eggs semi-capably (although he never used enough salt) and Sam glanced over his shoulder when the toaster popped and saw Dean looking, and raised his eyebrows like—what?—like this wasn't just the best hope of Dean's life being realized, finally, right here in a hole in the ground at eight in the morning, on the wrong side of forty. "What's the job?" was all Dean said, then, and then—that was it. That was that.

Second hunt's a success, too. Vetalas, in Wyoming. Dean hates Wyoming. Not for the people or the scenery or the weather, even, though the weather can be a bitch, but because you can't get anywhere with a damn mountain leaping up into the middle of the highway and having to drive three hours the wrong direction to get to where you're going. Sam has heard this argument, and rolls his eyes mostly, but this time, this second hunt, he laughs, and stretches out in the passenger seat with the window rolled down and his elbow hanging out, and it's summer and he's stripped out of his jacket and has his sleeves rolled up and he just looks—good. Dean recites his lines: "Lander to Pinedale should be, what, forty minutes, but no, we gotta drive a hundred miles out of the way to get around this stupid—" and Sam sighs and says his line, which is, "Don’t you like driving?" and Dean says, "Don't get facts in the way here, man, that is not the issue—" and it's… the same ruts, the same life, but Sam's face is all folded up in glad creases, his dimple carved in so deep it looks like it's going to set up residence there full-time, and Dean eases off the gas a little, stretches out the drive, even if it's around the same damn mountain they've circled three times, looking for the same damn vetalas. They find them, of course, and they kill them, and they find three men drained of life in the cellar at their cabin but there are two more that Sam and Dean save, and on the drive back to Kansas through the night Sam's not in that same sunshine mood but he's not anything but content, either. Dean had—he'd hoped, in some shriveled part of himself that hadn't really had much luck with hoping—and maybe the last few years he'd gotten some proof, that what he'd wanted was what Sam wanted, too—but to have the proof, right here, it's—he doesn't pray, really, but he says inside his head very clearly thank you, to whatever might be listening. It's all he's got. He hopes it's enough.

They stop for a booze restock, for stuff to make dinner, and back at the bunker Dean's slow, watching Sam unpack his half of the car. His finger's still splinted but it can probably come off, soon. He gets his backpack on his shoulder and his duffle over his arm and the twelve pack in the good hand, and glances at Dean, and says, "What?"

"Nothing," Dean says. Sam's eyes narrow in that tiny tiny way where he smooths it out so fast he must think Dean won't notice, but Dean's honest, here, and he smiles without meaning to, and Sam frowns at him but smiles back, confused. Dean claps him on the shoulder and Sam shakes his head, says, "Dude, what?" and Dean says, "Nothing, you deaf? C'mon, let's get the beer in the fridge before it gets any warmer," and Sam shakes his head again and says, "You're the weirdest person I know," and Dean looks over his shoulder and says, "Takes one, Sammy," and he's just—sure. Sure, all through his body, from gut to his heart to his stupid brain, always lurching, looking for the exits. What a thing.

Spaghetti and meatballs, for dinner. The sauce is from a jar but Dean takes his time with the meat. Half pork, half beef, the spices he likes, a bunch of garlic. Sam practically inhales it and gets sauce on his chin and Dean grins at him until Sam colors and says, "Shut up," and swipes it off with the heel of his hand, and then shrugs and licks his palm. They're on season two of Game of Thrones and they watch an episode, and Dean wants Joffrey to die and asks Sam to tell him it'll happen soon, and Sam just smiles and says, "Dude, I'm not giving you spoilers after how long I had to wait to read the books. Hold your horses." Dean mutters, "I'll hold your horses," and Sam raises his eyebrows, but Dean just waves a hand instead of getting into the bickering match they could.

They get fresh beers and Dean says, "Hey, let's—" and so they head upstairs to ground level, and Sam brought two spare bottles each, and they go around to the back side of the big abandoned power plant where there's an ugly concrete bench they hung out on, sometimes. Especially before, when the bunker was fuller than it is now. A place to be quiet, to breathe. To watch the moonrise, as they're doing now, and drink in quiet companionship, their knees touching because they both tend to sprawl, and they've never, ever minded each other's warmth. Even when they were pissed at each other, or when it hurt.

Dean holds his beer in both hands, leaning his head back against the stone wall. Sam's quiet at his side. A three-quarter moon, so it's bright enough to lay white-silver on the planes of Sam's face. His nose, a gleam of that goofy ski-slope swoop. His brow. A light shine on his hair, and brighter on the silver that's started to come out in it. Dean's always been a little entertained by that—Sam's four years and a handful of months younger than him, and it's Sam who's been going grey faster—but he never said anything about it because—well, it's just something, that's all. Sammy, with grey hair. He's so damn lucky to see it he can't really pull Sam's pigtails about it.

Everything else, though: fair game.

"Never have I ever?" Dean says, after who knows how long sitting in silence. They're on their second beers, anyway.

Sam huffs. "You're kidding," he says. He tips his head on his shoulder, looking sidelong at Dean in the dark. "Anyway, wouldn't you just get… trashed, at that game? You've done everything, right?"

"Very much underselling your weird kinky shit, brother mine," Dean says. Sam's eyebrows jump and Dean's stomach rushes hot, in a way he didn't expect, even if he's been halfway thinking, all day, about how they were going to get here. "Try this: never have I ever… ate out a chick during shark week."

Sam half-scoffs, weak. Dean raises his eyebrows back, and Sam says, "Seriously?"

Dean spreads a hand, expansive, and Sam says, quiet, "This is so stupid," but then, because Dean knows his brother very well indeed, Sam takes a drink, and Dean says "Ha!" out loud and shoves Sam's shoulder, and then says, after a second's thinking, "Dude, seriously?"

"It's just blood," he says, and it's not exactly defensive but there's a shard of it buried somewhere in there. Dean laughs, half-surprised and half-not. "Not like we don't deal with it every day. You should broaden your horizons."

"Oh, my horizons are plenty broad," Dean says. It's bubbling in his chest, now, ready to come out. This is stupid—"This is stupid," Sam says, out loud—and teenage, and dumb, but he feels… "Come on, your turn," he says, and Sam lets out this long exasperated sigh, but even in the moonlight Dean can see that he's smiling, and Sam says: "Okay, fine: never have I ever had a threesome."

Dean sits up straighter. "What, seriously?" he says, derailed, and Sam shrugs, and of course Dean has to take a drink because Sam knows that Dean—and then it's on, really.

