#But like my mom could not tell the tone of a conversation unless you smacked her in the head with it

[ironunderstands]

I made a bet with a couple of my friends that when I turn 18 I’m going to go to a doctor and try and get a diagnosis for autism because literally everyone close to me besides my parents (denial both my mother and my father have traits of it too 😭) think I have it. We’re each going to bet ~100, if I have it they earn 50 each if I don’t I earn 200. Or a secret third diagnosis. We shall see in 2 years.

Tbh the peace of mind from a confirmation (or lack of a one) means more than the actual diagnoses to me.

Either way I’m richer and I don’t have autism or I lost money but I can finally make the acoustic jokes without getting mobbed (which is deserved if you don’t have autism in my opinion as stereotypes are not fun 🤩).

I’m not gonna bother to convince my parents because once my dad believes something changing his mind is almost impossible (he’s usually right though so it’s not that frustrating). Annoyingly, my mom’s perception of autism seems to consist of Sheldon from big bang theory and people who aren’t that good at/don’t feel like it/ can’t mask their autistic traits. To be fair to her and my dad both, are doctors who work in intensive fields so they don’t have the time or energy to notice people who fly under the radar. I’d say I act a lot more like Donnie from the new TMNT with the crippling feeling of being constantly perceived by others. Also, I really don’t feel like making an entire PowerPoint presentation explaining to them more in depth what autism is or having this same frustrating and quite frankly embarrassing conversation again so it will happen on my own terms. The thing is even if I don’t end up having it I know I will still share a lot of traits with autistic people, and if I do it will help others understand me better which is nice . Sometimes I feel like the diagnoses that have to do with people’s mental state are more for the people in the patients lives than the patient themselves.

[beautiful-and-terrible]

little things

Rating: Gen

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, SoftBoi!Rodrick, Insecure!Reader

Ship: Rodrick Heffley x Reader

Warnings: Body Image, Eating Disorders / Body Dysmorphia, Insecurity 

A/N: this is. SO shmoopy and cheesy lmaoooo but this was an anon request and i live to please :) enjoy!

---

You dragged yourself through your front door, kicking off your shoes in the foyer. The house was dark - your parents were probably asleep already.

You had just spent the day with Rodrick at Six Flags, and you were exhausted from spending all day in the hot sun, running around with your boyfriend like children. You smiled to yourself thinking about the events of the day, the thrill of the rollercoasters you went on.

You clutched the teddy bear Rodrick had won you close to your chest as you slowly ascended the stairs, trying not to make too much noise.

You entered your room and tenderly placed the bear on the bed, giving it a little kiss on the head as you did so before starting your night routine. Change into pajamas, brush teeth, wash face. As you were putting on your final face cream, your phone vibrated on the bathroom counter. You knew who it was from the specific rhythm of the vibration - two short bursts, like a heartbeat.

Rodrick had sent pictures of you two from today - a lot of selfies, but also a couple of far away shots that Rodrick had harassed people into taking for you. People rarely were able to say no to Rodrick once he had gotten an idea into his head - even if that idea was wrapping himself around a street lamp like a stripper for a good picture.

You finally, blissfully laid down in bed, letting out a giant groan as you cracked your back. You browsed the photos, feeling your heart-rate pick up as you gazed at Rodrick in the pictures. He looked so cute today - he had been wearing cut off black jeans, black high-top vans, and a loose button down Hawaiian shirt, half-way unbuttoned to show off his tanned chest and the multiple layers of silver necklaces he was wearing. His nails were painted black, but his eyes were free of makeup, simply accented by his naturally long eye-lashes and the smile-lines around his eyes.

After admiring Rodrick, you turned your gaze to yourself in the pictures. You felt your heart sink into your stomach. When you had left the house this morning, you had felt pretty confident in your outfit - just ripped jean shorts and a crop-top with converse. But as you looked closer, you couldn’t stop thinking about how unsatisfied you felt with the way you looked in the pictures.

As you continued to scroll through, the more faults you found in your appearance. Your thighs being squeezed by your shorts, which didn’t feel too tight but apparently were not as flattering as you thought. In one picture, you were sitting down on a bench, your legs over Rodrick’s lap, but you couldn’t stop staring at the roll of your stomach that came over the waistband of your shorts. You felt tears pricking your eyes, but you stubbornly refused to cry. You spent a long time trying to feel confident in yourself - you weren’t going to let that hard work be ruined by a few unflattering photos.

However, you couldn’t stop thinking about the way your body looked in those pictures. You got up to stand in front of your full length mirror, looking at the reflection critically. You were craning your neck to look at your butt when you heard a soft tap-tap-tap at the window. You jumped about 2 feet in the air before you realized it was just Rodrick, grinning from outside the window and placing a wet kiss on the glass, making you laugh. He made a grossed-out expression when he realized the glass was not as clean as he thought it was, wiping his tongue on the back of his hand.

“I swear to God, you’re like a toddler. Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to lick random surfaces?” you asked as you opened the window to let him in. He folded himself gracefully through the window, all long limbs and messy hair. You felt both comforted and electrified in his presence.

“Since when have I ever listened to any authority figure?” Rodrick asked, grinning wolfishly and leaning down to kiss you softly, juxtaposing his rebellious tone. For someone with such a seemingly hard exterior, Rodrick was always very gentle and sweet with you. It was one of the things you loved most about him - he seemed to hate everyone but you. It made you feel special and appreciated. 

As he pulled back from the kiss, he frowned, stroking his thumb over your cheek. “Have you been crying? Your eyes are red,” he said, making a pouty face. You shrugged, turning away and shaking your head.

“No, just allergies probably.”

Rodrick scoffed, “Sure, allergies. You’re a bad liar, you know that?”

You refused to look at him, instead going to your record player and flipping through the vinyls you had stacked in a black milk-crate. “I’m not a bad liar,” you said half-heartedly, not really able to come up with any other excuse.

“You totally are, you avoided eye contact and everything. Seriously, what's wrong? Do you not like the bear?” Rodrick asked. You felt his arms wrap around your waist, his chest pressed against your back, his nose tucked into the crook of your neck. You felt yourself smile despite your bad mood.

“No, I love the bear. I named him Sasha Bear-on Cohen. Get it?” you said, turning your head to place a kiss on his cheek.

“Ahh, a-very nice,” Rodrick replied in his best Borat impression. You giggled. He gave you a squeeze, hands warm on your waist, but the sensation made you self-conscious about your body again, and you wiggled away. You couldn’t understand how Rodrick could bear to touch you. You had no idea why he was attracted to you in the first place. It made tears spring to your eyes again, and you sniffled.

“Y/n”, Rodrick said softly, looking genuinely concerned. “I know you. You don’t get sad for no reason - unless you’re on your period, or you start thinking too much about the Mars Curiosity Rover.”

You sighed, but you knew he had a point. It took you a minute to get your thoughts into words before you spoke.

“I just... I know its silly. But those pictures - you look like a Hot Topic wet dream and I look... I don’t know. I just don’t like the way I look. And most of the time I don’t let it bother me - at least, I try - but I hate having my picture taken because whenever I see them, all I can see is the things I hate about myself. So. Yeah.”

You feel the tears making steady rivers down your cheeks, and your voice shakes as you speak. Rodrick listens attentively, sitting on the foot of your bed. He pats the space next to him, and you sit down. His hand rests on your leg - not constraining you or placating you with a hug, just letting you know he’s there.

“Y/n, I don’t know how to tell you this without sounding like a giant cheese-ball, but... holy fuck. You are so beautiful. I - every time I look at you all I can think is goddamn, I can’t believe she’s into a loser like me. And don’t argue, it’s just a fact,” he says quickly as you try to defend him from his own self-deprecation. 

“I’m not good with words... I’m more of a man of action, y’know?” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. You smack him on the arm, but his silly expression still makes you smile.

“But, I can still tell you - and don’t repeat this to anyone ever because I’ll never live it down - you give me butterflies. Every time. No matter if you’re in pajamas or a ballgown. You make me feel like a stack of pancakes with warm butter and syrup,” he pauses as you laugh, his warm brown eyes gazing into yours. “Just... I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point. You make my bones feel funny. That’s how beautiful you are.”

Rodrick finally wraps his arms around you. You let yourself be folded into the embrace, feeling content and more than a little overwhelmed by his confession.

“Thank you,” you murmur, unable to find any other words at the moment. You want to say all of that back to him, ten-fold. You want to tell him he makes you feel like flashing concert lights and Fourth of July fireworks. But your mouth can’t make the words, so you just wrap your arms around him tighter.

“Do you want me to spend the night?” he asks, pressing a kiss to your temple. You simply nod, already moving up the bed and pulling back the covers as Rodrick goes to turn out the lights.

In the dark of the room, only illuminated by the street-lamp outside your house, Rodrick looks very alien - all long lines and lean angles. It makes your heart-rate kick up again, and you feel a blush form on your cheeks. It’s not as though this is the first time you’ve slept in the same bed, or even been intimate, but this feels... different. 

Rodrick tucks himself in next to you on your bed - it’s a queen size, so it fits both of you well enough that you could sleep together not touching if you wanted to. But Rodrick is a big cuddler at heart, even if he would deny it to his grave. He wraps his arms around your waist as you lay your head on his chest, already being lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

You feel like it’s important to tell him before you both lose the tenderness of the moment, so you finally open your mouth to speak.

“I’m so lucky. I know you think you’re... a loser, or whatever but, Rodrick. You aren’t. You are so beyond cool, and brave, and courageous. Thinking about you makes my head spin. And whenever I see you... I’m home.” You trail off, feeling awkward, but Rodrick simply tightens his arms around you, stroking your back with his fingers.

“If I knew we were getting this sentimental I wouldn’t have brought lube... and maybe a few tissues,” he snickers, and you pinch his nipple, causing him to squeal.

“Jerk.”

“Bitch,” he teases back, and you sigh softly, feeling your body and mind relax. You had almost completely forgotten about the pictures - and at this point, you didn’t really care. The pictures didn’t speak. The only voice telling you that you weren’t beautiful was the one inside your head, and it could definitely be a bitch sometimes.

You could’ve imagined it, but as your brain was finally shutting down, you could’ve sworn you heard Rodrick start to sing, “you are my sunshine... my only sunshine...”

“you make me happy... when skies are gray...”

“you’ll never know, dear, how much i love you...”

“please don’t take my sunshine away...”

[stxrrywildflower]

can’t help falling in love (three)

pairing - george weasley x reader

summary - you invite george to be your date to your sisters wedding

warnings - mentions of family/home issues, fighting, deep talks, mentions of anxiety

word count - 3.7k

series masterlist

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“george i don’t think i can do this,” you breathed out. “i haven’t had a proper meal like this with my family in years.”

george woke you up just a few hours ago. he knew you didn’t want to sleep for too long but also realized how much you needed your rest.

you got dressed right away, probably getting ready far too early than you needed to, but you were just so incredibly nervous. you knew there was a strong chance the conversation was going to be turned to you and or george.

still at the desk, george stopped his tinkering immediately, setting down the supplies he was working with to turn to you.

“is everything alright love?” george didn’t want to make any assumptions on your emotions at the moment.

your eyes darted back and forth. “i-i don’t know,” you admited.

george was up and out of his chair in an instant. he took a seat on the bed, patting the space beside him for you to sit down.

you took a seat where he motioned for you to do so. you didn’t say anything at first, not exactly knowing how to put what you were feeling into words. george seemed to understand as he didn’t push you to say anything or start a conversation.

“i just don’t know how i’m going to deal with being with my family. i know it’s stupid for me to get worked up over this but it’s just tough.”

“y/n it’s not stupid. we don’t have to go to this dinner. i have a multitude of excuses i’ve used at hogwarts that can be applied to this as well. and there’s always the prank option, i’m sure i can stir something up if needed,” george started. “your feelings and your well-being matters more then a dumb meal.”

you thanked him quietly, mind still swirling with your thoughts about the night ahead.

“and i swear, if anything happens during dinner that makes you uncomfortable, we’ll leave. you do not owe them anything, especially with the way they’ve treated you.”

“but they’re my family...” you trailed off, feeling slightly guilty.

george moved his hand up to your cheek, turning your head to look at him. “hey, none of that,” he spoke. “yes they may be your family but that does not excuse their attitudes. you deserve more than that y/n.”

“now come here,” george smiled softly. he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to him as his hand moved to run up and down your arm. you leaned into his touch, resting your head under his chin as you allowed your eyes to flutter shut.

“thank you george,” you mumbled, hand moving to stoke the back of his palm. “it means a lot.”

“always y/n. but seriously, we don’t have to go if you don’t want to. i’m sure there’s some place to eat we can find around here,” george offered.

you shook your head. “i think i can make it through.”

george hummed in response. “alright, love. should we head downstairs?”

“yeah let’s go,” you stood up, extending your hand out to george who took it to get up as well.

you took lead in going downstairs first and made your way towards the living room.

“grammy!” you exclaimed, moving forward to hug your grandmother who had just arrived. “ah there’s my favorite little witch,” your grandmother beamed.

you smiled at the nickname. it had been a common one since you got your hogwarts letter.

george barreled down the stairs right after you.

“a weasley!” your grandmother exclaimed. she noticed right away from the ginger hair and familiar facial features. “i can’t believe you brought a weasley home. ah that’s so exciting! now which one are you?”

“george,” he answered with a smile, also moving to hug your grandmother. “fred and the others are back at school.”

“ah george, you and your brother always mix me up. it’s really good to see you, i hope your family is doing well.”

“they are, thank you,” george replied.

you didn’t have time to delve in your conversation about school as your normally would. your grandmother loved hearing about hogwarts, it had been awhile since she was there. while your houses were different, she was a ravenclaw, she still found the different changes extremely interesting.

“dinner!” jasper, your sisters fiancé, had called as he walked in the room. “hey y/n.”

“hey jasper,” you greeted with a small wave. “this is george by the way.”

jasper greeted george with a firm handshake before repeating his prior message. “i think your mum wants us in now so i would hurry.”

you and george took a seat at one end of the table. he was to your left, claiming he was ‘too tall’ to sit in the middle. you didn’t mind, george was your guest after all.

“so cress, what’s your plans for tomorrow?” your mom asked.

you zoned out for the majority of the conversation, not really wanting to listen to your sister go on and on about everything. george didn’t really pay attention either, choosing to rather turn to you and talk about summer break. it wasn’t for a few more months but he figured it would be a good topic to discuss.

“you’re coming home with us again, right? i honestly think my mum is planning on it unless you tell her otherwise,” he spoke.

you nodded. “i think this has been enough family time for the year. as long as i’m welcome i’m there.”george grinned, clearly satisfied with your answer.

“george,” the conversation was then turned to your mock-boyfriend. “why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself? i feel like we haven’t had any time to get to know you.”

“well,” george started, turning to face your family. “i go to hogwarts with y/n. i’m a middle child and a twin so technically i have four older brothers when you factor in the fact that i’m the younger twin. y/n and i are in the same year and same house so we have a lot of classes together-”

“wait houses? which one are you two in again?”

“gryffindor,” george answered with a smile. “it’s the house of the lion. i think our three house traits are courage, chivalry, and determination.” he turned to you for confirmation on the last part to which you nodded.

george ran through the rest of the information like it was rehearsed. your entire family seemed pretty enveloped in his story, all except for cass who was visibly becoming more agitated by the minute.

“anyways!” cass soon interrupted. george raised an eyebrow towards her, clearly taken back by being cut off. you leaned across to rest your hand on top of his. “don’t worry about her,” you whispered.

“jasper, is everything ready with your wedding party?”

you frowned. a wedding party was the one thing you didn’t thoroughly explain well enough to george.

george turned to you for that exact reason, asking with a confused tone, “what’s a wedding party again?”