Dancing on the edge. The things they know about each other, the things they might could guess. Dean kills his last beer on never have I ever had sex in a movie theater, and he tells Sam after that that he needs to live more, and Sam smiles at him kind of bitchy and then says, "Hang on, stay here," and Sam gets up and half-jogs away, disappears down the recessed hidden driveway that leads to the garage, and Dean sets his bottle down among the empties and rubs his palms over his thighs, letting the warm denim scratch him up, taking a deep breath. It feels too big to say. Even if he's sure. It's too big to even be true, if it's…

Sam comes back, quick, like he ran the whole way. He has two more beers and the bottle of bourbon they bought today tucked under his arm. "Okay, sucker," he says, handing Dean an open bottle and plumping back down on the bench. Their thighs are solid together. He clinks his bottle with Dean, setting the bourbon down at their feet. "Never have I ever…" He licks his lips, shine in the dark. "Slept with a demon."

Dean blinks. He takes a breath. "I don’t think that's how you're supposed to play," he says, and Sam bites his lips between his teeth and shrugs. Maybe he's a little tipsier than he seems, even if they're only three beers down. Sam takes a drink, quick, but his eyes are focused on Dean's face, the moon a little behind his shoulder, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek but drinks, too, and Sam lets out this quick short breath that—Dean doesn't know, what that means. He feels caught at something.

"Did you—" Sam starts, and cuts off. Quiet, for a second. Dean's cheeks feel hot. "I didn't mean… I meant on Earth, not in…" Awkward. The air goes out of Dean, realizing that Sam's trying to give him an out.

"Me too," he says, voice weird in this way he could be embarrassed by but—he isn't, and Sam's face turns away, and even with full moonlight Dean can't tell what that expression is.

He puts his beer down. "Never have I ever slept with a vampire," he says.

Sam's chin ducks down. Dean licks his lips and folds his hands between his knees. Sam puts his beer down, too, and braces on the edge of bench. There's barely enough room between them for his hand to fit; his knuckle presses against Dean's thigh and Dean licks his lips.

"Never have I…" Sam shakes his head, huffs. He looks up, out at the empty farmland spilling out from the back of the plant. His eyes shine, open, though Dean doesn't know what he's looking at. "I've never slept with a guy. On Earth, I haven't."

Dean bites the wet off his bottom lip, dragging, and then ducks down and gets the bourbon instead. Twist of the cap and a glug goes down—christ, hot. He coughs. "I hate the cask strength shit," he says, and Sam says, "Wuss," thin, and Dean could bicker back but it's here. Here. All this stuff he didn't know Sam was thinking about—things Dean kept secret, and things he didn't—and he didn't mean to dredge it all up at once but maybe it's better. Like this, in the dark. The night warm, smelling like grass and the weeds growing up among the fallow field, and Sam's knuckles still pressed up right there, where if Dean put his hand down he'd cover them.

"Do you remember that time in, uh," Dean starts. Swerving around the mountain, the long way through the dark. Sam's head turns towards his, a little. "Montana, I guess it was. Somewhere. You were… seventeen. That July. You got so wasted."

"Whose fault was that?" Sam says. Dean grins, makes sure it's wide and wicked, and Sam glances up at him and huffs again, more of a laugh this time than whatever the last one was. "That was when we invented beer bowling."

"Yeah, and you sucked," Dean says, and Sam shakes his head and leans back against the plant wall, tipping his head back to look at the stars. They did play, ten-pin with glass shattering because the only ball they had was a half-rounded rock. Then they sat out with Sam tipsy and Dean getting that way himself, only twenty-one and not quite as sure of what he was doing as he is now, and they just… talked. He can't even remember about what. They just sat and they were together and it was about the happiest Dean was that whole year. Like if he could just have that, forever, things would be okay. That was… god, twenty years ago.

"One more round," Dean says, now. Sam's eyes close. Dean leans the bottle on Sam's thigh so he can feel it. "Never have I ever kissed you."

Sam's eyes pop wide when Dean picks up the bottle, and takes a drink. He sits up straighter. Dean lets the burn of the swallow go all the way to his stomach, a bonfire there, and watches Sam's face as the thoughts flicker across it, limned in moonlight. Sam opens his mouth, and closes it, and he's not mad just like Dean knew he wouldn't be mad but it's still enough of a relief that Dean tips the bottle his way, says, "Technically, you did too, so—"

Sam takes it out of his hand but doesn't drink. "No, we didn't. When?"

Dean wipes his mouth, dragging his hand over his chin, and down. Sam's watching him. "After the second trial," he says, finally. Sam frowns. "Your fever was pretty bad. You kept talking about…" He shakes his head. All sorts of things Dean doesn't like remembering. About worth, and right, and being clean. Nonsense, as far as Dean was concerned, though he didn't know how to say it that way, then. With how it was. Instead he leans back against the wall and says, because it's true, and he can say it now: "I just wanted to… I guess, to prove something. How I didn't think of what you were saying the same way you did. How I didn't believe all that crap you were saying about yourself. It was bad and I didn't want you to believe it, either, and I didn't really know how else to… You didn't remember, though, so I guess it didn't do the trick. To be honest, thought I was a better kisser."

Sam doesn't smile. It was a pretty weak attempt. He stares at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder.

How it was, then. In the hotel, where Metatron was staying. When he found Sam on the floor and about had a heart attack. Sam's skin burning and ice-cold by turns. His body this huge out of control thing, being taken over by something Dean didn't understand. He woke up while Dean was trying to drag him to the bath, but he wasn't really conscious, hardly making sense. Babbling, half-frantic, trying to make Dean understand—how it was okay, how it was fine if he burned, if somehow the trials scoured the marrow out of his bones, because it was just right after all he'd done and all he hadn't, and it was a use for him, when he hadn't been worth anything in so long. Dean had told him no, over and over, and no again, and he'd slapped Sam at some point to get him to shut up, to try to shock him out of the awful monologue, but Sam didn't even register it, clinging to Dean's shirt while the tub filled, the sack of ice Dean had brought bobbing to the surface. It can mean something, Sam had said, nodding, tears in his eyes, trying to smile, and Dean wanted to throw a chair through the window but he grabbed Sam's face instead and he said it does and Sam shook his head, confused, and Dean leaned in against him, ready to cry too, and instead he…

"I thought," Sam starts, and immediately stops. His hands twist around the bourbon bottle. "I dreamed that."

Dean thinks of a joke to make, something about Snow White, but he keeps his mouth shut. He remembers it, clearly. Sam's mouth, hot and dry against his own. His hands clenched in Dean's shirt, and on the side of his neck. Weak and strong at once. If Sam dreamed it, what does he remember?

Sam looks down at the bottle for almost a minute, Dean counting it away with beats of his heart. A breeze picks up, light and warm. A cricket, somewhere, chirping and then going quiet. It could feel bad but it doesn't. It could be terrifying, but it's just—Sam, and him. Like always. Like it will be, always. He knows that, now. No matter what.

Sam smiles, eventually, for no reason Dean can tell. He wipes his thumb over the rim of the bottle and then takes a drink, two long swallows that are loud as they go down, and then he takes the bottle away from his mouth and puts his hand on Dean's jaw and leans in and kisses him. Brief, hot. Not dry. His mouth tastes like bourbon. It tastes just like Dean's.

Sam leans back. Dean takes a deep breath. Sam looks at him, very close, and Dean puts his hand on the side of Sam's neck, his fingers sliding into Sam's hair, and Sam's lips quirk and he nods and Dean leans in and kisses him, again, slower, pressing in soft with his lip plush against Sam's, tipping to make it good, and his jaw's cupped in both big mitts and Sam opens for him and it's…

He pulls away eventually. He must have been breathing, during, but he hardly sees how. Sam kisses the corner of his mouth, weirdly sweet, and his hands drag down to Dean's chest before he pushes back, blinking. "You better remember that one," Dean says, and Sam smiles briefly, but shakes his head, not letting them off the hook.

"I didn't…" What goes there? Dean could guess but he doesn't want to. Sam's thoughtful now, but his hand's on Dean's forearm, because Dean's hand is—oh, still locked there on the side of Sam's neck, holding on. Sam's still, doesn't seem to mind, and Dean lets his thumb brush over Sam's stubble. Familiar. The world new, and not-new.

Sam squeezes his arm. "Did you start the stupid game just to say that line?" Dean shrugs. Sam rolls his eyes, and detaches Dean's hand from his neck, and stands, but pulls Dean up at the same time, and this time when he kisses Dean it's—full, real, Sam holding him close and Dean lifting his face up for it and Sam getting an arm around his shoulders and Dean pressing his mouth open, just a little, licking Sam's top lip and getting a slow, deep inhale where Sam's close enough that he can feel it.

"Sammy," Dean says, and maybe there's more to say. More that should be said, if this is what—but Sam shakes his head, and says, "Come on," and scoops up the bourbon and his empty beers, and so Dean scoops his up, too, and follows Sam around the plant and down the stairs to the bunker and to the kitchen, where they drop the bottles in a rattle of glass into the recycle bin Sam insisted they get, and then Sam looks at him in the light, his hair a little rucked-up at the back from where Dean was messing with it and his mouth a little pink and his expression just… considering, open, honest, and Dean looks back, not trying to hide a thing. How can he? It's Sam.

In the morning, Dean wakes up slow, alone in his room. He has a shower, taking his time, and wraps up in his robe, and comes into the kitchen to find coffee made but no breakfast, and he pours a cup and thinks about eggs, or maybe waffles if he wants to wrestle that ancient cast-iron waffle pan down from the top of the shelf, and he's thinking mainly about the food but he's also thinking, of course, about Sam, and it's only about five minutes of him standing there with his hip against the kitchen island before the door creaks, distant, and then—Sam, in the doorway, shining with sweat.

Dean's stomach flips, very slightly. It's just Sam, soaked and gross after a run. It's every morning, like the last, except, of course—

Sam hesitates for just a second. His mouth turns up at one corner, a little rueful, and then he comes in and grabs his metal bottle from the fridge, and gulps water. Dean turns to watch him, coffee warm in both hands, and when Sam's done he leans against the fridge, breathing deep, and then says, "I don't know, it feels like it should be weirder," like he's continuing a conversation they were in the middle of without interruption.

"Nothing weird about being hot for my bod," Dean says, calm, and Sam snorts. He looks at Dean sidelong, and then turns and really looks at him. Looks, from Dean's mouth to his slippered feet, and it's not much of a view in the robe but Dean spreads his arms out, anyway, and Sam bites his bottom lip, half-smiling. Dean sets his coffee on the island, runs his thumb along the lipstick-red rim. "You know," he says. "It doesn't ever have to be more than this. Just… how we've got it. It's good, now."

"It is," Sam says, easy. He twists the cap back on to his bottle, sets it on the counter, and folds his arms over his chest, and he's still just looking but Dean feels, now, the difference in it. It's just Sam but it's also… maybe a new part, a Sam that Dean didn't really get before, and the consideration there, the curiosity, the attention, it's… He tilts his head back, looks at Sam right back. Sam smiles.

Last night they did nothing more than kiss. Dean stepped close in the kitchen and tipped his head up and Sam met him, one more time, and it was soft and a little strange and a little new, but it felt right, in a way that's been full in Dean's chest, from the first moment of Sam's hand on his face to—well, it hasn't gone away.

"I was thinking I'd make waffles," Dean says, still buoyed in it. "You want one or two?"

"Two," Sam says, and Dean nods, and Sam gets the pan down—showing off, tall bastard—and then goes off to shower, and Dean mixes up the batter and butters the pan and pours in the mix and watches for when the steam stops, eyes on the cast iron but his thoughts around the corner of two hallways and down a few doors, and when he's got four waffles stacked on two plates and he's wondering if he's gonna need to send in a rescue team, Sam comes back into the kitchen with wet hair and says, "I'm going to run a marathon," and Dean blinks at him, entirely derailed, and says, "What?"

A marathon. Apparently Sam's been thinking about it for a while. His runs, he says, in the morning, are usually five miles, but he's been running a little longer each time, and he's at seven now without much worrying about the extra distance. He wants to go the whole way. See if he can do it, he says.

Dean's busy smearing as much butter as he can feasibly fit into the squares of his waffle, but he gives Sam a look. "If I can, he says," Dean mutters, and maybe it's against usual policy to give Sam full credit but it gets a surprised blink and then Sam looking down at his own syrup-free plate with a soft curve to his mouth, so—worth it. Dean cuts a four-square bite and pauses, watching the melty puddles form on the plate. "So, what. Are you going to enter one of those city things? Am I gonna have to drive along the route with Gatorade and applaud from the sidelines? Are you dressing up as a moose for charity?"

Sam shakes his head. "I can donate to charity on my own time," he says, although to be honest Dean's now taken with the moose idea. Sam sees him thinking about it and rolls his eyes. "No. But—I can figure out a route with my phone. Just around here. Anyway, it can't hurt, for the job."

"Yeah, I'll let you chase down the next werewolf," Dean says, shaking his head. Marathons. His brother.

They finish eating about the same time. Sam sips at his coffee while Dean sucks maple from his thumb. "You want to find a job," Dean says, while Sam's piling their forks and plates together, "or do you want to go for another jog? Gotta get up to twenty-six miles somehow."