“you don’t know what a wedding party is? geez do you live under a rock?” cress scoffed from the opposite end of the table.

“cress,” you warned, already feeling your blood pressure rising. you could handle a few bitchy comments but when she came for george, well that was a different story.

your sister narrowed her eyes at you. “what?”

“george comes from what we can a pure blood family. both of his parents are wizard born meaning he is a one-hundred wizard. they don’t know about a lot of the things we do. so if you could calm down and cut him a little-” you tried to explain only for your sister to have finally had it.

“god, can you just shut up about magic for once? we get it you have powers but can you please stop talking about it. this is supposed to be my weekend and my special day. you’re ruining it y/n. god, you shouldn’t even be here.”

the table went dead quiet, no one quite knowing how to reply to the outburst your sister had nor your reaction.

instinctively, you turned to george. his eyes met yours and he just knew. with a gentle hand, he guided you up and out of your seat.

“thank you for dinner, it was lovely.”

with that, george was leading you out of the dining room with his hand on the small of your back.

you made it outside and to a more private section of the yard before you broke. a combination of tears and sobs racked your body. you were far too emotional right now to even feel embarrassed.

george held you close to him, both arms wrapped protectively around your body as you cried. he didn’t mind that his jumper was getting stained with tears, it was more important to him that you were okay.

“i hate it. i hate it so much,” you sobbed. “she hates me so much for no good reason.”

“shhh, it’s okay,” george murmured. “let it out.”

you didn’t know how long the two of you were out there. everything just felt a little fuzzy at the moment.

your tears eventually dried out, a range of hiccups following. george, in turn, moved his hand to run up and down your back. “sorry to let it all out on you.”

“hey,” george pulled away to get you to look at him. “none of that. it’s okay y/n, i promise.”

you nodded, letting out a deep sigh as your head fell again.

george thumbed away the final few tears that fell down your cheeks. “i’m here for you always. i just want you to know that.”

you squeezed his hand gently, conveying a silent ‘thank you�� as you don’t exactly trust your voice at the moment.

“why don’t we go for a ride,” george offered. “to clear your head.”

through teary eyes you looked up towards your friend. “george, neither of us can drive well enough for it to be considered legal. besides, we don’t even have a car.”

a wicked grin passed over george’s face. “i might have planned ahead,” he spoke.

you quirked an eyebrow. you weren’t entirely surprised at his words but you were a little nervous.

“i might have snuck our brooms in our luggage....”

you smacked his arm gently. “george! mcgonagall said no magic. did you even listen to what she said?”

“hey hey hey, brooms aren’t technically magic,” he started. “kids are learning to fly and play quidditch even before they go to hogwarts.”

you thought about it for a moment. “i mean when you put it that way,” you trailed off. george jumped up the second you finished speaking, extending his hands out towards you to pull you up.

george raced inside and up the stairs, returning just moments later with your coats and familiar broomsticks you used for quidditch.

“if mcgonagall finds out i’m blaming you,” you commented.

“fine by me. i’m sure she won’t be surprised.”

you left the house once again, not bothering to stop back in to tell your family where you were going or when you would be back. frankly, you didn’t really care either.

the london air met you with open arms. it was pretty dark out allowing for you and george to be practically unseen on your brooms. you followed george’s lead up into the sky until you were at a comfortable distance to go side by side.

“so!” george shouted. “where do you want to go?”

you shrugged. “don’t know! i’m following you.”

you flew around for close to an hour, diving up and through the clouds and back down again. as the city slowly shut down for the night, george stopped again.

“you want to go talk somewhere? i may know a place,” he spoke.

“let’s go.”

george flew down to the famous london bridge. your eyes widened slightly as his plan clicked in your mind.

you touched down at on one of the top platforms which was thankfully out of view from anyone not in the air. in other words, you were practically hidden.

“damn georgie, didn’t think we would be up here. how much trouble would we be in if we got caught?”

“don’t know,” george spoke. “and don’t want to think about it. all i know is that no one can see us so we should be fine.”

after laying your broom down, you took a seat next to george on the roof-like platform. he was clearly deep in thought, knees drawn up to his chest with an arm wrapped around them.

“what’s on your mind?”

“eh it’s nothing, just thinking about some family stuff,” george answered.

“everything alright?”

“yeah yeah yeah, everyone’s good. besides, this was supposed to be for you.”

you frowned at that. “george, come on. you can talk to me about anything. you’ve done the same for me. what’s on your mind?”

“i don’t want to bother.”

“george,” you warned again. “if this makes you feel better, i could use a distraction.”

it took him a few minutes to say anything. you didn’t mind at all. george’s insecurities weren’t exactly something new, it took him a bit to muster up the courage to even admit he had them.

just as you had moved onto watching the people below on the bridge, george finally said what was on his mind.

“i just feel like i’m always second best, you know?”

you turned to him with slight sympathy in your eyes though you did understand, to some extent, exactly what he was saying.

it’s always been ‘fred and george’ and never ‘george and fred.’ you said it that way, teachers, parents, other kids did too. everyone knew them as fred and george and not the other way around.

sure it was something as simple as name flow but it did get to him at times. almost like he was placed behind his brother.

“it’s just i-i come from a big family-”

“no kidding,” you joked. “sorry sorry, continue.”

george smiled at your words, the corners of his lips upturning. it made your heart full seeing him happy.

“i mean ron and fred are the closer siblings and then then the three older are the same. bill and charlie are off working and percy has his job at the ministry. i know ginny and i are closer but just when you look at the percentages, i always just feel like i’m kinda forgotten.”

it went quiet again. george had just revealed a lot about how he was feeling and you wanted - needed - to chose your words carefully.

“sorry i know that sounds stupid,” he apologized, partially to fill the void.

you turned to him. “it’s not stupid george. like you told me earlier, your concerns are valid. i’m really proud of you for admitting that.”

“i’ve guess i’ve just always felt kinda like an outsider at times. fred and i are always the odd ones out but even then he feels more included. and then you know about my issues with separation.”

you nodded. george wasn’t exactly open about him getting really bad separation anxiety. he’s spent his whole life with siblings and a twin. being around people all the time made it difficult for him to be away from it all.

“and that’s understandable, george. you shouldn’t feel bad for something you can’t control,” you offered.

george hummed at your words. “it just doesn’t help that mum has always compared me to percy if i bring it up since he’s such a ‘model brother.’ just because i’m not the best academically and struggle with something doesn’t mean i should be dummed down, right?”

george almost didn’t believe his final words. george found himself repeating ‘right?’ over and over to himself as if to reassure it in his mind.

his voice fell off, all signs of an incoming sob becoming apparent. you reached out to grab his hand, pulling him a little closer before bringing his hand up to kiss his knuckles.

“george i mean it when i say you are are one of the smartest and strongest people i have met. i would be lying if i said your brain didn’t work a different way from other peoples but that’s what makes you who you are. you shouldn’t change for other people, i promise.”

with that, the first wave of tears flowed down george’s cheeks. his words meant more to him than you would ever know.

“have i ever told you why cress and i don’t get along? i’ll only tell you the story if you want a topic change.”

“yeah that would be nice actually,” he agreed, hand still loosely interlocked with yours.

you took a deep breath. george knew about your family issues but like you’ve said before, no one knew the extent of it.

“cress and i have a pretty big age gap. i mean that’s obvious. she’s getting married tomorrow and we’ll i’m still learning how to make potions and playing quidditch at school,” you started. “but since i’m muggle-born, it’s common for wizard abilities to skip around.”

george squeezed your hand gently, a silent reasurrence to your next sentence.

“well, i wasn’t born yet but when cress was ten, she didn’t get a hogwarts letter. barely even knew about the school either. and then when i was finally ‘of age’ you could say, i got my letter. i can’t even put into words how angry cress was. i swear she screamed at me for a full day straight and refused to talk to me for a good month. she made it seem as though i was the worst person alive for getting these abilities.”

“but you aren’t,” george jumped in. “it was a rare chance for either of you to even inherit your grandmothers powers.”

“exactly,” you agreed. “and it’s just so frustrating because i didn’t ask to be born like this. i didn’t chose to be thrown into the wizard life. i didn’t agree to get a letter to hogwarts and she just has never understood that. it’s turned into a one-sided sibling rivalry ever since.”

“i’m sorry y/n. you truly don’t deserve that,” george spoke.

you shrugged. “it’s taken me awhile and tonight may have been a little contradicting of that but i’m trying to move past it. in no way do i plan on restoring our bonds but i can at least act civil.”

george agreed instantly with your words. the conversation died down after that. both of you had gotten multitudes of feelings off of your chests and the aftermath of it was hitting a little hard.

you stayed on the bridge until it became near unbearable to. it was still pretty cold at night. george’s cheeks and nose were flushed pink, a key attribute to your reasoning.

“are you ready to go?”

“yeah yeah, let’s go back.”

after mounting your brooms once more, you descended back into the london night.

you arrived back to your home after midnight, touching down softly in the backyard almost silently.

the house was quiet by now, most of the lights being turned off as people slowly started heading off to bed. your dad and jasper were the only two still awake, sitting on the deck together and talking. you were sure it was about the wedding.

they were clearly startled by your presence, neither used to seeing magic let alone people flying on brooms. your dad got up first, opening his mouth to speak as you and george stepped up into the deck.

“look y/n-”

george held up his hand, your dad going quiet the moment he saw it. “leave it.”

with that, george grabbed your hand gently as you headed inside. “do you want to go up to bed?” he asked. you nodded, “yeah that sounds nice.”

you reached your shared room rather quickly, george taking your broom out of your hands to put away. your brooms were placed back into their concealment. to be honest, after seeing how they were packed, you realized how you didn’t notice george brought them at first.

“i’m going to go get changed, are you alright?” george asked.

you nodded. “go ahead, i need to change too.”

george exited the room before returning a few minutes later, dressed down in a pair of flannel pants and his most recent christmas initial sweater. “cozy?” you mused. george hummed, “very.”

you, on the other hand, were still cold. london at night, especially on the top of a bridge, was absolutely freezing.

the two of you got further ready for bed in silence. george closed the door and turned off most of the lights as you tidied up some of the mess from the day.

subconsciously, your mind had drifted as you were folding your clothes. sure you and george had your deep talk but there were still unanswered questions you had, especially with everything going down tomorrow.

“y/n?” george’s voice cut through your haze.

you hummed, turning around to face him. “are you coming to bed?” he added.

“yeah, sorry.”

“no need to apologize,” george spoke.

he flipped the covers forward, patting the spot next to him in bed for you to lie down. you slid in beside him, only leaning over to turn off the bedside lamp.

“are you cold? i can practically feel your chattering from over here,” george teased.

“freezing,” you answered.

george shifted slightly to face you, opening his arms with a small smile barely visible in light only peaking in from the moon. “come here.”

in an instant you were burying yourself in his chest, his natural body heat warming you up in an instant. george chuckled quietly, “is that better?”

you moved your head to rest on his chest, arm falling across his stomach. he, in turn, wrapped his arm around to rest on your back and pull you closer to him.

just as your coldness had melted away, so did your mutual doubts about the awkwardness of sharing a bed. it was comfortable actually, being wrapped up together.

“thank you for tonight georgie,” you whispered.

“thank you y/n,” george repeated. “sleep good, alright?”

you hummed, mumbling a ‘goodnight’ before slowly shutting your eyes.

despite being near exhausted from the entire day, your mind was still racing. everything just felt wrong and you needed some - any - reassurance that something was going right.

“hey george?” you eventually spoke into the darkness, unsure if the man you were literally laying on top of was even awake.

it took a moment for him to respond, his slight shifting being a key factor.

“yes love?”

“you’re my best friend, you know that right?”

george chuckled quietly. “yeah i do. and your mine as well.”

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

tagging - @goldenxreid @wilburxpancakes @sunlightgalaxy @criminaly-supernatural @blakes-dictionxry @mrs-dr-reid @weasleytwinsfav @theguppienamedbae @fadesbrina

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Smalltown Bringdown 5 (Ending)

Warnings: blood, violence, noncon (fingering).

This is dark!biker!Bucky and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Bucky makes his claim.

Note: So, as I said, I wanted to keep this short so this is the final chapter. To me, it’s pretty much all I wanted to do with the series, although I am leaving open the possibility of an epilogue in which we find out what exactly happened to reader’s dad but besides that, we have it all wrapped up. Anyway, enjoy. To those who take the time to read, thank you. Love you guys!

Please, leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

The afternoon wore on and evening seeped into the air. You sat among the women and absently listened to their conversation. You weren’t really concerned with the club or the men or whatever menial gossip was swapped. It was, you mused, a lot like Birch. Everyone had something to say about everyone else but never to their face. 

You finished your beer slowly and set the bottle on the table beside you. You checked the time and peeked across at Bucky. He caught your eye as he leaned back and nodded at whatever the men at his table were discussing. He winked and pushed his shoulders back. You looked at your phone and opened your mother’s text. You assured her you were okay and went back to admiring the trim along the wall.

There was a shift in the room. Chyka’s voice quit its droning and she elbowed you. You looked to her sharply as a shadow neared the couch. She gestured towards it and you followed her gaze. The head table was suddenly empty and the men casually scattered. Bucky traipsed over to you with a hand in his pocket.

“All done, honey,” He announced as he stopped before you. “How are you ladies doing over here?”

“Just getting to know yours,” Chyka chimed. “She’s got some teeth.”

“Oh, she does,” He tapped his toe impatiently, “Excuse us.”

He motioned for you to follow him with two fingers before he turned away. You reluctantly pushed yourself up and grabbed your jacket and purse as you followed him. He led you towards the wall as the other members buzzed around you. You crossed your arms as he spun to face you.

“We done then?” You asked. “It’s getting late.”

“You can call your ma and tell her you’ll be home tomorrow,” He smirked. 

“What? No.” You shook your head. “I’ll take a bus then. I’m sure there’s one leaving before--”

“No. You’re staying.” He insisted. 

“I wasn’t asking,” You huffed. “I gotta get home. Tomorrow--”

“Well if you’re not asking you’re surely not telling me,” He warned. “You don’t tell me nothing.”

You tilted your head and seethed at him quietly.

“So, you call your mom or I will,” He said.

You glared back at him but made no move to pull your phone out. He sighed and chuckled darkly. His tongue flicked across his lips as he considered you.

“Fine, no call,” He accepted. You flinched as he grabbed your purse and jacket from you. “I’m done arguing, honey.”

You stumbled back in surprise and he was quick to bend and scoop you up. You cried out in surprise and you sensed the eyes of those around you as he slung you over his shoulder. With your coat and purse in his other hand, he turned and marched past the men. You were too embarrassed to look around. You could only imagine the smug amusement of Chyka and her jackals.

You grabbed at the bottom of his jacket but he ignored your struggles as he left the room. He stopped before the elevator and snickered as you pushed on his lower back and tried to slip from his grasp. Your hand smacked against his ass without thinking and the doors slid open.

“Oh, honey, we’re gettin’ to that,” He teased. You kicked your legs and he slapped your ass as he stepped into the elevator.

“Let me go!” You wriggled on his shoulders. “You’re fucking crazy. You can’t do this--”

“Sure I can.” He clung to your legs. “Who’s gonna stop me?”

“I’ll scream,” You said.

“And? I own this place, honey,” The doors dinged and opened. “And you gotta realize by now…” He felt around in his pocket with his other hand. “... that I own you too.”

He came to a door and swiped a card. He turned the handle as it clicked and kicked the door open. He entered and closed the door with his heel. You reached out for the wall, the lamp, anything as he strode into the suite. You pulled your leg back to knee him in the chest but he was quick to toss you onto the sofa.

“Hey!” He raised a finger in warning. “You stop that now.”

“Fuck you,” You got to your feet and tried to shove past him. He dropped your jacket and bag and caught your wrists. “Let me outta here!”

“I’m done playing nice with you, girl,” He pushed you back again and you fell onto the couch as your knees hit it. “So let’s get this straight. If you were a man, I’d have shot you back in that diner; done worse to you at that liquor store; castrated you for disrespecting me in my own establishment,” He cracked his knuckles as he spoke. “Now, I thought you were understanding all this by now. You behaved so nicely down there but my patience is through with you.” He tugged his jacket down his shoulders and dropped it to his wrists. “I know you’re not stupid so why don’t you stop acting like it.”

“Bucky,” You were taken aback by his tone; by the fire in his eyes. You slowly sat up and gripped the edge of the couch.

“You thinking of running?” He draped his jacket over the chair as he moved around deliberately. “You think of your daddy. Think of how far he got.”

“Don’t--”

“No, don’t you tell me what I’m gonna do,” He growled as he stomped towards you. “You’re gonna do what I tell you to.”

“Please--” You tried to stand and he pushed you back down.

“Listen, honey,” He bent to your eye level. “You’re not standing up unless it's to take that pretty little dress off and show me what you’ve been keeping from me. You’re not gonna speak unless I say so. You’re not gonna move without my permission, you hear?”

You searched his eyes. They were dilated and sinister. You gulped and nodded slowly. He smiled and stood straight. He stretched his shoulders and cracked his neck as his hands rested on his belt. His fingers were deft as he unbuckled it and you cringed as you looked away.

He grabbed your hands and placed them on the top of his jeans. You refused to look at him as he held them there. 

“I know you’re not as innocent as you pretend to be,” He sneered. “And I know that mouth does more than talk.”

Your eyes shot up and bored into him. Your lip curled in distaste and he smiled at your sheer anger. He pushed your right hand down slightly and pressed it to his bulge. 

“Go on,” He purred.

You shuddered and your eyes fell to your hands. He pulled his away and you carefully began to undo his fly. You tried not to shake as you did. You could sense his smirk, his unadulterated gloating as he watched with hands on his hips. You pushed his zipper down and he let out a breathy groan. You paused and braced yourself.

He helped you push his jeans down past his hips and you gripped the elastic of his briefs. You paused and urged yourself on. There was no way to make this easier, only that it would be over eventually. You hooked your fingers beneath the fabric and pulled it over his erection. You wanted to close your eyes as you bared his cock but you fought to keep a semblance of calm.

You pulled his briefs down below his dick and he grabbed your hand. He forced it around his length and held it there. He slowly drew away and pushed his hips towards you. You could feel him watching you. You began to move your hand. It was like it wasn’t yours, like you were watching someone else.

He moved closer, a none so subtle gesture. You swallowed and leaned forward until your lips hovered just before his tip. Just do it, get it over with. Your mouth touched his smooth helmet and you closed your eyes as you parted your lips. The low hum that rose from him almost deterred you. You forced yourself to continue on; to take him until he poked at the back of your throat.

His hand grasped your shoulder as you pulled back and began a steady rhythm. You pressed your tongue to him and the sickly sounds of your saliva swirled around you. He caught the back of your head as he reached your throat again and urged you to take more of him. You choked as he pushed himself past your gag reflex and you clawed at his jeans.

He rocked his hips as he held your head in place. You gasped and gulped around him as his pace picked up with each thrust. You trembled as he fucked your throat raw and you tried to pull away from his grasp. He sank to his limit and backed away from the couch as he dragged you with him. You clung to him as you tried not to fall, your legs at an awkward angle beneath you.

Slowly, he let you go and slipped his cock from your mouth. You caught yourself as he backed away and you fell onto your knees. His cock dripped with your spit and sent a chill through you. You tried to catch your breath as he circled you.

“Get that dress off,” He ordered as you touched your sore throat with a grumble. “You better do it yourself or you’ll have nothing to wear tomorrow.”

You pushed yourself back onto your heels and shakily climbed to your feet. You unzipped your boots first and kicked them away clumsily. You stood straight and tugged at the collar of your dress. You lifted it over your head and revealed the plain cotton underwear beneath. The beige bra and panties were barely attractive and more worn than supportive.

He neared you and you shied away. He caught the strap of you bra and let it snap against your skin. “We’re gonna have to work on this,” He remarked as his tongue poked out as his hand fell to your panties. “And you know… you won’t be needing these.”

You inhaled and caught his hand as it pushed down your panties. You stared at him and his eyes flashed. He gripped your hand and pulled it away from your hip. He smiled as his eyes drifted away from you. 

You followed his gaze as it fell on the pair of sliding doors. He released you and crossed to them. He pulled the long curtains back and revealed the balcony overlooking the city. 

“Naked.” He demanded. “You got ten seconds, honey.”

You wanted to snarl back at him but you were completely speechless. Was it fear? Humiliation? Surrender? You unhooked your bra swiftly and let it fall before you. He spun back as you shimmied out of your panties and he grinned. 

“Come here,” He said as he reached behind him and slid the door open. You stared at him and didn’t move. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”

You hesitated but placed one foot in front of the other. As you neared him, he caught you around your waist and drew you to him. His hand cupped your tit and he watched his thumb toy with your nipple. He slowly back through the door onto the balcony, dragging you as you tried to plant your feet.

“Not like this, please,” You begged. “Bucky--”

“Shhh,” He bent his head and nuzzled your neck. He continued to play with your tit as he kissed and nibbled at your neck. 

He turned you and guided you back until you collided with the glass railing with its golden trim. It was cold and the air wrapped around your warm body. The dimming sky cast shadows around the balcony and sent a shiver through you.

Bucky’s hand grazed your sides and around your ass. He squeezed and lowered them to your thighs. He lifted you until your ass rested on the metal bar and you clung to him in fear. He kept a hand on your hip as he felt around between you. He raised his head and pressed his nose to yours as he rubbed his cock along your folds.

You were frozen in fear and anticipation. You could feel the drop behind you, the precariousness of your position splintered your nerves. He inched inside of you and you turned your face away from him as your walls clenched around him. You were wet and wanting and you couldn’t hide it.

“Oh, honey,” He purred as he dragged his lips across your cheek. “You can’t lie to me.”

He impaled you entirely as you bit your lip. He was slow at first, tilting his hips deliberately as your thighs shook in a mixture of terror and delight. His heavy breaths mingled with your own and he slipped you forward slightly. He lifted you so that your thighs tensed around him and moved your body in time with his.

His pelvis rubbed against your clit as he sped up. He bounced your body against his, the clapping of flesh echoed in the open air. Your moans rose without thought, without restraint, and his growls underlined them in an obscene symphony.

He turned and carried you back to the doors. He pushed you against the glass, your sweaty skin sticky against it. The doors rattled each time he sank into you as he thrust harder and harder. He slapped his hand onto the glass beside your head and crashed his lips against yours. He forced his tongue in your mouth as he drank you in.

You panted into his mouth as he inhaled your pleasure. He parted only as you gasped and turned your chin up. You quivered wildly as you were swept up in the euphoria. Your core flared and you clawed as his shoulders as you came with a sharp whine. Your anger grisled in your throat as you succumbed to your orgasm.

Bucky’s thrusts turned jerky and almost frantic. He gripped the edge of the open door as he pounded into you. His grunts slithered into your ear as he growled into your neck. He gave a low rasped and bit into your flesh as he spasmed. You felt his hot cum spill inside of you and he eased himself through his climax.

He stilled and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. His breath fogged it as he caught his breath. He kept you on him and pulled you away from the door. You wiggled helplessly as he carried you back inside. You murmured as it sent a tingle through you. His steps were clumsy as he found his way to the bedroom and you pushed on his shoulders.

“Please…” You pleaded. 

Your cunt began to throb around him painfully. You weren’t sure if you wanted more or for it to be over. You were weak; insignificant. Just a small town girl with no way out. You were nothing and he had you in the palm of his hand. 

He fell onto the bed with you beneath him and his cock poked your cervix painfully. You hissed as you were pinned to the mattress. He cradled your head in his hand as he rested his head beside yours and his lips grazed your ear. 

“We’re not done yet,” He snarled. “Not…” He thrust, “Even,” Again, “Close.”

END

[maddestzoomer]

beautiful sunrises

request from anon - Hi! Can I please request a oneshot Robin x fem! reader where robin loves sunrises and the reader doesn't? And maybe like, could you make it so Robin comes out to the reader as having a crush on her? Just something crazy soft. Thanks!

summary - robin wakes the reader up so the two of them can experience a beautiful sunrise together. in doing so, the two of them have a needed conversation. 

warnings - there’s some slight referenced homophobia and some slight cursing, but other than that, this is just a super soft story!

word count - 1.5k

a.n. - i really enjoyed writing this story, and i hope whoever requested this enjoys reading it! let me know your thoughts on this story, if you have any :)

-

Robin had always loved sunrises. That's nice, but you loved to sleep. Plus, to you, they looked the same every day anyways.

The two of you had shared a room in an uncomfortably small apartment. You have the bed, and Robin has a shitty-blow up mattress- for now, at least. Your grandmother owned the apartment, and allowed for you the two of you to live there.

She had a house of her own to stay in; one you had always found fascinatingly beautiful thanks to its Victorian style and dark color scheme.

Robin had recently been kicked out of her mother's home for reasons she absolutely refused to say- causing her to show up at your door one night with puffy eyes, a red nose, and a bag of clothes. You, of course, immediately welcomed her with open arms.

The two of you had only lived together for a week so far, and if you're being completely honest with yourself, you loved having her around. She could cook, she had an amazing taste in tunes, and she somehow enjoyed cleaning. Not only that, but she never failed to make you smile.

The only problem was those goddamn sunrises.

"C'mon, Y/N, it's beautiful out!" Robin said, pulling back the dark curtains that kept your room comfortably safe from the brightness outside. "I promise, it's totally worth looking at."

You softly groaned in response, turning over slowly.

Even though your head ached from whatever stupid thing you'd done the night before, even though your blankets were the softest things you'd ever felt over your eyes, you looked up from your comfortable mountain of pillows and out of the window she held open for you.

"C'monnnn, get up, Sleeping Beauty." Robin said with a beautifully bright smile. The fact anyone could manage to be so beautiful this early in the morning simply astounded you.

Playfully, you roll your eyes. Robin had picked up the habit of calling you 'Sleeping Beauty', a nickname you surprisingly didn't hate. In fact, the first time she called you Sleeping Beauty, a soft blush dusted your cheeks and your stomach twisted in knots.

"I made coffee with cinnamon, just the way you like." She said, now closing the curtain. "Come drink a cup outside with me."

You sighed deeply, throwing your blanket from your body before swinging your legs over the side of your bed. Yawning, you rub your eyes.

"What time is it even anyway?" You question, standing up. Your feet were greeted with cold wooden floors, flooring that never failed to send a shiver up your spine.

"6:02." Robin replied, running a hand through her hair. If you had it your way, you'd get another solid three hours before even contemplating getting up. But there was something special about Robin, something that made you want to get up and just be with her.

"You're not gonna regret this." She said with a smile before leaving the room, likely to go slip on some shoes.

Once alone, you stretched and threw on a Hawkins High sweater-shirt, then slipping on a pair of black flip-flops.

You walked from your room, each step being announced by your flip-flop making a soft smacking sound on your heel.

There Robin stood, two cups of coffee in her hand and a small smirk pulling at her lips.

You smiled a small moment, running a hand through your locks. "You never fail to amaze." You said as you took your cup from her. Robin could make an absolutely amazing cup of coffee, and she knew it.

"Why, thank you." Robin chirped, opening the door for the two of you to walk out of.

Thankfully, your apartment was settled on the first floor, which meant you didn't have to walk up and down stairs every day to get home.

Robin led the way, heading towards the back door.

There's something so strange about the fact you now have Robin living with you. Just a week ago, the summer was gearing up to be hot, boring, and lonely.

Now, while it may still be hot, it definitely won't be boring or lonely. And you were thankful for that- even if you didn't know how to express it.

Soon, the two of you walk outside, being greeted with a warm breeze that hugged your skin and messed your hair.

You took a seat on the stairs, Robin joining next to you.

The both of you remained silent as you gazed up at the sky.

It truly was stunning. Vibrantly pink and orange clouds were visible, with a beautiful fluffiness you almost couldn't comprehend. The sun itself was only just beginning to make an appearence from behind the clouds, allowing for hazy rays of pure shine to jet out in seemingly random pockets of beauty.

The air was sweet now with the smell of lilacs and grass, making lovlieness swirl around in your lungs and mind.

Robin, however, wasn't looking at the sunrise. She couldn't help from staring at you- at the way your eyes were glossed over with vibrant pinks and oranges, at the way your lips parted slightly in awe of what was before you, at the way your hair was an absolutely gorgeous mess.- and you noticed this.

Looking to her with a small smile, you raise an eyebrow. "I thought the whole reason we came out here was to watch the sun rise."

"Yeah..." But I'm watching something even more beautiful than any sunrise I've ever seen before, Robin thought. "But I just like seeing your reaction. It's cute." She said. Fuck- was adding the word 'cute' too much? Fuck.

Softly, you blush, looking away and down to your cup of coffee. Cute. A simple word, one you never paid much mind to. You had been called cute before. In fact, you used to dislike the word 'cute' because of how childish it sounded. But now- due to it falling from her lips- it couldn't help from buzzing around your in mind.

"Umm... Y/N?" Robin softly asked. She noticed the blush on your cheeks, and felt the need to say something. She looked to the sky, seeing more soft pastel pinks and oranges than before. Already, she felt a lump growing in her throat.

"Hmm?" You softly hummed, looking over to her. Her change of tone was somewhat concerning. It felt like the tone people took up when they had something bad to say.

"I uhh... I wanted to tell you why my mom kicked me out." She said. She still wouldn't look at you, which made anxiety begin to brew in the pit of your stomach. Why wouldn't she look at you? Why was her voice in that tone? Why was her freckled skin growing pale?

"Oh? Alright." You said with a small smile. "But umm, Rob, you don't have to. Like- not unless you're absolutely sure you want to."

Your words of comfort drew a small, unsure smile to Robin's lips. Would you hate her after this? Fuck...

"Well, Y/N..." She took a deep breath in, one that made her chest dramatically rise and fall. "I was writing a letter for someone really special to me that just spoke about how much I like them and how beautiful and smart and funny I think they are-" She said quietly, cutting herself off from rambling. She could feel her pulse pumping under her skin- in the back of her throat.

You tried your best not to frown, not to express the million questions you had swarming around your brain. Who was this someone? You weren't jealous- no. You weren't about to even let yourself think you were jealous... But still, envy found a way to grown tight vines around your mind.

Robin's jaw clenched as her gaze dropped from the sky and to the uncut flowing grass below. "My mom found the letter and..." She wet her lips "and she made me tell her who it was about." She murmured softly. Her grip on her mug was growing considerably tighter. 

She went silent for a few moments.

"It was about you, Y/N." She finally choked out. "I-It was about you."

You frowned in confusion, along with a bit of shock. "Me?" You repeated. Maybe you're just misunderstanding what she's saying-

Robin brought her dark blue eyes to your own and nodded. "I like you. I like you a lot." She said softly. Her insides were squirming. God- what was the expression you had on your face? Horror? Disgust? Hatred?

A smile pulled to your lips, one that absolutely radiant- one that took Robin's breath away for a moment. There wasn't anything except for absolute joy and... maybe even love in your eyes.

Taking her hand into your own, you gave it a gentle squeeze. 

"I like you too, Robin."