"Twenty-six point two," Sam says, standing up with the dishes in hand, and then he leans over and brushes Dean's thumb away from his mouth and kisses him, again, and Dean grips the edge of the table and Sam's shoulder, his mouth pushed open on Sam's tongue, sliding in easy like he's got the run of the place and doesn't expect an ounce of resistance. Fair enough. Dean tips his head back and tastes Sam, syrup-and-coffee, and when Sam pulls back his eyes are half-closed and he licks his lips, and his eyes drop to Dean's mouth.

"Weird?" Dean says.

"Should be," Sam says, quieter, but he stands up, and lets his thumb drag over Dean's jaw before he steps away, to the sink, and he doesn't say anything more when he puts the dishes in and stands there with hands braced on the edge for—ten seconds, twenty, thirty—before he turns the water on.

Dean could say something but there's nothing to say. It's weird. It's not. That it's not is weirder. He gets up, refreshes his coffee with the hot from the pot, says, "I'll look for a job," and goes to the library, and lets Sam think, with his hands in soapy water, and quiet to do it in.

There are odd stories—news of the weird never fails to deliver—but nothing so pressing as to drag them across the country on an urgent mission. Dean doesn't feel the need to fake anything, either, to yank out of the bunker on a long drive of not talking through the night and too-loud music and burying their thoughts into means/motive/monstrous opportunity. He sends some links to Sam's email and goes and finds clothes instead, finally, and figures—well, today's a day off. He changes the Impala's oil, washes her. Goes through the trunk, sitting on a stool dragged over from the garage's weird little office, and makes notes of what they're out of, what needs replaced. More salt. More holy oil. Or—not more holy oil, since they haven't seen hide or nor hair of angel or demon in weeks and weeks and maybe never again, and he sits, then, with the empty flask turning over and over in his hands, looking into the trunk, thinking about—how the world is, now. How there's downtime. How, incredibly, there are marathons to run.

In the library, later, Sam's reading on his laptop. "That thing in Pierre might be something," he says, without preamble, and Dean nods—it could be—but then Sam says, "I sent it to Jody, to see if she and the girls want to take a look."

Dean sets the empty flask on the table. Sam's eyes barely flick to it. "What are we gonna do, then?" he says, and Sam sits back in his chair, laptop lid half-closed. He half-smiles, looking down at nothing, and then he looks up at Dean again.

They sleep together that night. Nothing complicated. Dean's room, and the lamps all off but the one over on the table by the door, so Sam's half-haloed in amber light this time, instead of the white moon. Dean's shirt comes off but Sam's stays on, and they're still in their socks, and Sam leans over Dean on one elbow, touching his chest, curious. It's not romantic, or urgent, but Dean keeps smiling, and Sam finally catches him at it and whispers, "Shut up," and kisses him when he opens his mouth to protest that he wasn't saying anything. While they're necking Dean gets Sam's jeans open, and slides his hand inside, and Sam bites his lip but he's half-hard, and gets harder while Dean learns the shape of him. Sam rocks a warm palm over where Dean's swelling up and Dean rips at his own belt, unzips, and then rolls them over so Sam's on his back, and Sam grips his hips, looking up, his hair loose on the pillow and his face just…

After, Dean wipes his hand on Sam's shirt. "Dick," Sam says, and Dean says, "Hey, it was already a disaster, I just added to the general—" and Sam rolls his eyes and nudges Dean off, and pulls the shirt over his head, tugging it off careful from the back. Dean rolls onto his side, looking. Sam's shoulders, and his back. Muscle and, miraculously, no scars. His skin that same all-over bronze, like he's immune somehow to farmer tan. Sam tosses the shirt in the same vague direction that Dean's went and then looks over his shoulder, finds Dean looking. Half-smiles. He lays back, his head on the pillow, and tucks a hand underneath it, looking up at the ceiling. Dean just keeps looking at Sam.

"It should be weird," Sam says, after a second.

"It's a little weird," Dean says. Sam snorts, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Sam's head tips, on the pillow. He looks into Dean's eyes, then at his lips. He reaches over and presses his thumb against Dean's bottom lip, and Dean lets Sam dent it, pulling, and then he flicks his tongue against Sam's skin. Faint salt, faint bitter. Sam drags his thumb down, wet trail over Dean's chin, and then settles his hand on Dean's chest.

This. This is weird. Sam looking at him, quiet. Sweat's still drying in the middle of Dean's back and he has the sense of what it feels like to have his brother's hand on his dick full in his head. The body part, though, that—matters, of course it matters, but it feels secondary to Sam just... fully present. That they're both in the same weird, weird boat, and that it could go on like this forever, and it wouldn't change a thing.

"I don't want to wonder about it anymore," Dean says. He gets his hand on Sam's wrist, squeezes. "There's—I don't know, man. There's a bunch of crap we should probably be talking about, freaking about. But it's…"

"Beside the point?" Sam offers, and Dean nods. That's it. Sam nods, too, and closes his eyes, and maybe that makes it easier.

Dean closes his, too, and it's just the amber-colored haze of dark, and the kinda-too-warm of the bed, and his hand sticky and needing to be washed, and vaguely wanting a shower. And he's an adult, and he's fucked before, and so it's also that one article about that disappearance in Winston-Salem that he's been half-thinking about all day, wondering if there's more—and then remembering that they're out of milk—and then, when Sam's thumb drags over his pec, under his nipple, the vague jolt of: Sam, and maybe that should be all that fills his head but Sam suffuses every other thought. Dean can't make any more room in himself than he already has.

"Did that woman in North Carolina disappear at night?" Sam says, after another minute.

Dean's eyes fly open. "Shit," he says, to Sam's frown, and they sit up at the same time, and then—it's them, and the job, and nothing's really, in the end, that different.

Sam keeps running. He tracks his step count with an app, figures out mile by mile how far he can push it, how fast he can go. Dean goes into Lebanon by himself one day, hitting the post office and the market and just getting some air, and then he rolls to a stop at the single stop sign and checks his odometer, and then drives—a square, basically, twenty-six miles around the farm-fields both worked and fallow, and he imagines what it would be like to run the whole way. He's run for his life, and he's run for the lives of others, but just to do it for himself—no. He gets Sam, most every way, but this one is gonna stay a mystery, he thinks.

"What took so long?" Sam says, when he gets home.

The milk's still mostly-cold. "Estelle wouldn't stop hitting on me, man," Dean says, hauling in his half of the load, and Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean slots the barely-frozen pizza into the freezer and stocks the eggs into their holder and then, when Sam's done putting the cans onto their spot on the shelf, tugs at Sam's belt-loop and gets Sam surprised and then leans up and kisses him, pressing him against the dry goods, and Sam kisses back good and pleased and open and then, when Dean sets back down on his heels, touches the back of Dean's ear and murmurs, soft, "If I knew angry old ladies got you hot I would have tried something different, last night," and gets Dean laughing, unexpected, tucked into the corner of their kitchen.