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan modern AU: Feel

Chapter 8 of Inadvisable (professor Solas AU with Felassan and Abelas) is posted!

A special focus on Felassan and Tamaris today as Tamaris meets him, against her better judgment, for a date.

~7600 words, and I’m too lazy to format them all here; half the chapter is here. Read the whole thing on AO3. 

********************

-TAMARIS -

Tamaris closed her bedroom door and headed to the main room, where Nare was sitting with her laptop. “I’m going out,” she announced.

Nare looked up with a smile. “That’s great – ooh, you look cute!” Her eyes darted over Tamaris’s tight jeans and flowy low-backed black top. “Are you meeting a guy?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Just someone from last night.”

Nare’s eyes went wide. “What? You didn’t mention that you met someone!”

Tamaris waved dismissively. “It wasn’t worth mentioning. He’s just a guy.” This was a bit of a lie; her kiss with Felassan last night was exactly the kind of gossip Nare would have loved to hear about, especially given Nare’s dry spell for the past couple of years. Tamaris would usually have told the dirty details to both Nare and Athera without giving a shit, but for some reason, she didn’t feel like telling them about Felassan.

Unaware of Tamaris’s fib, Nare nodded. “Fair enough. So I guess you’ll be back late then?”

“You got it,” Tamaris said as she pulled on her leather jacket.

“Have fun,” Nare said cheerfully. “Take a condom.”

Tamaris snorted. “Thanks, Mom.”

At the other end of the apartment, Athera poked her head out of her bedroom. “Is Tamaris going out?”

“Yes,” Nare called back. “And she looks really cute.”

Tamaris shot Nare an exasperated look. A moment later, Athera appeared. “Aw, you do look super cute! Have fun! Take a condom!”

Nare grinned, and Tamaris tsked at them and shoved her feet into her boots. “Uh-huh. You better be asleep by the time I get back, you fucking nerds.”

They laughed, and Tamaris gave them a tiny smile before leaving the apartment. 

The meeting place she’d chosen was a smallish bar called The Neighbour’s House that she and the girls had been to a few times before. It had dim lighting and comfortable couches and booths, and the bartenders played a good mix of 80s new wave and lo-fi hip-hop. Importantly, it was in the opposite direction of the university, so the clientele boasted fewer students than the bars that were closer to campus.

She headed to the bar on foot. It was only about a fifteen-minute walk away, and she was due to meet Felassan in five minutes, which was perfect timing: by the time she got to the bar, he was already there.

It took her a minute to find him, though. He was sitting all the way at the back on one of the charmingly worn leather couches, and despite his undeniable good looks, he still managed to blend into the crowd somehow, making him oddly unnoticeable unless you were looking for him. Once Tamaris did spot him, her belly did a little twist. 

He was just as attractive as she remembered. He was wearing nicely fitted black jeans and clean Converse sneakers again, and his hair was still tied back in that loose but elegant bun at the nape of his neck. But he had switched out the t-shirt for a dark grey button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and Tamaris could openly admit that his forearms looked hot as hell. 

He was scanning the bar with a neutral expression, but when his eyes landed on Tamaris, his face lit up with a smile. He shifted over on the couch to make room for her. “You kept me waiting on purpose, didn’t you?” 

She considered lying, then decided she didn’t care enough to lie. “Yeah,” she said as she sat beside him. “I didn’t want to risk being talked to by random strangers if I got here first.”

He chuckled. “I really should be flattered that you deigned to even look at me last night, shouldn’t I?”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said dryly. “You don’t want to puff up your Arlathani sense of superiority.”

“Ah yes. Thank you for the reminder,” he said. “I’m not quite ready to have you write me off just yet.” He raised a hand to flag down a waiter, and Tamaris shot him a funny look. What made him think she was going to write him off right away? Not that he was necessarily wrong, since she was planning not to see him again after tonight. But what made him think that? And why would he care about keeping her around?

A waiter sauntered over with a smile. “Hey. What can I get for you?”

Felassan looked askance at her, and she looked up at the waiter. “I’ll have an Iron Lady.”

Felassan smiled at the waiter. “The usual for me. Thank you, Krem.” 

The waiter touched his fingers to his forehead in a casual salute before walking away, and Tamaris looked at Felassan in surprise. “You know the waiter?”

“I know the names of all the staff here,” he said.

“How?” she asked. “Do you work here or something?”

He shook his head. “No. I live just up the street.”

She nodded an acknowledgment. That made things convenient if she was going to go home with him tonight. “You come here a lot, then?”

“Reasonably often,” he said. “They serve good food here earlier in the day.”

“Oh,” she said. “I actually didn’t know that. I’ve only ever come here at night before.”

“I figured that to be the case,” he replied.

Tamaris raised one eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that I took you for a night owl,” Felassan said. “Was I wrong?”

“No,” she said, a little suspiciously. 

He bowed his head politely. “it’s not a bad thing. I consider myself a night owl as well.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You sent me a message at eight o’clock this morning.”

“I did, didn’t I?” he mused. “I also have a strange tendency to wake up early.”

“So are you a night owl or a morning person, then?” she demanded.

He quirked an eyebrow. “Maybe I’m both. Maybe it depends on the season or the day.”

Tamaris narrowed her eyes. “You like doing this, don’t you?”

“Doing what?” he asked. 

“Talking in circles around people,” she said bluntly. 

He gave her a slow smile that made something simmer to life in her belly. “Call it an old habit,” he said. “You are the only person who has ever called me on it, though.”

She huffed. “You must spend a lot of time around stupid people, then.”

He laughed brightly, and the sound of his mirth heightened the feeling of heat in her stomach. “Or maybe you’re just extremely rude,” he said.

She smirked. “You’re right about that. Which begs the question of why you messaged me this morning in the first place.”

He draped his arm along the back of the couch, and a shiver traced down her spine at the nearness of his arm to her shoulders. “I could equally ask why you replied, if you find my so-called ‘talking in circles’ to be so obnoxious.”

“I didn’t say it was obnoxious,” Tamaris said.

“That’s kind of you,” he said pleasantly.

“I didn’t say anything kind, either,” she retorted. 

Felassan grinned. “Now who’s talking circles around whom?”

Tamaris snorted and folded her arms. At that moment, their waiter reappeared with their drinks, and Tamaris nodded a silent thanks as he set the glasses on the coffee table. Once he was gone, she took a sip of her drink before leaning back on the couch with her arms folded.

“Just answer the question,” she said. “Why did you message me?”

“I’ll answer your question if you answer mine,” he said. 

She rolled her eyes. “For fuck’s sake, fine. You first.”

“My answer is simple,” he said. “I messaged you because I had an exceptionally good time last night.”

“But you walked away.”

“I certainly did. But if it puts your mind at ease, rest assured that you lingered on my mind for the rest of the night.”

She eyed him beadily. That was very smooth. “If you had such a good time, why did you leave?” she asked shrewdly.

His cheeky smile widened. “Would you have replied to my message this morning if I had stayed last night?”

Damn it, he was right. She lifted one sardonic eyebrow. “Well, you’ve got me all figured out. I guess I don’t need to tell you why I replied.”

“Come now, that’s unfair,” he said. “I want to hear it in your own words.”

“Looking for me to stroke your ego, are you?” she said snidely.

He pulled a mock-sad face. “Listen to you, assigning such distasteful motives to me. It’s very hurtful, you know.”

His tone was a humour-filled drawl, and Tamaris couldn’t help but smile just a tiny bit. “Uh-huh.”

He chuckled and casually crossed his ankle over his knee. “Truthfully, I am curious why you replied. I was uncertain whether you would.”

She shrugged. “You’re interesting. Or original, at least.”

His eyebrows rose. “Original? How so?”

“Your talking-in-circles thing,” she said.

“Oh, so you do like it,” he said brightly.

“It’s bullshit,” she said bluntly. “Interesting bullshit, though.”

He grinned at her, then turned away. “Krem,” he called.

A moment later, Krem appeared. “Something wrong, boss?”

“Not at all,” Felassan said. “But could you be so kind as to bring me some ice?”

Tamaris frowned. There was ice already in his drink. “Ice for what?” she asked. 

“For all these burns you’re giving me,” he replied.

She stared at his mischievous smile. Then, to her surprise, a laugh escaped her. 

She smacked his arm. “You’re so fucking full of shit.”

Felassan snickered and flinched away from her smack, and Krem rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “If there’s anything you actually need, let me know,” he drawled, and he walked away.

“Thank you,” Felassan called after him, then turned back to her with a smile. Tamaris tsked and folded her arms, but it was too late to pretend she was mad; she was already smiling whether she liked it or not. 

Felassan continued to smile at her without speaking, and something about the soft quality of his expression made something writhe in her belly. She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Take a picture, why don’t you? It’ll last longer.”

“A kind offer, but I’d rather paint one,” he said.

She looked at him in surprise. “Are you an artist?”

“I am, in fact,” he said.

“Oh,” she said. But he’d said he had a PhD. Professional artists didn’t need PhD’s. Hell, they didn’t even need Bachelor’s degrees.

She frowned. “What kind of art do you do?”

“I’m a concept artist,” he said. “But I’d rather hear about your art.”

She blinked at him. “What art?”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “You’re a tattoo artist.”

“Oh,” she said. “Yeah. But half the time I’m doing tats of other people’s designs.”

His expression sobered a bit. “Your vallaslin was your own design.”

“Yes, but it’s inspired by Dalish traditional patterns,” she said. “It’s not entirely my design.”

He leaned back slightly. “But you do create your own designs.”

She shrugged. “Yeah, I do. I mean, I can.” She took another sip of her drink and set it back on the table. When she looked up, Felassan was studying her thoughtfully.

“What?” she said, a little testily.

“You don’t see yourself as an artist,” he said.

Her gut twisted. She reached for her drink again. “Well. I mean, I’m not an artist like–” She broke off before she could say Nare’s name. There was no point mentioning any of her friends to Felassan since she was never going to see him again. 

She took a gulp of her drink and set it down once more. “I don’t do fine art or any fancy shit like that.”

“But you create your own tattoo designs,” he said. “And there is significance to the designs of your own creation.”

“Yes,” she said slowly.

“Then you are an artist,” he said firmly. “No matter what the alleged elite of the fine art world would say.”

Tamaris stared at him. His tone was light and casual as ever, but his face was totally serious.

“You sound like you’re talking from experience,” she said.

He smiled faintly. “Did you do any schooling for the fine arts, by chance?”

“I did some,” she said cautiously. She didn’t want to tell him she hadn’t finished her BFA. He would ask why, and that conversation would get way too personal too fast.

He nodded. “Then you understand the degree of genuine bullshit involved in the study of fine arts.”

Despite herself, she snorted. Then she immediately felt guilty. Nare had a fine arts degree, and her education actually had helped her grow as an artist. Just because the program hadn’t been to Tamaris’s liking didn’t mean it was worthless. 

But again, she couldn’t say any of that to Felassan.

It seemed that he didn’t need to hear it, however; he was grinning at her now. “I see that you know what I mean without requiring further explanation. If your work stems from a Dalish tradition, I suspect you dealt with even more supercilious condescension than I did back in Arlathan.” 

“Maybe, yeah,” she hedged.

He nodded and picked up his drink. “Then I propose a toast. To creating true art: the kind that makes your professors’ skin crawl.”

Tamaris snorted a laugh and picked up her drink. “Fucking cheers to that,” she said. She tapped her glass to his and took a sip, then drummed her nails idly on her glass as she watched him sipping his drink.

He placed his glass on the coffee table and looked at her, then quirked his eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

You’re fun she thought. She idly swiped some condensation from her glass. “Tell me about your art, then. I don’t really know what a concept artist does.”

“Ah,” he said. “ All right. You’ve seen The Archdemon Rises films, yes?”

“Multiple times, actually,” she said.

He grinned. “You enjoy monster movies, do you? Excellent. Well, whenever you see a monster in a film like that, there is an artist or a team of artists who listened to the writer’s ideas, then took those ideas and transformed them into the monster you see on-screen. Artists who drew a dozen different possible designs for that monster, or two dozen — sometimes more. And not just the monsters. The armour that the Hero of Ferelden is wearing, the layout for the ancient city, the different classes of darkspawn, every environment and location in the film: behind all of that, behind every fantasy or sci-fi film, there is a team of artists whose job it is to take the ideas in the script and to turn those ideas into the visuals for how everything looks.”

She stared at him in genuine interest. “And that’s what you do?”

“It is.”

“That sounds fucking amazing.”

A brilliant smile lit his face, and for once, there was none of his usual mischief in the smile. “I enjoy it,” he said. “Most of the time, at least, when my clients aren’t being overly demanding.”

She snorted. “I know how that feels.”

He smirked. “I imagine you do. Do you ever turn clients away for demanding horrible tattoos?”

“Creators, yes,” she said. “I had to reject a client just yesterday because he wanted — get this — a half-naked elven woman with tits that were almost bigger than her head. And he wouldn’t even negotiate down to the woman having more accurate proportions. I basically told him to fuck off to the nearest shitty tattoo parlour instead.”

Felassan laughed. “You robbed the world of something beautiful. Who doesn’t want to see a man with a garish tattoo of an objectified woman on his arm?”

Tamaris smiled faintly. “What about you? Do you often turn down clients?”

“I work freelance, so yes, I have the freedom to accept or reject work offers as I see fit,” he said. “But I always accept the contracts that involve drawing women with breasts as large as their heads.”

His smile was teasing once more, and Tamaris snorted in amusement. “You’d better not.”

“And what if I did?” he asked. 

“I’d up and leave right now,” she replied.

He grinned. “Fortunate, then, that I have more artistic integrity than that.”

She huffed again and sipped her drink. “So you’re a concept artist. Why the PhD, then?”

His smile faded slightly. “Ah. The concept art job came after the PhD, actually. I quit academia immediately after finishing my PhD. My supervisor was… less than thrilled, shall we say. But it was for the best in the end.”

She eyed him sympathetically. That was a lot of schooling to go through to just leave academia altogether. “Do you ever regret doing the PhD?” she asked.

He gave her an odd look. “You know, nobody has ever asked me that.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly. It seemed a natural question to her. “Well? Do you?”

“It’s hard to say,” he said slowly. He stretched his arms out along the back of the couch. “There are times when I feel like I wasted four years of my life. Eight, if you include the BFA.” He tilted his head. “Then I think that this was just the path I needed to take to get to where I wanted. A slow and convoluted path, maybe, but I hit my target in the end. Now I am doing something that I truly chose.”

Tamaris nodded slowly. “You went through a trial by fire to figure out what the fuck you wanted.” 

“Precisely,” Felassan said. “That’s… Yes, exactly.” He gave her a penetrating look. “You’ve been through some trials by fire of your own, haven’t you?”

Her belly jolted again. She shrugged and swirled her glass. “Maybe.”

His expression softened. “Avise alas’nirelan.”

She frowned at him. “Flame… what?”

“‘She who dances with fire’,” Felassan said. “It is an Arlathani expression for a person who walks boldly into challenging situations knowing they might come out burnt, but who walks into them regardless.”

His smile was strangely soft. She shrugged and looked down at her half-empty glass. “That’s not… I wouldn’t say I’m really like that.”

“Allow me to be the judge of that,” Felassan said quietly. 

For some reason, his words made her heart twist. She hastily gulped the rest of her drink and placed her empty glass on the table. “So. Um. You’re from Arlathan.”

His smile curled with humour. “I am, yes. But you knew this already.”

She ignored his response. “Is that why you talk like this?”

He gracefully lifted one eyebrow. “Like what? In a circular manner?”

“No,” she said. “In a fancy polite way, like an older man who’s trying to charm someone’s pants off.”

He laughed — a soft little laugh that warmed her belly. “You’re asking if this is how all Arlathani elves talk?” he said. “In this charmingly sophisticated manner?”

“If you do say so yourself,” she said dryly.

“I didn’t say so myself,” Felassan said. “You did. It sounds to me like you’re saying I could charm your pants off with the way I talk.”

Tamaris barked out a disbelieving little laugh. “That’s not at all what I said.”

“But you do think I’m charming,” he pressed.

She shot him a chiding look. “You are charming. It doesn’t matter what I think.”

He gave her a broad and incredulous smile, and Tamaris wrinkled her nose at him. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I don’t believe anyone has ever complimented me with their words while simultaneously insulting me with their eyes,” he said. “I’d like to cement the uniqueness of this moment in my memory.”

“I didn’t compliment you,” she retorted.

“You did too,” he said. “You called me charming.”

“That’s not a compliment,” she insisted. “That’s a fact. It’s like the difference between calling someone handsome and being attracted to them.”

He lifted his chin slightly. “Explain.”

Tamaris sighed loudly and turned on the couch to face him fully. “Being handsome is just an objective fact,” she said. “Being attractive is subjective. It’s a matter of opinion. I wouldn’t fuck a guy who was just handsome. I’d have to be attracted to him.”

“An interesting theory,” Felassan said. “Which is it, then?”

“Which is what?” Tamaris said impatiently.

“Which one am I?” he said. “Handsome or attractive?”

She scoffed. He was so fucking cocky. “What if I said you were neither?”

“Then I’d be deeply wounded,” he said. “And I would wonder why you met me tonight.”

She clicked her tongue and looked away from him. Why was she feeling like he had talked her into a corner? And why was she actually enjoying it?

He shifted a little closer to her on the couch. “That is the real reason you met me tonight, isn’t it?” he said quietly. “It’s not because you thought I was interesting, not really. It’s because you are attracted to me.”

His voice was intimate and warm like the light of the candle on the coffee table, and it was fostering an answering warmth in her blood. She shrugged and refused to look at him. “Maybe I am,” she said casually.

“Come now, Tamaris,” he said coaxingly. “There’s no need to be coy. You met with me tonight because you want to fuck me, don’t you?”

A streak of heat bloomed through her body at the rawness of his words. Surprised into reacting, she looked at him.

Creators, his eyes: they were so brilliantly violet. She’d never seen such perfectly gemlike eyes in her life. 

She finally found her tongue. “Yes, okay?” she said. “I want to fuck you.”

He gave her a slow and heated smile that made her heart thump in anticipation. “Hm,” he murmured. “That’s very interesting.”

Tamaris licked her lips. Felassan’s gaze was so unnervingly intent that she wanted to look away, but she couldn’t stop staring at his impossibly pretty eyes. 

“Fine then,” she said flatly. “Now that I’ve admitted it, are you going to suddenly fuck off and leave me on my own like you did last night?”

His smile widened. Slowly, very slowly and without breaking from her gaze, he shifted closer to her on the couch. By the time their knees were touching and they were almost nose-to-nose, Tamaris felt like her pulse was vibrating right beneath her skin.

Felassan tipped her chin up with one finger. “Kiss me and find out,” he murmured. 

Smug asshole, she thought, and she kissed him.

Read the rest on AO3. 

[platypanthewriter]

Strangest 2: Fractionally Gay

As Steve was laughing at Billy’s horror over the bat, his lungs starting to clench at the impossibility of explaining, the phone rang. He batted Mike aside and swung his leg over the back of the couch--any effort was worthwhile to forestall certain conversations.

“Steve,” the small voice came through raspy, and it took him a second to place it.

“Max?”

Billy’s head popped up like a meerkat’s.

“Billy ran out screaming. Lucas said I should warn you.” She gulped, difficult to understand through the rapid breathing. “You--you better call Hopper, Steve, he might--”

“He’s just sitting here drinking hot chocolate, Max,” he hurried to reassure her, wincing as Billy stumbled back over the arm of the couch towards the wall, smacking his hand down for the bat as he moved. Will kicked it out of his reach, and Billy winced as his shoulderblades thudded against the wall.

Max was breathing slowly--consciously, Steve thought, maybe he wasn’t the only one whose body had forgotten how. “He’s what,” she asked, voice flat.

“He show...he shows up here, sometimes,” he closed his eyes, feeling the Judgemental Adolescent Brigade’s attention shift from Billy to him with laser focus, “--it’s fine. I mean, he’s still an asshole, but he hasn’t done anything. He--” Steve stopped himself before telling a middle-school girl her delinquent brother’s semi-alcoholic cigarette funk was more grounding than a lightning rod. “...are you okay?”

“Me and Lucas are fine.” She swallowed hard again, and Steve waited patiently. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “He might’ve...broken something. His, um. His dad said he fell down the stairs, but he’d just got in the shower. He wouldn’t be trying to get laundry or anything. He totally wanders around in his underwear if he forgets pants, Steve, he wasn’t hurrying to get anywhere,” she scoffed, and Steve frowned over to where Billy was still leaning against the wall, now casual, the bruised side of his face turned away from the room. “I think he, uh. I--I think he slammed him into a few other things. The tub makes a noise.”

“You gonna call ‘Hopper’ on me?” Billy bared his teeth, staring at the bat, and Mike crouched, reaching for it.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on, Max,” Steve pressed the phone to his chest. “Dustin. Put the bat, uh, with the skis, y’know--” He waved vaguely, hoping to convey the bat’s location to everyone but Billy. “Billy, if you’re gonna hit anything, uh. Go upstairs and punch a pillow or something. My room’s plaid.”

“So plaid,” Dustin confirmed, proud of his insider information.

“I think we should go,” Will whispered, and Mike slid an arm around him, baring his teeth right back at Billy.

“And leave him here with Steve? We should call Hopper.”

Billy snorted, but gave them a wide berth on his way to the kitchen, where he pointedly loitered for a while, reminding Steve of nothing so much as a cat who doesn’t want to admit anyone else has a good idea. The stairs creaked under his rapid footsteps as Dustin returned, then spun in place. “Where the hell is he?! Did you kill him?!”

“He went upstairs,” Will whispered back, frowning up at the sound of a creaking hallway.

“Max,” Steve tried to ignore the whispered conference behind him, “--he seems fine, but I’ll check later. Glad you have a date night, or every little shithead I know would be here. Why don’t you guys ever just show up to sell cookies?” He frowned accusingly at Mike, who frowned back.

“I just don’t want the stupid shit dying in your house,” Max grumbled, and Steve found himself grinning again into the handset.

“It’s okay, we’ve got a shovel.” He rubbed his face.

She snorted. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call Hopper? I mean he might...set you on fire, or...fuck your mom.”

“...what a resume,” Steve sighed, trying not to just sit on the floor and laugh, or possibly cry. His lungs were ready to heave, but undecided. “He’s not doing anything, yet. If he sets my mom on fire, I’ll definitely let you know.”

“Does Steve have a mom?” Steve heard Mike asking Dustin.

In his ear, Max took a shaky breath. “...okay. Okay. Are...are you sure we shouldn’t come over? I can steal my mom’s car.”

“No!” Steve barked. “No! It’s fine! You definitely don’t have to get arrested to come protect me, holy shit. Go...watch My Little Pony or something. Or hey, watch something for you, screw what Lucas wants.” That brought grins to Dustin, Mike, and Will’s faces, and he heard Max relaying it to a shouting Lucas over the phone. “Okay. I’m gonna hang up. It’s fine. If anything happens, I promise I’ll call Hopper.”

“Yeah, you better.” The connection clicked over to dial tone.

“...if we keep watching, it’ll show us how to kill the Nazgul Steve’s got in his bedroom,” Dustin sing-songed, grinning, and Steve sighed.

“Yeah. Sure. I need more--” the kettle shrieked again--Billy must have switched it on again, after Steve had chosen to busy his invaders with the microwave instead of allowing conversation. He frowned as he flicked it off, but no stairs creaked, so he figured it was to be obnoxious, rather than a need for more hot chocolate. “...I need more hot chocolate.” So did they all. Steve surveyed the Hot Chocolate Cupboard--the only cupboard he used, the only one that wasn’t a bit dusty--and couldn’t really think of much else he could buy. I could fill up the garage, he thought, thinking of the ease of routine in the grocery store, filling an entire cart with marshmallows, and the reassurance of a shelf of them every time he parked his car. I’ll have to stockpile candy canes, he thought with a snort, his intestines doing a crampy clench at the idea of running out in mid-February, and having some kind of breathing emergency that required them. They’ll find me blue in the kitchen, he muffled his snickers against the sleeve of his forearm, after I collapse because my hot chocolate isn’t right, and my lungs turn into inflexible plastic soda bottles, and Billy isn’t around to bitch about singing mice.

“...Steve?” Dustin’s voice trailed in from the front room over the sound of goblins, and Steve wiped his eyes, sniffling.

“Be right there.”

Another hour in, and Steve had jerked awake nearly every ten minutes to the sound of Dustin’s voice, so he stood, stretching. Dustin crawled forward to pause the VCR when Steve walked into the kitchen.

“Go ahead,” he leaned back into the front room, “I’m beat. I’m going to go sleep upstairs.” On his way, he refilled his hot chocolate, and grabbed another, crouching to make sure they didn’t foam up over the sides, that there were equal piles of marshmallows, and that his was actually mostly coffee.

He didn’t see the exchange of wide-eyed glances.

The lights were off in his room. The hallway light shone across Billy’s defined abs where he was sprawled across Steve’s bed. Steve kicked his way through a pile of shoes on his way to the desk lamp.

“What the hell,” Billy groaned, covering his face with his arms.

“I brought more hot chocolate, I guess,” Steve shrugged, rattling around in his desk drawers. “I told Max I’d make sure you weren’t broken anywhere, or anything.” He thumped the first aid kit on his desk. It still had smears of blood on it.

Billy snorted. “The hell did she tell you.”

Steve opened his mouth to ask about the hand-shaped bruises he’d compared to Sylvester Stallone’s, closed it again, and shrugged. “Sounds like your dad’s an asshole.” Billy flinched, then tried to cover it with a luxurious stretch.

“Breaking news.”

“Come on, sit up, dickhead, let me check out your face.”

“You just wanna check me out,” Billy bared his teeth in a wide smile, leaning in like Steve was somebody he was about to ask to Makeout Point.

“Um--” Steve leaned away so fast his head hit the wall, and Billy cackled, curling on to his side on the bed in a fit of the giggles.

“Y’don’t want a blow job, Harrington? Are you sure? You’re being awfully,” his mouth quirked into a crooked grin, “--fucking. Sweet to me. You had me wait in your bed.”

Steve sighed, rubbing his face. There was probably some scientific name for something just difficult enough to keep your mind off worse things. Nancy would know. Maybe he could switch to a different awful thing to keep the nightmares away. Alcohol would probably work, but the idea of being drunk and not noticing the motion detector lights coming on all around the house--he grabbed at the hot chocolate, slopping it on his math homework, but feeling the heat ease into his palms. The marshmallows were sweet foam, almost entirely melted, and he sipped slowly, licking the sugar off his lips. After Max’ phone call, he couldn’t just kick Billy out--That’s almost worse than the trunk, he thought, sending him back to somebody who slams his head into the side of the tub. He could put the kids in his parent’s room, he thought, then imagined them wandering off to poke Billy in the night, ending with Billy a snarling silhouette at the treeline, dragging a bleeding child away, red spray against the snow and trees, and dripping blood from his mouthful of soft belly. He sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them again, Billy had gone very still.

“...you gonna get your bat, King Steve?” he whispered.

“I’m not going to hit anybody with a nailbat,” Steve opened the first aid box, counting off breaths in his head. One one thousand, he breathed. Two one thousand. He breathed again. “Not unless you make me.”

Billy’s grin widened. “How do I make you? I could fuck Nancy. I could punch what’s his name. The kid with no teeth.”

Steve stared at him. “That’s...that’s the shit you’re gonna do?”

“Not if you tell me the rules.” Billy sat up and leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“What.” Steve squinted, suddenly trying to calculate the amount of sleep he’d had recently. It wasn’t enough. He knocked back more of his ‘coffee’. “What are you talking about?”

“When,” Billy leaned in again, “--you gonna--” his breath tickled Steve’s lips, “--fuck me up, Harrington.”

“Jesus,” Steve jerked back again.

“Some blood on that bat.” Billy stretched, leaning to look out the window. “You gonna bury me out in the woods? Oh, no, I know, the sheriff’s your friend, you make it look like I drove drunk.”

“What--” Steve clenched the edge of the desk, hoping this ride slowed soon so he could get off. “...I’m not…”

“Oh, I get it now,” Billy laughed, going still again. “You killed that girl. Barb. That’s why little Nancy-Nance broke up with you.”

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Steve watched Billy’s legs kicking in the air as he lolled around like a happy cat, rubbing his eyes.

“That’s how you know ‘Hopper’. He helped you cover it up. Was she pregnant?” Billy cracked up, covering his face. “I thought you’d make a great dad, King Perfect, Steve Harrington, but that’s really shitty of you.” He grinned over lazily. “You’re starting earlier than mine did, did you make the bat for that, or did you already--”

Steve slammed his fist on the desk, making the light bounce and flicker. “I didn’t kill anyone. It was some--animal. It ate Dustin’s cat. Got in Will’s house. The--the little shitheads are just impressed because I babysat them while Hopper and Ms Byers set the nest on fire.”

“What, you hit some little...coyote?” Billy sat up to glare at him, all the musculature on display vibrating with tension as he leaned to breathe all over Steve’s face again, and Steve rolled backwards in the chair, sighing.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was a coyote. I’m not gonna hit you with a nailbat, jesus.”

“So when I showed up at the Byers, you were all afraid of a coyote.”

“It was scary as hell,” Steve shrugged.

“So scary you had syringes of sedative big enough to put me down. Lookee, your majesty, I’m so much bigger than a coyote.” He spread his arms, smiling. It looked uncomfortable, Steve thought, the stiff denim over all that sweaty bare shivering skin. Max’ call earlier had given Billy the added funk of adrenaline sweat over his usual eau de teenage alcoholic smoker whose shower got interrupted, and Steve tried to lean back in subtly, feeling his brain clear of blue tint.

“Look, we don’t know what it was. It ate people--”

“Who, Barb?”

“Barb! Yes! It ate Barb, that’s why no one found her!”

“Why the hell didn’t you just shoot it?”

“I don’t have a gun.” Steve rolled his eyes, inhaling the relaxing smell of stupid asshole, and feeling it work on his lungs. “‘Hey, Sheriff Hopper, I need a gun!’ I’m sure that would have worked.”

“The hell? Where was he? They just left you with the kids and went off--what was it, a bear?!”

“Sure, yeah, I guess.” Steve shrugged, rubbing his face as the adrenaline keeping him awake ebbed.

“Sure. And then you used your syringe on me.”

“Max was afraid I’d die! At least we didn’t leave you on the floor to get eaten.”

Billy stared at him. “You locked me in a trunk...to be a Good fucking Samaritan. What the hell were you supposed to do with a syringe against--a whatever, like, jump on its back?”

“Well, you knocked me out,” Steve rubbed his face, his brain going a little fuzzy as the image of Billy punching him superimposed itself over Billy sitting on the edge of his bed. “That was Max and them. You’d just tried to kill her friends, she maybe just wanted you locked up somewhere. I didn’t wake up until they were driving,” he grimaced, forcing another deep breath.

“Yeah, but, I mean--they just left you with a bat and a syringe? What the hell kind of--where are your parents? ‘Hopper’ and the Byers just leave you to defend against--things--”

He sounded as pissed off as usual, and Steve shook his head, grinning. “Pretty safe until you showed up.”