They've been slow with each other. Dean has more experience but he didn't realize how much more. Sam's not uncertain, not nervous—incredible, how not-nervous Sam is, and Dean got finger-shaped bruises on his triceps one day when Sam just held him down and kissed and kissed and kissed him, body-confident and knowing, smiling pleased and half-smug when he pulled back and Dean was nearly dazed with wanting him. Little shit. Still: Sam's not a virgin, not by half, but he was being honest when he said he'd never screwed a guy—on Earth, that is, and Dean knows exactly what he meant by that qualification, and it was a very very brief conversation afterward ("It doesn't count," Sam had said, firm and honest there too, and Dean had nodded because, after everything, he trusts Sam to be honest), and they left it at that.

It's Sam who brings up more. Dean's content to follow. It's Sam who gets Dean's jeans open one night, petting at the base of his dick and sliding down to cup his balls, long fingers and big broad palm, and it's good but it's Sam who hmms, and then says, "Mind if I—" and crawls backwards down the bed—Sam's bed, the mattress tipping with Sam's weight—and Sam who bolsters Dean's dick up out of the split of his fly and breathes there, eyes flicking up the length of Dean's body where he's propped on his elbows, briefly dazed. "Go ahead," Dean says, voice coming from somewhere approximately at the center of the earth, and Sam snorts, and fists Dean capably from root to tip, and then leans in and licks, flat and deliberate up the spine of it, a wet warmth that shocks in Dean's thighs and between his shoulders and sparking in his hands, making him fist into the blanket. Sam's eyes are closed, like he's concentrating. Dean tips his knee out wide and touches Sam's cheek, and Sam's mouth tips up at the corners, and he shifts forward and takes the head in his mouth and—oh, that. He doesn't quite know how to get his mouth around it at first but he figures it out quick, and he sucks the tip and licks under the crown and fists the rest and when Dean's close, clenching, Dean says, "Come up here," and Sam opens his eyes after who knows how long and they're black, practically, and he crawls up over Dean's body still jerking and Dean kisses him, licks the taste of himself out, and Sam breathes hot into his mouth and groans when Dean comes, looking down at the spill over his fist, and he says, "Fuck, that's good," rough and true. Dean pants through it for a few selfish seconds before he squirms down to return the favor, and Sam's mostly-hard just from sucking Dean, and he's weirdly a gentleman when Dean goes down on him, hands off and careful until Dean lifts off, gulping, and says, "Like you mean it, dude," and Sam laughs and then grips him and that's how they learn that Sam likes dick just fine, in fact, and that Dean likes even more how much Sam likes it.

Sam runs farther. Dean paces him, one day, when they fell asleep in the same bed and mostly managed to sleep through the night together, except for some moment around three a.m. when Sam kicked too hard and Dean threatened blurrily to murder him or dump him out of the bed, one or the other—and way too early after that, Sam nudged him awake, lacing up his running shoes, said, "Come on," and Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head and then, well, he came on.

Seven in the morning, autumn settling over the farms. Cold enough that Sam's breath fogs and Dean rubs his hands together, sitting in the idling car with the window down while Sam stretches his hamstrings. "You look ridiculous," Dean says, just to say something. Sam ignores him, of course. "How far are we going?" he says, instead, and Sam says, "Thirteen," and Dean checks the odometer and says, "Okay, Speedy Gonzalez, you just say—" and Sam says, "Go," and takes off, and Dean rolls his eyes and lets off the brake, and the Impala rolls forward, chasing Sam down the farm road, the sun glinting behind them so the whole damp stretch of gravel sparks silver. Nine miles per hour is the pace Sam asked for and Dean keeps it going, on the far side of the road while Sam lopes along on the left shoulder, and it's boring but not as boring as he thought it would be. He keeps an eye on the speedometer, makes the turns just behind Sam as the roads weave around the cornfields, the soy beans, the farm that's just gone to dead-dry grass that waves in undulating strange patterns in the morning breeze. He goes through Zepp one side one, side two, switches to AC/DC and cranks it during Big Balls so loud that a bird startles up out of the bushes by the road, and Sam laughs, coughs, keeps running. His pace doesn't slow, not by a step.

Sam stops, finally. An hour and a half, and Dean has to piss. He parks, turns off the car, while Sam breathes hard with his hands on his knees. "How was that?" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, still panting, and Dean can't wait any longer and goes over to the other side of the fence post and communes with the morning.

"Dude," Sam says, vaguely accusatory, but Dean only shrugs, and zips up when he's done. When he turns back around Sam's leaning on the car, sweat slicking his hair back behind his ears, and Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam shrugs. "That was good," he admits, finally. He's drinking the water bottle Dean's had sitting in the passenger seat the whole time. "Too fast to go the full twenty-six, but—yeah. Good."

He looks—content, again. Not smug, not even really glad. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, leans back against the car. Looks out over the little pond, the trees around it. Dean smiles, while Sam isn't looking, and then says, "Well, I left my gold medals at home, but if you want you can run back and get it—" and Sam rolls his eyes, and gets into the passenger side, and Dean gets to fake-bitch then about Sam's stinky sweaty ass on the vinyl, and it's a good morning, like they all are, anymore.

On the way home from a hunt—Ajo, Arizona, and vampires, in what Dean insists is the most ironic job they've ever been on—Sam has Dean stop at a drugstore. Two in the afternoon. Dean heads for the booze aisle and gets a six pack, and swings through the specialty candy and gets some pre-Christmas stocking filler, and then he walks around the aisles looking for Sam, and finds him in—

"Condoms?" he says. Sam glances up at him, holding a box, unfazed. Dean feels the black orb eye of the security camera on the back of his neck and feels—surreal. He tips his head. "I mean, not to go all sex-ed, but it's a little late, don't you think?"

Sam snorts. In lieu of responding he turns the box around in his hand and—not condoms. Astroglide. Dean licks the corner of his mouth and watches an old lady go by with her little cart on the far end of the aisle. "Yeah?" he says, and Sam lifts a shoulder, says, "You have a preference?"

Long time since Dean's had to think about it. He hitches the six-pack onto his other hip and comes and stands next to Sam, looking at the options. Fire & ice, spermicidal. Water-based. Sam's radiating heat, enough to feel six inches away, and Dean thinks about Sam thinking about this: driving through the cold desert, both of them tired after a night of chasing down the vamps, planning to crash in Amarillo. A motel, in Amarillo. He feels boring, normal. Shopping, with a bag of red-and-green Kisses in hand, and the wall of intensely pink pads and tampons looming at his back, and his—brother, waiting, while Dean reaches for the silicone-based KY he used to buy, when he used to have to buy it. The packaging's different but he's guessing the product's the same. He puts it in Sam's hand and Sam looks at it with his cheek sucked in on one side, and then Dean says, "You want something with, I don’t know, electrolytes?" and Sam says, "Yeah," and so Dean goes back to the wall of coolers and pulls out two Powerades, and Sam meets him at the cashier with rolled bandages and aspirin to replace what they used up out of the kit during this hunt, and the woman at the counter glances at their faces as she's ringing them up and Dean says, smiling, "Can I get a two-pack of lighters, too, miss?" and she's like seventy if she's a day but the charm offensive still works, and she's over-the-top as she hands them their receipt and tells them to be well, and Sam's giving him a sidelong look as they take the bags out to the car but, shit, Dean's had enough people giving him looks in his life, and Sam gets to but just about no one else does, now.

A motel, in Amarillo. Raining in west Texas like it never does. They get tacos and margaritas at a hole in the wall and it's still early, when they get back to the room, and Sam checks the stitches on Dean's shoulder—still holding—and Sam takes two aspirins to help with all the bruising on his side, and then Dean eats a Kiss from the mess of the Walgreens bag, and then he tosses the box holding the lube onto the closer bed, and he says, "So," and Sam shrugs, and says, again, "You have a preference?"

Shadow of a smile on his face. Dean gives him a look and Sam raises his eyebrows, all innocence, and Dean says, "You're a dumbass," and goes over and pulls Sam in by that godawful orange jacket and kisses him, and then he goes into the bathroom.

He takes his time. Showers, cleaning up. Leans his forearm against the wall and leans his head against his forearm and pushes his fingers inside, on the thin glide of the little complimentary bottle of conditioner, reminding his body that this is—yeah. This is good. He comes out with a towel loose around his waist and finds Sam mostly-stripped, leaning back on the bed with the TV on mute and his hand in his boxers. Dean glances at the screen—ESPN, showing basketball highlights—and says, "Jeez, you got a kink you haven't told me?" while Sam snaps the TV off, and Sam says, flushed, "Not my fault you took forever," and Dean says, frank, "Figured you wouldn't want any Mr. Hanky guest appearances on our first trip on the backroads, but if you'd rather—" and Sam says, "Jesus, Dean," and Dean grins like an asshole, and Sam rolls his eyes, and—

Sam's screwed women like this before, turns out, and knows to go slow. Dean's on his back, his one leg caught over Sam's arm and the other curled around Sam's hip, and he's not sure slow is slow enough. "Fuck," he says, grinding his head back against the pillow, and Sam kisses his jaw, murmurs, "Sorry," and Dean grips his shoulders and says, through a groan, "No, you're not," and Sam smiles against his skin. Dean knew it. Little shit.

Sam lifts up on one elbow, touches Dean's cheek. He drags his hips back, pushes in. Dean breathes shakily out and Sam's expression changes. "Is it—" he says, but thankfully doesn't ask the stupid question. He leans in, tilting Dean's hips to a new angle, and pushes again, and Dean drags a hand down Sam's chest, and Sam's watching his face, he knows, watching everything, learning him, figuring out what he likes, like he has with every new thing they've tried—probably cataloguing it on some insane chart, like he's been doing with the running—but just now, Dean doesn't care. He didn't realize how much he liked this, or how much he could. "God," he says, gripping Sam's hip, "go—" and Sam, thank christ, for once does what he's told.

Sam sucks him, to finish him off. When Dean's spent, Sam spits to the side, and then slides back up, kissing Dean's nipple and then the sweaty angle of his collarbone and his jaw and his cheekbone and the very end of his eyebrow, for some reason. "Freak," Dean sighs, content, and Sam cups his other cheek and says, "Back at you," quiet, and Dean tips his head in towards Sam's and breathes with him. Sam's mouth tastes like dick and it's a combo Dean is extremely fond of, but that's not, anymore, anything new. He reaches down and holds Sam's dick—still slick, because this is indeed the good lube—and half-hard, and sensitive apparently after doing its work, from how Sam hisses, and squeezes his forearm. Dean says, "If anyone gets to complain," and Sam lifts up then, and watches Dean's face while he slides a hand back between Dean's thighs, and presses gently. Dean bites the inside of his lip but lets Sam try it, and after a second Sam—slides a finger inside, where he's busted Dean open, and Dean lets his knee fall wide with the slick sting, and wonders. How much he could take, if Sam asked.

In the morning, Sam goes for a run. Dean stays very firmly in bed. "How'd it go, Romeo?" Dean says, drowsy in bed when Sam finally gets back, and Sam says, "You know that makes you Juliet?" but then, while Dean's frowning and trying to dredge up a comeback, he says, "Sixteen miles, mostly eight miles an hour, and I brought back coffee," and Dean lifts up enough to see the carrier on the table, steaming, and says, "You're forgiven for the Juliet thing."

He has Sam drive. He's feeling—hard to pinpoint, how he's feeling. Still cloudy, over Texas and then over Oklahoma, and Sam's driving a regular level of fast so they're going to get home around maybe dinnertime. He's thinking about steak—they could stop at that butcher in Smith Center—when Sam says, "Hey, let me ask," and Dean grunts, and Sam says, "What's it like?"

No guessing what he means. Dean says, "I mean, my ass is sore," and Sam rolls his eyes, and he's not being a dick about it or anything, and Dean thinks about how to answer. What's it like.

What came before doesn't matter, so much. They already talked about how only Earth counts, and that's true for a bunch of reasons, but on a physical level there's just no comparison. Even on Earth, though, this was different. What came before was mostly something Dean was okay with, either because he wanted it or because he needed it or because he had a job to do, and he's not someone who dwells on shit that could be different, and he doesn't really wish any of that was different. No point in it, and it doesn't bug him. It was always better, though, when he liked the person, and he got that sometimes, and when he got that it was… good, but. Maybe what he and Sam have isn't romance, isn't some big sweeping thing like from a movie—if Sam tried to sweep him off his feet, or vice versa, they'd probably just bicker and then fall over—but. But. What was it like?

He's been quiet too long. "It feels good," he says, honest. Lame, and Sam knows it, from how he glances across the seat. Random section of I-35, while Sam passes a semi. Dean watches the approaching road rather than look at Sam. "I don't know, man. Hard to describe. When you're with someone and you're figuring out what works, what makes the fireworks, that's the same from either side. But it's…"

Quiet, again. In the corner of his eye he can tell Sam looks at him, and he shifts his weight. His ass does hurt. Sam's got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, in the jockstrap department. That he can get used to; the weird feeling under his breastbone, this thing he's been carrying all morning, that's going to take a little longer, maybe.