“I wasn’t gonna...fucking kill them,” Billy snorted.

“You sure? You were sure acting like it.”

“He told me to get the little bitch home, okay--”

“Leave the little assholes alone, I am not fucking around about this--” Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“That’s when the bat comes out,” Billy took a shuddering breath, rubbing his face, “--just them, huh? ‘Cause you’ve still got some greeny face there from when I clocked you in the--”

“Fuck you, and me,” Steve amended. “Me too. Goddamn. Just don’t--fucking attack people. We used the syringe, and not the bat. Look, do you want a shirt to put on.”

“Make me,” Billy grinned, but his voice was starting to sound hoarse, and his hands trembled. “Why don’t you make me, Harrington.”

“Damn iiiiit.” Steve let his head clonk against the first aid kit. “Look, you’re shaking. Are you actually hurt. Are you cold. Do you have any wounds.”

“I’m great,” Billy beamed back, eyes over-shiny in the low light, “--wanna check my teeth? They’re a little loose on the left. They’d probably come out easy. Bloody teeth all over your room.”

“Max was afraid your head hit the tub.” Steve leaned in to frown at the bruise, and Billy caught his breath.

“My--my knee. And--it’s fine. Why the hell was she listening.” His eyes were fixed on Steve’s mouth, like Steve was the biting risk.

Steve sighed with relief, spun in his desk chair, and stalked over to his dresser to throw a sweatsuit over--at first he aimed for Billy’s head, but logic happened, and he just tossed it on the bed within reach. “Do you want a shower? I mean, she said you--”

“Max should get that diarrhea of the face checked,” Billy growled.

“Or not, but they’re clean and dry.” Steve shrugged, wishing Billy and all his problems would just vanish into a nice sleep-inducing haze until morning.

After an odd moment where Billy apparently felt the need to hold up the elastic and test it, he glared over. “You gonna watch? My hot chocolate’s cold. Fix it, Mom.”

Steve blinked, then sighed, wandering back to the desk to grab both mugs. “We shower together after games, asshole. I’ve seen it all before.”

“Oh, you were looking?” Billy snarled, and Steve backed out of the room. “You eyeing me up? Wanna put your hands on me, King Harrington?”

“Just trying to pretend you were Cindy Crawford,” Steve backed through the door, sighing. “Bathroom’s through there, if you want it. I’m gonna go let the Scooby Gang know I’m alive.”

Naturally, there was a general scramble on the stairs as he turned down them. “We heard a thump...” Will watched his face nervously.

Upstairs, the shower turned on, and Steve sighed, dropping into a chair at the kitchen table. “Yeah, he’s so annoying I slammed my hand on the desk. Okay, I’m not saying I like him, or want him around--”

“Psh yeah,” Dustin agreed stoutly, glaring at Mike.

Huh, Steve thought, too tired to ask. “...I need to talk to Hopper.” He leaned his face in his arms.

“I’ll call El,” Mike’s eyes narrowed, his voice ringing with judgement. After a minute or so of whispering, the plastic of the handset banged Steve in the head, and he flapped his hand for it.

“Sheriff Hopper?”

“Steve.”

“Uh, you called me before when Billy was driving around. Did his dad call you again?”

“We’ve got a report of him leaving the house drunk, disorderly, and intending mayhem,” Hopper sounded disbelieving, “--which sounds about right, for him, what you got, kid?”

“Um.” Steve felt his shoulders hunch. “He was...here, that time. He wasn’t even drunk! He was just--” he waved a hand, “--sitting on the couch. We watched Star Wars.”

“Okay,” Hopper waited, sounding even judgier than Mike.

“He just...showed up here again tonight, soaking wet and half in his jeans--”

“Ew, gross,” Dustin made a revolted face at Mike, whose nose wrinkled. Will shot a glance upstairs, wide-eyed.

“And, uh, Max called? And said Billy’s dad grabbed him out of the shower, kicked his ass. Threw him down the stairs...I guess?” he trailed off, shrugging apologetically at the phone, as Mike mouthed ‘Good,’ to nods from the other two. “He’s pretty banged up?”

“Billy Hargrove has been hiding out at your house,” Hopper said slowly, and Steve rubbed his face, groaning, and feeling like he was shrinking inches every minute this conversation continued. He’d have to see if Billy minded carting him around, once he was the size of Stuart Little. “Did he finally do something? Why own up now?”

“Well, I mean, he’s not actually doing anything? Instead of having to drive around all night looking out for him, you can just call up and ask me whether there’s an asshole here bitching about Secrets of NIMH?” Steve bit his lips, uncertain about this strange ritual of communicating with adults.

Hopper took a long whistly breath through his teeth. “Not too comfortable with him around the kids.”

“Uh, yeah, I had him go upstairs, they’re like...segregated,” Steve made an apologetic face at Will, who blinked, then shyly nodded.

After a brief pause, Hopper asked “You tell that boy what to do and he does it?”

“...mostly? I mean, he knows I know you, I think he thinks you’d help me cover up his murder?”

“Hopper would.” Dustin nodded confidently.

“...only if it were Billy Hargrove,” Mike shook his head, “--he wouldn’t let Steve murder just anybody--”

“I trust you not to murder anyone unless it’s self-defense,” Hopper sounded exhausted, but also like he might be laughing. “Call if you need anything, you know that.”

“...yeah,” Steve’s throat felt too tight to swallow.

“Night, kid.”

“Yeah. Yeah, night.” He sat listening to the dial tone, wondering what to do.

“Why do you have to harbor that fugitive,” Dustin shuddered, holding his hands up like a silent movie heroine in denial. “Couldn’t you have, like, a hot British double agent? With eleven guns, that does flips.”

“Usually it’s fine, because nobody’s here.” Steve waved his arms, sighing.

Mike and Will both frowned from his face to Dustin’s, but Dustin made a very obvious “Cut it off” motion at his neck, and they didn’t ask. Steve couldn’t help it, the idea of Dustin keeping track of his friends’ slumber party etiquette had him snickering again. “Holy god. I’m going back to bed.”

“But...Billy’s up there,” Will pointed out, and received an elbow from Mike.

“Yeah, he is. You guys can sleep down here or in the big bedroom, Dustin knows where.” Dustin nodded, obviously resisting a salute. “He’s...look, it’s fine, he...sleeps, like everybody else--”

“Is he why you haven’t been sleeping?” Will asked solemnly.

Steve snorted. “Ha. Nuh-unh. Okay, you guys have had nightmares--” Mike and Will nodded, while Dustin scoffed. “Imagine you’re--” Steve glanced at Will, trying to phrase it without pressing anywhere sore, “--somewhere in a nightmare, but something really weird walks by, something so out of place it’s funny--”

“...Clifford?” Will suggested hesitantly.

“Eugh!” Mike groaned. “I’m gonna burn that ABC book--”

“It’s really hard to focus on our game around stupid Clifford--” Dustin rolled his eyes, “--you walk into a dungeon and suddenly Mike’s mom’s voice, ‘That’s an ostrich! O! O is for Ostrich!”

“I know--” Mike groaned. “Try living there--”

“Clifford!” Steve grinned. “Exactly! That’s right. So you’re in a nightmare, and Clifford walks by. And you don’t really want Clifford around--”

“He’s annoying as hell--” Mike slumped into the other kitchen chair.

“Yeah,” Steve nodded, at Will’s thoughtful expression. “He’s huge and he smells like a dog--”

“He takes huge shits,” Dustin grinned proudly.

“--but,” Steve eyeballed Will in particular, “--you can’t really be scared, either, with the Big Friendly Dog stinking up the place--’

“Billy is Clifford,” Will’s eyes widened, “--you like having him here. Even though he smells awful.”

“Yeah, well. He’s showering.” They all grimaced at the ceiling.

“I listen to music with Jonathan,” Will said softly.

Mike nodded. “I call El, or put the TV on.”

“I’m not scared,” Dustin snorted, “--but if I was, I’d call somebody, Steve, come on, pick up the phone, you don’t need a huge shitty dog.”

“Bedtime.” Steve stretched, groaning. “It’s...whatever. I don’t care.” He staggered upright, already focused on the hours of sleep he might get with Billy breathing in the same room. “I’m going to bed, to sleep, and if anyone wakes me up, there better be--” he glanced at Will again, and cleared his throat, and his head of monsters, “--a costumed supervillain, like, circling the house.”

“Nah, he’s already upstairs,” Dustin muttered, and Steve flipped him off, already running up the stairs.

As Steve frowned at the bed--it’d seemed bigger when he had a girl in it, but then, he supposed, he wasn’t wary of Nancy breaking his face if he brushed his elbow against hers in the night--Billy wandered in, sweatshirt half pulled over his head.

“Holy crap, there.” Steve stared at the purple bruising under Billy’s right shoulderblade and across his ribs, the familiar greeny-yellow handprint on his shoulder, fingermarks on his forearm, and what honestly looked like a heel-stomp on his lower back.

Billy scrambled to get the sweatshirt pulled down. “Fuck you. Go fuck yourself. King fucking Steve Harrington.”

Steve ordinarily had no trouble restraining the urge to laugh at Billy, who he mostly thought of as an unexploded bomb, but listening to his angry “fuck”s muffled through thick jersey fabric was hilarious. He forestalled it with a hand over his mouth. “I’m gonna go to sleep.” He pointed at the bed, more for his own comprehension than anyone else’s. “You can do whatever, but there’s still a whole Munchkin music number going on downstairs.”

Billy looked from his pointing finger, to the bed, back to Steve’s face. “This is an invitation to sleep in your bed.”

“I don’t care,” Steve tottered over and pulled back the covers. “Oh, I guess you could sleep in your car. I told them downstairs they could have the other bedroom or the couch, but I won’t be there to stop them bugging you, and if you murder them I’ll have to…” the pillow against his face felt like the smooth feathers of a celestial swan. “This is the best bed,” he mumbled.

“Harrington,” Billy’s voice came from somewhere off to Steve’s right. “Steve.”

“Sleeping,” Steve told him, wondering dazedly whether he’d dream about Clifford. Or Billy. Or Billy riding Clifford.

He didn’t remember what he dreamt about, jerking out of a sound sleep to a shout of his name downstairs (Dustin, probably), and the streaming light of the motion detectors. He had a vague impression of vaulting over the banister and not dying, and finding Mike and Dustin trying to jolly Will out of a panic attack.

“It’s probably just a leaf or something,” Dustin said, both thumbs up, as Steve sighed and got his bat. The VCR clock said it was four, so he’d actually gotten a few hours of sleep. He shoved his feet into his boots by the door, and stepped outside, keeping to the shadows, and shuffling, so he wouldn’t crunch loudly in the snow. The lights were scheduled for three minutes, so they flipped off soon after he began his circuit. He rested the bat against his shoulder, closing in on the sound of snow crunching.

Of course it was just Billy. Steve shuffled silently closer to the lit end of Billy’s cigarette, only to have the motion detector lights snap back on and illuminate Billy’s face from less than a foot away. Billy screamed, flailing backwards and landing on his ass in the snow, and Steve started snickering, leaning on his bat.

“What the fuck, Harrington,” Billy yelled, sounding breathless. His hair was dusted with snow, and the hoodie hood was wedged awkwardly half under the jean jacket, making him look a little less dangerous than usual. “What the hell, what in the--”

Steve considered himself, shirtless in yanked-on, unbuttoned jeans, a bloodied nailbat over his shoulder, and grinned. “I look like Conan or something.”

“You fucking asswipe, you look nuts--I thought I was gonna die--”

“The little bastards saw the motion detector come on and woke me up,” Steve shrugged, leaning on his bat again as he held a hand down for Billy, who’d landed in about two feet of snow and a patch of scrubgrass, and was stabbing his hands in the snow without finding any leverage to shove himself upright. Billy jerked back, and Steve groaned, rubbing his face. “...you’re just gonna sit there in the snow?”

Billy’s glare didn’t waver as he grabbed at the uneven grass, trying to push himself up, and Steve finally bent in close and grabbed his hand.

Billy yanked back. “--fuck go of me--”

“Come on.” Steve set the end of the bat in the snow and pushed off it to haul Billy up so chilled denim thudded against his chest.

Billy went still against him.

“Breathe,” Steve recommended, recognizing the signs of recalcitrant lungs, and brushed a hunk of snow out of Billy’s mullet. The skin under the denim collar was warm, and Steve let his half-frozen fingers linger there, breathing easily in the cloud of cigarette smoke, and the smell of his shampoo on Billy Hargrove’s mullet. It was soft, and Steve let his fingers curl in it, resting his thumb behind Billy’s ear.

“The hell are you putting your hands on me.” Billy’s breath was warm against his ear, but he didn’t pull away.

Steve considered, head clear and and nearly fizzy with the hours of sleep. In the chill of snow against his shoulders, with his hand clenched in the denim of Billy’s jacket, he felt farther away from tunneling nightmares than he had in months. Billy finally lifted his face from Steve’s shoulder enough to take another drag on his cigarette, which forced him to wrap that arm loosely around Steve’s shoulder to reach. Steve giggled, mentally cataloguing the windows probably holding small, horrified faces.

“You tell my dad I’m here and nobody’ll ever find my body,” Billy breathed smoke against his head, before pulling back enough to press his lips to Steve’s.

He has long eyelashes, Steve thought, less confident about his wakefulness than he’d been moments before, but kissing Billy’s warm mouth was weirdly cozy, and he leaned into it, feeling the bat slide from his hand. “Wait--” He clenched his fingers in the curls at the base of Billy’s skull, and Billy groaned against his mouth, eyes sliding shut. “...wow,” Steve paused, distracted by the immediate rush of red across Billy’s cheeks, but Billy ducked his head, jerking away, so Steve pulled him back with his other hand around Billy’s neck. “Wait.” He licked his lips, thinking. “That’s. Huh. We should go back inside. But your dad knows you--you’re gay?”

“I’m not a fag.” Billy jerked backwards, but didn’t try to disentangle Steve’s hands from his hair and neck. “I fuck women, Harrington-- ”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but you just...I mean,” Steve ran his thumbs up Billy’s cheeks, pulling him closer, fascinated at the lack of protest, “--wait, that’s why he--?” He touched the bruise carefully.

“No,” Billy growled. “I mean, I don’t know, I know mom didn’t just have a dizzy spell on the stairs, but I bet she--she wasn’t--fucking women--”

“Jesus.” Steve tugged him back in so their foreheads met, studying Billy’s closed eyes and shivers as their breath fogged. “You think your dad’s a murderer? You think he-- ”

“Shut the fuck up, Harrington.” Billy swallowed. “The hell are you gonna do. You gonna tell ‘Hopper’ I kissed you. You gonna tell my dad. Might as well kill me with that bat, Steve.” He shifted away, stilling at Steve’s hand on the back of his skull.

“No, no, jesus, calm down--” Steve pulled him close again, breathing in Essence of Hargrove in hopes his mind would stop spinning. “Fuck. Your--your dad killed your mom?”

“Dunno what the hell else coulda happened,” Billy said thickly, tense against him.

“...jesus.” Steve whispered against his jaw. “You should--you should tell Hopper. Christ. Uh, we should--we should go back inside.”

“Your three little piglets probably already called him. They’ll think I ate you out here.”

“Oh shit.” Steve grabbed Billy’s hand in one of his, scooping up the bat with the other, and began dragging him back toward the house. “How long have I been out here, they probably did--”

“What the hell, Steve, why--you’re--let go--” Billy tried to shake him off, staggering after him through the snow.

“It’s fine!” Steve shouted, stumbling over all the shoes as they tromped through the door. “This asshole was having a cigarette!” He held up his and Billy’s hands like they’d won a trophy, and Billy tried to jerk away again, snarling under his breath.