"Jessica used to say she felt like she was taking care of me." Said—casual. Dean stares across the bench seat, can't help it, but Sam's just looking out at the road. One hand at ten, the other at about five thirty, his hair tucked behind his ear. His jaw clenching and then unclenching. "I don't know. I didn't get it—felt the other way around, to me—but I always… wondered, I guess."

Taking care? Maybe that's it. Dean finds he's holding his hand over the weird feeling in his chest and shakes his head. Last night: Sam's head bent next to his, Sam's chest against his, his back drenching sweat against the bed, his body loose-open finally to Sam's dick after so long of the punishing stretch. Sam's hips grinding in against his hard and low, and his arms around Sam's shoulders, and his eyes closed and just—taking, feeling the slick parted jolt and feeling Sam quicken and feeling, deep, in this jolted raw way, how Sam was getting close and Sam was winding tight and how Sam was coming, how he hitched and crushed in and breathed strange and didn't make any other sound but held Dean still and close and tight while he unloaded. With other men Dean was tired or sore or impatient, wanting his turn. Last night, he held Sam's shoulders and felt Sam's face duck in to his throat, and Sam's lips pressing there, and he put his fingers in Sam's hair and twined his leg around Sam's and wanted it to go on and on. Perfect.

"Guess you'll have to try it and find out," Dean says, after way too long.

Sam glances at him again, and pulls into the right lane, and settles in for the long drive. "Guess I will," he says, and he's watching the road, and so maybe doesn't notice the deep breath Dean takes, and lets out slow.

It turns out a marathon is not, in fact, twenty-six point two miles. "Technically," Sam says, while Dean's on his back under the Impala, "it's 26.21875 miles."

Dean rolls out on the bench to give that the incredulous look it deserves. On the stool, Sam shrugs. "Why," Dean says, "on earth, ever, would anyone care."

"It's the rules set by the competition," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and slides back under the car. "It's just the length. Same reason a football field's a hundred yards."

"Isn't it the length of the run that Greek dude did?" Dean says, later, chopping up potatoes for salad. Sam looks surprised, but not as annoyingly surprised as he's looked other times. "Did the length of that change, somehow?"

"Dean," Sam says, patient, "I hate to say it, but I am not in charge of the rules committee for marathons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

During dinner Sam's doing math. 26.21875 isn't that much longer than 26.2. In March he did twenty-five miles in three hours and fifty-five minutes, looping back from the pond and then running way out to town and back again, and he's nearly there. "What's the difference between 385 and 352," he mutters, and Dean doesn't bother even attempting to work it out in his head before Sam says, "Thirty-three yards."

"Doesn't seem worth making a whole-ass rule about," Dean says, but Sam's just ignoring him at this point, probably looking at his dumb running spreadsheet, and that's fine. Thirty-three yards, Dean thinks.

There are weird old surveyor tools in one of the archive rooms. One morning when Sam's back from his run, soaking off the ache in the shower, Dean figures out how the hell to use the damn wheely thing, and he walks it off. He drags his boot in the dirt, right in front of the stairs down to the entrance, and then walks it out: ninety-nine feet, up the driveway, out to the gravel road. Almost exactly the length to the gate. Dean smiles, and walks back from the gate, and then marks ninety-nine feet precisely, with his boot and then with three stones, so he'll know.

Sam's planning for May 1. Dean doesn't ask why; he figures he can guess. They find a job, April 21, and it's a family of ghouls that's gross and shitty and time-consuming to put down, but they manage it on the seventh day, at least, so they don't overshoot the deadline. Sam sleeps in the passenger seat while Dean drives straight through all the way back from Pensacola. When they get back to the bunker it's two in the morning and Dean has to shake him awake, and he blinks in the barely-moonlight, and Dean has to say, "Up and at 'em, Sasquatch," for Sam to rouse, and Sam follows him down the stairs and into the bunker and through the dark halls and then, quiet, straight into Dean's bed, barely kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket before he curls over the pillow, sighing into the mattress. Dean stands at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Then he goes upstairs, and does the thing he's been thinking of doing for weeks, and when he finally gets back to bed he strips down to a t-shirt and boxers and slides in right up against Sam's back, and Sam doesn't wake up but he does make this tiny sound in his chest, when Dean's arm goes around him, and Dean sleeps, finally, like the dead.

Thursday's a slow day. Sam's not running again, apparently, until Saturday—he ran pretty flat-out a few times during the hunt, and Dean guesses that's probably training enough. Because he is, in fact, supportive, Dean makes food that Sam actually likes—chicken breast and broccoli and some stupid grain thing that he read was good for slow-release energy, and Sam says, "I didn't know you knew what farro was," which proves that in fact it's Sam who's the dickhead, but then Sam practically inhales all of it, so. Success. They watch Chariots of Fire so Dean can remember the stupid song, and Sam goes and does his weird yoga stretching after that, and then they sit together in the workroom and make silver rounds for a while, since Dean got a load of pawned shitty jewelry in and it's one of those chores that falls down the priority list when bullets are flying, and then when they've packed up the bullet boxes, and there's really nothing else left to do with the day, Sam stands up and stretches with his fingers reaching way up and his body arching, pulling long after the hunched work, and Dean's mouth goes wet, and he says, without much thinking about it, "Hey, Sam," and Sam says yeah without hardly paying attention, and Dean says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Sam looks up at him. Dean lifts a shoulder and Sam takes a visible breath, and he says, "Smooth, Dean," but it's not a no.

Dean shaves, while he's waiting. He takes a whore's bath in his sink, and waits in his boxers just like Sam had, that first time, sitting on the little loveseat in his room. Sam comes back in a t-shirt and unzipped jeans and bare feet, his hair barely wet at the ends, and he frowns at first at the empty bed before he sees Dean, sitting, and Dean says, "Took you long enough," and Sam says, "Don't start."

He's not nervous. He lets Dean kiss him slow, though, laying together on the bed, and with Dean's hand in his jeans, and he's hard all the way and wet at the tip and a tight grip locked on Dean's hip before Dean finally slides his jeans down, feels. Damp, and a little soft, and small, and he rolls his hips back against Dean's thumb, making this deep sound in his chest. "How do you want it?" Dean says, and Sam shrugs and then laughs, shaking his head. "However," Sam says, honest, and Dean rolls his eyes and kisses him and then pulls his jeans all the way off while Sam pulls his shirt over his head, and Dean gets him on his knees, then, pulls his hips back, and applies his mouth to Sam's asshole, and that's not entirely new but Sam yelps, flinching, and Dean has to hook an arm around his hips and hold him in place to lick in deep, like he wants to.