“What are you doing,” Dustin said levelly, staring between them.

Mike’s nose was wrinkled. “You can let him go now.”

Will’s red rimmed eyes traveled over Billy and fixed on their clasped hands, but he just cocked his head, raising his eyebrows at Steve, who felt his face heat.

“We’re going back to sleep--” Steve dove towards the stairs, prompting a burst of expletives from Billy, who scrambled after him.

Upstairs, Steve closed and locked his bedroom door, dropped the bat to thud against the wall, and turned to face Billy, who was shuddering at regular intervals. “Un...less you want more hot chocolate.” Steve stood back, surveying the shivers and teary eyes.

“I don’t fucking want hot chocolate, what is it with you.” Billy bared his teeth, hunching in on himself, and Steve reflected with a grin that for once, he didn’t want hot chocolate either.

Steve dropped into the office chair, letting it slowly spin him all the way around. “You kissed me.”

“Prove it in court,” Billy sighed, hugging himself in his snowy jacket.

“Come on.” Steve waved him over.

“Hell no.” Billy backed away, his shoulders hitting the wall again.

Steve opened his mouth, closed it, then snorted a laugh. “Don’t make me grab your hair again.”

“Fuck you.” Billy’s eyes narrowed, but slowly traveled down Steve’s chest, over his abs, and down to his unbuttoned jeans and visible triangle of briefs. “...plaid the new thing at court? Isn’t your room enough? Look,” he rolled his shoulders, probably forgetting his borrowed saggy grey sweats were hiding his usual flexing pectorals, “--you want a blowjob? You can’t tell anyone.”

“What?” Steve blinked.

“Want my mouth on your dick?” Billy sauntered towards him. “Don’t tell my father.” He leaned in to whisper along Steve’s jaw, and Steve resisted the urge to reach down and hoist his dick out of his briefs. “Don’t tell the sheriff.” Billy dropped to his knees, mouthing down Steve’s chest. “Don’t--cave my--head in,” he went still as Steve slid a hand in his hair. “Don’t crush my eyeballs with a nailbat, and I’ll blow you.”

“Wait,” Steve groaned, tugging to detach Billy’s warm, soft mouth from the edge of his jeans. “Damn it. Billy, hold on--”

“The hell is wrong with you, Harrington?” Billy sat back on his feet, eyebrows raised. “Close your eyes if you want, I don’t care--”

“I just--” Steve ran his fingers along Billy’s jaw, losing his train of thought as Billy tipped his head willingly.

“You wanna hit me and have me?” Billy laughed, turning his head to bite gently at Steve’s hand. “I’m hot with bruises. Gimme a bloody nose, kiss off your daily iron allowance, your majesty.”

“No. No.” Steve clenched his fingers in the silky hair at the back of Billy’s head again, feeling him sag. He was careful not to yank individual strands.

“Don’t tell anyone, though. Hit me, don’t kill me--” Billy pulled Steve’s thumb in his mouth with his tongue, sucking suggestively, but his eyes were getting shiny again. “Come on. You don’t really wanna haul me out of another trunk.”

“Jesus, Hargrove,” Steve yanked his hand away from Billy’s mouth, “--I won’t tell anyone you’re--I mean, that we’re--what are we even doing.” For the first time, his lungs started to feel stiff even with Billy Hargrove right in front of him. He forced some small, shallow breaths, watching Billy’s eyes start to brim over. He put the hand not holding Billy’s hair over his mouth to forestall what was probably about to be another flood of abuse, and took another breath. One one thousand, he counted to himself, holding it and letting it out. “You--you’re a fuckhead,” he started again, feeling Billy laugh against his hand. “Look, I’m not gonna--if you get up right now, I won’t tell anyone, and I won’t--hit you, or anything. If you wanna be there, that’s--that’s good too. But. I won’t tell anyone.”

Billy shook his head, trying to get away from Steve’s hand over his mouth--since Steve hadn’t moved when he licked it--and Steve lowered it, narrowing his eyes. Billy cleared his throat. “What’s the point, then?”

Steve flailed his free hand. “It was your idea!”

“I like women,” Billy bared his teeth, “--you’re just gonna shut your eyes anyway.”

“What, you want me to stare at you?” Steve pressed his licked thumb to Billy’s lower lip. He’d tasted like cigarettes and chocolate.

“I don’t fucking want anything.” Billy let his eyes slide closed, pressing his face into the seam of Steve’s jeans. “Neither of us are fucking...queers.”

Steve wondered, in passing, whether he wanted more of a sexual buffet table than he’d suspected. It makes sense, he thought, one hand in Billy’s hair, the other satisfying various curiosities about Billy’s ear piercing, the texture of his stubble, and the heat coming up in his cheeks. Nobody wants the same thing forever, right? He leaned in again, kissing Billy Hargrove, and huffing a laugh of disbelief. Billy flinched back, eyes blinking wide.

“You gotta lay off the little shitheads,” Steve remembered to say, pulling back. Billy’s mouth quirked, and Steve kissed it again, tugging at Billy’s lower lip and its edge of stubble with his teeth. Billy moaned into his mouth, and Steve grabbed the collar of his jacket, pulling him closer--not that there was much closer for him to be.

“I don’t give a shit about them,” Billy panted against his mouth.

“I ended up with them somehow, you need to be...okay with them, if you can be nice to people without...taking your pants off,” Steve pressed lightly on Billy’s unbruised cheek with his thumb, and Billy obediently opened his mouth. He still tasted better than Steve would have expected, his mouth warm and smoky, and his body ever more pliable as Steve held him firmly by the hair.

“Being nice right now,” Billy whispered back, and Steve snorted, pulling him into another kiss. The left side of Billy’s mouth tasted coppery, and his soft groan turned into more of a pained whine, but he slid his arms around Steve’s neck to stop him from pulling away.

“God,” Steve tucked his face against Billy’s other cheek, breathing him in, “--you--you gotta promise, though. If you’re about to lose your shit at a kid, walk away.”

“I wouldn’t really,” Billy laughed, pulling his arms back to fumble at Steve’s pants. Steve grabbed his hands.

“Billy.”

“I won’t,” he shoved away to stomp over against the wall, “--the hell is this, Harrington, some kinda trap. Fuck you.”

“Nooooo,” Steve said slowly, feeling whiplash, “--that was…” He felt his cheeks flush. “That was good. You should come back over here.”

“Why the hell would I.” Billy rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck menacingly, but wandered a few feet closer. “What if one of your spawn calls the sheriff. He’ll show up and shoot me in the head.”

“Oh! I called him,” Steve blinked, “--while you were in the shower--” he cut off at Billy’s soft choking noise.

“He’s not here, what, he’s just waiting for me at home, then--” His voice had gone high and wet.

“What?”

“He’s gonna know, Harrington, he’s gonna--god, fuck you, he’s gonna nail me to a fucking fence--” He scrambled over to reach for the bat, and Steve put all his basketball lessons in interference into preventing him from reaching it, finally hugging Billy’s arms to his body.

“Sshhhh,” he tried, unable to think of anything else. “Shhh, Billy. I called Hopper. I told him your dad was a liar. I told him we watched Star Wars. He’s not coming. He’s not telling your dad.”

“Fuck you--” Billy’s voice shook.

Steve rocked them back and forth, hugging him tighter, and Billy snorted into his shoulder. “Lemme go.”

“Not sure I should,” Steve breathed against his neck.

“This is so gay,” Billy groaned.

“I think we’re both maybe half gay, though.” Steve loosened his grip, sliding his hand up to stroke his thumb against the base of Billy’s skull, and Billy shuddered, snorting a laugh.

“Fags come in fractions?”

“Maybe.”

Billy took a deep breath, tickling Steve’s ear. “...maybe you’re a moron.”

Steve slid his other hand under the denim jacket and old sweatshirt, running the flat of his hand up and down Billy’s back.

“Maybe,” Billy whispered in his ear.

(I think Tumblr ate my first three chapter posts, so I’m redoing them?!) Strangest chapter 1/chapter 2/chapter 3/chapter 4/chapter 5/chapter 6/chapter 7/chapter 8/chapter 9/chapter 10/  But really I’d recommend reading it on Ao3 under peterqpan, scrolling through it on Tumblr sounds crazymaking

[wc-ff]

VI.

De'Angelo gathered his things from around the room as Chantell stood right in front of her room door with her arms folded across her chest. She was fuming. Sage had managed to get ahold of a phone and call him to tell him that something very bad had happened but she didn't want to talk about it over the phone. So, there he was. Dropping everything he was doing to go and rush to her again. Chantell was hoping things would be different after the wonderful day they had spent together but of course, she was there coming second to his best friend. Someone she didn't even like in the slightest. "So you're really gonna just get up and go like that? You don't think that she could—I don't know—wait?!" Chantell finally broke the silence but only deepened the tension in the room. She didn't understand. De'Angelo knew it had to be an emergency just based off of how frantic she sounded alone. Then she didn't even want to talk about it until they were face to face. He wouldn't be just up and leaving unless it was absolutely important and it was. "No, baby, look. I know it has to be something real important. Plus, it's weird that she called me off her mom's phone, I gotta go see what's going on." He spoke just as he picked up the last of his things and slid his feet into his Nike slides. Chantell scoffed in amusement as her long mink lashes emphasized her excessive blinking. "So, you telling me you leaving me to tend to a bitch that lives with her parents? You've gotta be kidding me." Her hands fell down to her sides and smacked her thighs dramatically. "Aye." The bass in De'Angelo's voice nearly shook the entire room as he glared at his girlfriend. "Watch out with that bitch word. You don't even know what the fuck is going on." "Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch!" Chantell taunted, rolling her neck with each and every word that she spat out of her mouth. De'Angelo seemed to appear in front of her in the blink of an eye causing her to stumble back a bit but once she caught her balance, she maintained her hard expression. If looks could kill, they'd both be needing caskets at that very moment. "What is there to know? Shorty called you off her mom's phone. What grown woman you know calling people off her mom's phone?" Chantell added with the same amount of teasing amusement as before. The smirk on her face was making the man that was towering over her want to smack it off, but he wouldn't dare put his hands on a female. De'Angelo responded to her taunting by brushing passed her and heading towards the front door. He didn't have time for her childish antics. She was trying to get a rise out of him and he knew it. He also knew it would fuck her up if he didn't allow her to though. "D!? I know you not really gonna just leave like that! You can't—" Her talking was cut off by the front door slamming shut as De'Angelo began making his way to his car. He could still faintly hear her screaming from inside the house, but he just continued on like he couldn't. There were many times where he just needed a shoulder to cry on or someone to talk to and Sage was always there regardless of what she had going on. She never really asked for much from him in return so, he'd repay her a thousand times over if he could. De'Angelo made the quick fifteen minute drive to Sage's house, bobbing his head to music and smoking the rest of a blunt he had rolled earlier. His mind couldn't stop racing with all of the possibilities that his best friend could have to tell him. Whatever it was, it sounded bad and he wasn't sure if he was ready to hear it or not. Once he arrived at the home, he got out of the car and went to knock on the door since he assumed Sage didn't have her phone at the moment to be able to call her. After a few seconds the door swung open as Mrs. Medina's bright and wide smile graced her face. De'Angelo immediately pulled her into a tight embrace. "Hey ma, Sage called me not too long ago and asked me to come over. Is she okay?" "Oh, she's fine." Sanai playfully waved him off before stepping back a couple feet to allow him inside. "Come on in honey! Sage is upstairs in her room."

De'Angelo thanked her as he closed the door and began to make his way up the narrow flight of stairs that resided a few yards from the front door. As he moved through the house, he tried to listen for any sound that Sage might have had coming from her room since she was usually playing music or watching YouTube videos, but instead he was met with an eerie silence. There was no light coming from beneath her door, signaling that she had probably had her curtains closed and was in the dark.

He allowed a light sigh to escape his lips before he reached for the doorknob and swung the door open. Just as he suspected, it was pitch black in her room so he flipped the light switch on which instantly caused Sage to roll over and cover her eyes as she laid on her bed.

Her brown orbs were already red and puffy so they were a bit sensitive to the harshness of the light. Not to mention it went from pitch black to bright so abruptly.

Sage groaned at him, her voice muffled from being buried in the covers causing him to let out a low chuckle and flip the light switch back off.

De'Angelo closed the door and made his way over to the bed once his eyes began to adjust to the darkness that overtook the small bedroom. Kicking off his slides, he climbed underneath the covers since she had been out of them so there would be a slight barrier between them as he laid behind her and threw his arm over her shaken body in attempts to comfort her. "Hey... you ok?"

He was answered by a light sniffle as her body vibrated a bit more from her silent crying. He quietly began to rub her arm as he gave her a moment to contain herself enough to speak. "I'm... I—" Her painful sobs started up again before she turned around in his hold and buried her head in his chest, her arms tucked into her own chest as he hugged her a bit tighter now, knowing she needed the comfort.

De'Angelo rubbed gentle circles onto her back and the warmth from his hand relaxed her. After a few minutes of peaceful silence, she sniffled and pulled her head away from his body enough for her to be understandable when she spoke. "Last night, I started walking home from the restaurant."

"So you saying that lame ass nigga ain't give you a ride home?" Her best friend quickly interrupted her, his eyebrows furrowing in distaste.

Sage only rolled her eyes, though it was dark so he couldn't see her. "Man, that lame ass nigga ain't even pay for my food. But that's not the point! The point is... while I was walking home, I heard a scream. And then another scream for help so, I walked over to go check it out and saw the most terrifying thing." She halted her words as the violent images resurfaced in her mind. "There was someone just hitting two women to death."

"Are you serious?" De'Angelo asked as he looked down at her silhouette. She began to sniffle again as she nodded causing her friend to pull her into his chest and embrace her once more. "I'm so sorry, baby girl." His low voice lightly rumbled both of their bodies.

He couldn't imagine being in her shoes and seeing something like that. He had walked in on his mom's lifeless body and that was the worst thing he thought he could ever possibly see, but if he would have actually witnessed her death took place... He wasn't sure if he would have been able to live with himself after that memory was etched into his brain. Hell, it was hard fighting himself to stay alive now.

Sage continued to pour her emotions out to her best friend as he comforted her in any way that he could. She hadn't even got this worked up when she had first told Sergio about the incident. "And now, what's worse is that I dropped my phone before I ran away and the police have it."

"Wait, what? You don't think they'll think you have something to do with it, right? Did you call it in when it happened?" De'Angelo fired off rapidly, a million thoughts now racing through his mind.

"I didn't have my phone!" Sage shot back in a hushed tone so her parents wouldn't hear the conversation between the two. "And when I got to Sergio's house, I didn't even think to use his. I was just so caught up in what happened—"

She paused abruptly which prompted her friend to look down at her in the darkness, his eyebrows perched up in confusion as if she could see him. A knock sounded off on her bedroom door causing them both to furrow their brows since Sanai rarely ever came to Sage's room for anything.

"Come in." Sage called out which prompted the door to be swung open only seconds afterward.

Her mother's silhouette came into view as the only things illuminating her frame were the lights from the hallway. "Your brother said to turn on the news." Sanai shrugged before closing the door, not bothering to wait around and find out what for.

Sage's relationship with her mother was strained and often they said very few words to each other unless it involved Shamar. Sage felt like she had sacrificed a lot, dropping out of school to come home and help take care of her father and pitch in on the bills on such short notice and her mother didn't give her enough credit for that.

Sage entered her dorm room, sweat beads dripping from her forehead and her chest heaving exhaustingly from her morning run. She had ran for about an hour and a half every other day before she showered and got ready for class. She was more of a morning person; when the sun was up, she was up.