"Tell me," Dean says, and Sam groans. He's reaching past Dean's arm, fisting his dick. His balls warm and heavy, and his body—open, yeah, from the shower, from prepping himself, from knowing how—from watching Dean do it, from doing it himself, sliding his fingers in and working the muscle soft and learning how it can be good. Sam's hips push back and Dean breathes out hot, ducks his head down, suckles one of Sam's nuts and then licks back up over the flattened-wet hair and the crinkle of his hole and scrapes his teeth over one asscheek, and Sam's hand reaches back and grips his shoulder and Sam says, deep, "Are you going to fuck me, or what," and Dean slides up, kisses between Sam's shoulderblades, presses his dick swelling up in his boxers against Sam's ass.

It'd be easier if he kept Sam on his knees. He turns him over instead, and Sam's—god, hot for it, his dick huge and curving up to his navel, his chest flushed in that deep way it gets when he's nearly ready to come, his eyes heavy. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Dean lube himself up, and when Dean slots a slick thumb inside Sam—still tight, christ—Sam's eyelids dip but he just pulls his knee higher, and reaches down and feels Dean's dick, fingers slipping over the head. He gathers his balls up out of the way while Dean pushes up between his legs, and he's watching down between them, avid, for the moment it happens. Dean watches Sam's face instead, and on the push inside—Sam's lips part, and his jaw loosens, and his breath stills, and his eyes—Dean pulls back an inch, slides in deeper, and Sam's face tips up and he meets Dean's stare, dragging in air, gripping Dean's thigh, arching. Dean gets a hand on Sam's jaw and holds him there, their noses brushing, and he feels it, the moment Sam's body ripples. How Sam lets him in.

Sam doesn't come from being fucked. Not that Dean expected him to. Dean holds his balls and kisses his jaw, his mouth, lets Sam bite his lips, while Sam jerks his own dick, and when Sam finally spills he groans, his thighs twitching around Dean's hips and his asshole rippling. Dean slides his hand up, following Sam's, squeezing and getting the wet over his own fingers, and finally his dick slides free from Sam's body. Sam says, low and surprised against his ear, ah, and Dean loves him, is all, and always has, and always will, and now is, really, no different.

"So," Dean says, much later. His head on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's fingers in his hair. "What's it like?"

He'd watched Sam clean up. His nose wrinkling as he wiped between his legs. Sam had said, "You like this?" and Dean had said, "The proof is in the pudding," and Sam had stared at him and then said, horrified, "Never talk again." He'd gone and got them both beers as repayment, and now those are gone, and they've cooled off but the bed's still kind of gross and smells like sweat and jizz and, honestly, Dean's about as comfortable as he ever is.

Sam's fingers go still in his hair. "Huh," he says, after a few seconds' thinking.

"Told you," Dean says.

Sam pulls, what little he can pull, at the top of Dean's head where he should really trim it up. "I'll think of something," he says, and Dean says, "Sure you will, Wordsworth," and Sam says, "I don't know why I thought this would make you less annoying," and Dean says, "It's a gift," but he's smiling, tipped in against Sam's side, and he can't see it but he'd bet that Sam is, too, or at least that Sam's got that dimple tucked into his cheek. Sam's hand spreads, cupping the back of Dean's head, and his mouth brushes Dean's temple. Yeah, Dean decides, warm. Dimple. Maybe two.

On Saturday, Sam goes for the run. His route's pretty simple. Looping west away from the bunker and back for thirteen miles; looping east and back for the other thirteen. The point two gets sorted out somewhere in there, as Dean understands it. He offered, a few months back, to pace Sam in the car if he wanted, and Sam looked surprised but then shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said, and Dean knows it's true. Still, he set out water at few-mile intervals—no one's out here, so unless a rabbit stole one of the stashes Sam should get the benefit—and Sam's pace is pretty damn consistent, so Dean knows when he'll hit the various markers, and knows when he'll be home, when it's done.

Sam stretches easily, on the stairs by the entrance. "If you twist your ankle a mile out, call me, but give me time to laugh," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, dropping his one foot and pulling up the other. "Do you want me to grab a pistol? Starting gun, or whatever?"

Sam shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. "See you in a few hours," he says, and presses a button, and takes off, and Dean watches him go, down the driveway, to the gate, and then turning and running from the morning sun. Nine a.m. Dean checks his watch, and says, "Okay," to no one, and goes back inside to at least do something with the morning.

An hour and fifty minutes later, Dean's leaning on the gate, drinking a beer, when Sam comes running back up the road. "Woo!" Dean calls, sort of sarcastic and sort of not, and Sam's breathing hard when he comes up but he steals the beer right out of Dean's hand, takes a few deep swallows. "Hey!" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, burps abruptly, says, "Thanks for the water," and takes off again, and Dean checks his watch—right on time. Maybe faster. He finishes the beer, tasting Sam's salt on the rim, and then goes and sets up his minimal surprise.

He disassembled the bench those weeks back. Too heavy to move any other way. While Sam's completing the second half, Dean moves the pieces out of the side of the plant where he'd moved them, and puts the thing back together. Big concrete supports; concrete slab, that he about gets a hernia hauling back up into place. He's sweating, when it's done, but it's right at the end of the drive, just in front of his three-stone marker.

It's where he's sitting, forty minutes after noon, with a bottle of the whiskey Sam actually likes on the step, and two glasses waiting to be filled, and the sun coming down soft and easy, not yet hot or humid, not like it'll be later this summer. He stretches out his legs, propped on his arms, and watches down the lane while Sam comes around the corner again. Sweaty, tired, but keeping pace, and Dean doesn't mock or call out or say any of the dumbass shit he could say. Sam pulls out his phone, as he's running down, and Dean knows because he paced it exactly how many steps are left, exactly how far Sam has to go. Sam slows, as he's approaching the marker, and when his sneaker hits the stone he presses something on the phone and it beeps and he says, "Done," and takes a huge deep breath, panting.

He tips his head back on his shoulders, eyes closed. Dean watches him. His heaving chest, the sweat darkening his hair to black at the temples. His body.

"You set up a cheering section," Sam says, finally. "I'm touched."

Dimpling. Dean cracks the bottle, pours two glasses. "What can I say," he says, while Sam tips his head back down, tired. "I'm a fan."

"Sure you are," Sam says, tired. He sits down, finally, and takes his glass from Dean. Their shoulders together, and Sam's knee tipped against his. "Whiskey's probably the opposite of what you're supposed to have after a marathon."

"Well, good thing I'm not a stickler for the marathon rules," Dean says, holding his glass up to toast.

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling, "it is," and lets their glasses clink. They drink, quiet, looking out together at the warm day.

#ffcc #wincest #switching #my writing #trying a slightly different style here #idk if it worked but #it was an interesting experiment #i hope it satisfies

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