She immediately began gathering her daily hygiene things to start up her shower. Grabbing her phone to turn on some music while she did so, her eyebrows knit together in confusion once she noticed the multiple calls from her mother. They hadn't spoke since she started the semester because both of them had their own responsibilities to tend to and understood that. So, it was weird to see so many missed calls from her.

Just when she was about to call her mother back, her screen flashed with that very name printed across the top causing her to pick up instantly. "Hey mom, everything ok? I see you—"

"It's your father, sweetheart." Sanai cut her daughter off, a somber tone displayed in her voice. "He got in an accident a couple months ago with your brother in the car. He's—They say he won't be able to feel anything from the shoulders down for the rest of his life."

The line got silent as Sage attempted to process the information she was receiving. A couple of months? And she was only just finding out about it then.

"What? Why wouldn't somebody call me and tell me that daddy and Gio got into an accident? Y'all don't think that's something I should know too?!" Sage yelled into the phone, frustrated with her family for not informing her any sooner. More so with her mother because her father physically couldn't and as far as she knew, Sergio might have been injured too.

She heard her mother sigh on the other end of the line. It wasn't one of sadness, but more so annoyance. "Sage, your father and I didn't wanna bother you while you were away at school. It isn't like you pick up the phone anyway. How many times did I have to call before you finally answered?"

"That doesn't matter!" Sage's hand flew to her face as she closed her eyes and began to rub small circles into her temples, now pacing the floor. "So what? You call me to finally tell me that he's crippled now and that's it?"

"No. Your brother and I need your help down here caring for your father. Sergio's still going to school during the day and I have to work to take care of the bills. Somebody's gotta be there to help him." Sanai pleaded through the phone's speaker. "You can continue your classes online and just do that while you're at home with your dad."

Sage's hand flew back down to her side as her eyes bulged open at the favor her mother was suddenly trying to ask of her after not even bothering to call for months. She loved the freedom of being at her college with nothing to worry about but passing her classes and keeping food in her fridge. "Why me? You haven't tried hiring someone for that or something?"

It wasn't that she didn't want to help her family because she did, but that would ultimately mean she would have to choose between furthering her education and taking care of her parent. She was already halfway through with her credits and had been anticipating her graduation date since she was a mere freshman.

"Yes, Sage." Her mother answered sternly. She could tell Sanai was growing more annoyed as the conversation went on. She couldn't understand why her daughter wouldn't want to come back home and help the man who raised her. It was the least she could do. "But the first caretaker was a slacker and only checked on your father every couple of hours while I was away and the second was stealing from the house. I'm not hiring another stranger to stay in my home while I'm not there. Shamar needs someone who will show him the love and care that he needs and he can't get that from someone he doesn't even know." The line grew silent once again before Sanai sighed lightly after a minute or so.

"He needs his daughter, Sage."

She sighed as she sat up in her bed and began rummaging around for her remote by running her hand along the sheets of her bed since it was too dark for her to see anything on her own.

Once she found the small rectangular object, she pressed the 'on' button causing her TV to spring to life. She found the news channel in a matter of seconds and what she saw immediately made her blood turn cold.

"Last night, my two daughters were taken from me. And as I mourn the loss of them, let me reiterate that the person who did this will be found and persecuted swiftly." The city's mayor stood in front of a podium dressed in a cream suit as lights quickly and consistently flashed across his face, his pictures being taken as he spoke. His eyes were red and anyone who looked at him could tell he had been crying nonstop since he heard the news. "I will not stop until my daughters receive their proper justice." With that, he stepped away from the podium causing array of questions to be fired at him by the numerous reporters who wanted an inside story on the incident.

The short video of him stopped before a well put together middle aged woman appeared on the screen immediately after. "Mayor Holt has just spoken out about the double homicide of his twenty-two year old twin daughters, Malaysia and Kaniya Holt, that took place around seventeen hours ago. Autopsy report reveals the cause of death to be blunt force trauma to the head and massive swelling to the brain. The two young women were apparently beaten to death."

Sage drowned out the rest of the reporter's words going on about the suspects as De'Angelo laid beside her, speechless and astonished just as she was. Neither of them could find the right words to say about what they had just watched.

She had witnessed the mayor's daughters get murdered right before her eyes and according to the news, her cracked phone was the only piece of evidence left at the crime scene. She hadn't called to report what happened and went back to the crime scene the day after. It was only a matter of time before the police came knocking on her door and she'd have to find an answer for every question they threw at her, but she couldn't even find answers to the questions that she had.

She couldn't help but to shut off the TV, leaving her and De'Angelo in the pitch darkness once again. "Sorry, I just couldn't watch that anymore." She uttered out after a minute of silence. She felt like she wanted to spew up all the contents in her stomach right then and there.

Her best friend didn't blame her. He wasn't sure what he would do if he was in her position. So, he just held onto her. Sage sighed as she rubbed his back, thanking him without having to say a word. Small gestures like him showing up when she called would always resonate with her and remind her to never stop appreciating their friendship.

"Thanks for this by the way. I just didn't wanna be alone and my brother's cool and all, but he's not the best at comforting women." She added as she thought back to the night before and how silent Sergio had been the entire time.

De'Angelo playfully smacked his lips. "Chill, that make me sound like a whore." He spoke, emphasizing the last word in his Blac Youngsta voice causing the both of them to let out a short laugh as she gave him a knowing look. "Nah, but for real. You know I always got you and I know in my heart you wouldn't be able to do some shit like this. So if they come to you on some rah rah, I'll be fighting with you every step of the way. I promise."

Her heart grew warm as he spoke, grateful that she had at least one person in her corner at a time like this and that person was one of the most important to her. "I know you will. Thanks Angel, I love you."

"I love you too, Sage."

The two embraced each other once again as De'Angelo stared ahead at nothing in particular since he couldn't see anything in the first place. He was worried about her; physically and mentally.

The last time she had broke down like this was when she found out her father was never going to be able to walk her down the aisle or even hug her anymore. She had gone into a deep depression after that, starving herself and enduring sleepless nights, and he didn't want this situation to be a rerun of that.

So he meant what he said, he'd be there with her through everything the entire time and make sure she was doing well emotionally. No matter how long that took.

[bymyside-fic]

After (~1600 words) read on AO3 // AFF

- December 26, 2009 -

Well, Kibum thought to himself as he opened his eyes. I don't feel any different. Aside from a vague sense of lingering happiness, he really didn't. Did it actually happen? He rubbed his eyes, staring up at the pictures adorning his bunk's ceiling. Which one was it? he couldn't help but wonder. If he had to guess, it was the one nearer to the top, where he and Minho were posing with leaves in the pile he and Gil had made last year.

He could be wrong, though…

Sitting up, he surveyed the room, taking in the dress robes and shoes and ties and shirts strewn about the room. The Yule Ball did in fact happen, then...unless this was just a dream as well.

He pinched his arm. Hard.

"Ow."

The room didn't vanish. He didn't jolt awake. Nothing.

"Huh…"

He braced himself as he sat up, his hand pressing into his open notebook. He picked it up as soon as he was situated, his smile growing as he quickly scanned the messages between him and Minho. Yeah, it wasn't a dream...it was real.

Minho was actually his boyfriend.

His heart sang as he flipped back to the start, rereading I can't stop thinking about you...

This was gonna be a fantastic day, he could already tell.

Even though breakfast was nowhere near ready, he hopped out of bed, finding and pulling on his socks. Excitement thrummed through him, and he couldn’t stay still any longer. He left the room, being careful not to wake the others up, and made his way out into the common room, only to stop in his tracks.

Minho was awake. Awake and sitting on the couch across from Analecia. “What are you doing up this early?” he asked, unable to keep the surprise from coloring his voice.

“Why do you think?” he said in Korean as Kibum moved further into the room.

"I mean, I have a guess -- "

"Oh good," Analecia said, rolling her eyes and trying not to smile. "The flirting in Korean thing is still happening."

"Who said we were flirting?" Minho asked as Kibum chuckled and made his way over to the everlasting tea set.

"I'm not an idiot, Minho." Kibum poured himself some coffee, spooned a little sugar in it, and went over to sit beside Minho.

"You didn't put any cream in it," Minho said after he leaned over to inspect it.

"I don't like cream in it."

"But I do."

"Go make your own, then?"

Minho shook his head, huffing a sigh as he looked across the table at Analecia. "See what I have to put up with?"

"I don't know how you do it," she said with faux sympathy.

Kibum scoffed. "I thought you were supposed to be on my side."

"I'm on nobody's side except my own. And occasionally my mother's."

"I'd drink to that if Kibum's coffee had cream in it."

Kibum smacked Minho's thigh as he got up to get his own coffee, which in turn made him laugh. "Why are you being such a brat right now?" he asked, once again slipping into Korean. He wasn't mad, more amused than anything, and he knew Minho could tell by his tone that he wasn't upset with him.

Minho, who was still smiling, shrugged as he tapped the side of the teapot twice before he poured himself a cup. "Because your reactions are cute."

Kibum sucked his teeth at him, his face inflaming before he returned his attention to Ana across the table. She was watching him, highly amused, and her gaze flicked up to follow Minho's progress back to his side. He glanced at his cup, doing a double-take when he saw that it was cocoa instead of coffee. Minho's eyes lit up when Kibum's met his, and he took a sip, seemingly waiting for Kibum to make some sort of remark.

Kibum unsuccessfully tried to keep himself from smiling as he looked back at Analecia. "Is breakfast upstairs today? I forget."

"McGonagall mentioned it last night when you came upstairs, didn't she?" Kibum blinked at her. He had no memory of that, but then he had been just slightly distracted after he left Minho last night. Minho coughed quietly into his cocoa, disguising a laugh, and Analecia's smile slowly grew.

"Both of you need to stop teasing me, I swear to -- "

But Minho had leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to Kibum's cheek and bringing his train of thought to a screeching halt. "Sorry, I'll stop."

Kibum slowly turned, meeting Minho's adorably mischievous gaze. "You know what's sorta funny?" he asked in Korean, sniffing a laugh when Analecia let out an exasperated sigh.

"What?"

"I got after Aaron and Arabella for making out last night. They were sitting right here."

Minho let out a clipped laugh. "Really?" Kibum nodded, giving Minho a wry smile. "So, what? Am I in trouble?"

"You're on very thin ice,” Kibum said as sternly as he could manage, but Minho still cracked up, which made Kibum do so as well. He looked back over at Analecia, who was shaking her head as she glanced over to watch Chloe sleepily trudge into the common room.

The others were waking up then, one by one coming out to join them for their morning coffee or tea or cocoa before they all decided to head upstairs for breakfast. Kibum lingered toward the back of the procession and Minho, of course, joined him. By the time everyone else had stepped into the main corridor, Kibum reached the top step. He grabbed Minho’s hand, leading him to the shadows beneath the stairs.

“What’s this about?” Minho asked when his back hit the wall, an easy grin brightening his features as Kibum pressed his hand against the wall by his shoulder, leaning over him.

Kibum shrugged nonchalantly, glancing down at his lips before meeting his gaze again. “Just wanted to say a proper good morning, that’s all.”

And, before Minho could respond, Kibum was kissing him. Minho’s arm slipped around his waist, pulling him close as he cradled Minho’s face in his hand. When Kibum started to pull away, just enough to look into his still-closed eyes, he murmured Good morning against Minho's parted lips.

It took a second for Minho to open his eyes again. “You know,” he said, a little breathlessly. “If you keep this up, you might just make a morning person out of me.”

“Oh really?” Minho nodded, still smiling.

Before Kibum could kiss him again, footsteps sounded up the stairs. They stayed close, both unmoving until the footsteps passed. Kibum melted into Minho's embrace when he initiated another kiss, but it was cut short by even more footsteps. Reluctantly, they parted, and Kibum held his hand for as long as he dared as he pulled him out into the main corridor.

Analecia eyed them as they took their place on the bench beside her, but she said nothing, instead turning to Gil when he said through his mouthful of eggs, “Anyone wanna come down to Hogsmeade later?”

“Do you want to?” Minho asked him quietly after Aaron and Callum started discussing it with Gil.

Kibum shrugged. “Probably. I mean, what else is there to do?” Minho met his eye, then, his amusement shining in his eyes. Kibum started smiling, but caught himself and instead looked back down at his breakfast. “Besides that.”

“Oh, I don’t know, then.”

Kibum snorted, nudging Minho with his elbow before he tuned back into the others’ conversation.

It was decided by Gil, Analecia, and Aaron when they would go -- Aaron had to finish writing a letter to his mom, but after stopping by the owlery, they could head down. They separated at the corner, Minho and Gil heading off to their common room while Kibum and the other’s made their way to theirs. Aaron finished up his letter as quickly as he could while everyone else put on their coats and boots and scarves and knit caps that Callum’s mom made them this Christmas.

With Aaron’s finished letter in hand, they were off, rejoining Minho and Gil on the stairs. They were already near the top by the time they reached the landing, but both of them stopped to wait for him and Analecia to join them.

Even though he knew he should keep his feelings a secret, he couldn’t help but grin whenever he was around Minho now. Maybe that feeling would fade and he would become less obvious as time wore on, but right now...right now he knew he was positively beaming, just because Minho was there. It wasn’t like anything was out of the ordinary. He was just...just with him, and he knew that he liked him back, and it was like a heavy burden he never realized he had been carrying all this time had been lifted, and they could just be...well, themselves.

He would have thought that by now he would have already realized the weighted effects that secrets had on him…

But, at least it was gone now. Well, that part of it.

He glanced up at Minho, who immediately looked his way, returning his smile. Sure, their relationship was still a secret from most everyone, but at least they were now sharing the burden of it.

And that was more than he could have ever hoped for.

[jewels2876]

Steal Some Covers, Share Some Skin

A/N: This is my entry for Attie’s Challenge Challenge - it seems like an easy prompt but I was trying to hard to shove it into ideas that just didn’t click with me - until this one!

This is also filling my Square for both @marvelfluffbingo and @star-spangled-bingo: Photographer AU

Prompt is “You are home for me now.” and is in BOLD

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1899

Warnings: fluffy fluff, I had to make a teeny tiny dig at Supernatural (I’m a fan too!), Sam and Nat are thrown in for fun - you have blue eyes, there’s a reason I promise!

Present

Bucky never thought he could be this happy, this CONTENT. He tugged you closer, wrapping both of his arms around you, inhaling the citrus scent of your shampoo still lingering from last night’s shower. You sighed in your sleep and buried your face into his chest.

Six Months Ago

It had started simply enough. You had been running late, with your white chocolate mocha frappuccino in one hand and smartphone in your other hand, talking to your client. You had been too distracted by her voice on the other end when you ran into a hard body. The frappuccino spilled onto your shoes as you swore at your own clumsiness. A pair of hands gently grasped your upper arms. “Are you ok?”

You stared into a pair of stormy blue-grey eyes. Your lips parted wordlessly as you drunk in the gorgeous face in front of you. His forehead was high and regal; the sharp angle of his cheekbones contrasted beautifully with his perfectly plump pink lips. He had a five o’clock shadow that only enhanced his features, rather than detracting. Your fingers itched to grab your camera and just start shooting this magnificent face. You noticed his lips curling and your ears caught up with his words. “Doll, are you ok?”

“I’m fine,” you breathed, a giggle caught in your throat. His voice sounded like an angel, a sexy angel who had abandoned heaven to grace your presence on Earth. I HAVE to stop watching Supernatural, you told yourself. “I’m so sorry about your pants though.” The coffee had darkened one of his pant legs.

He looked down with a grin. “I hate these pants, so I might have to thank you instead.” His beautiful eyes gazed back at you. “Why are you in such a hurry?”

“Job,” you swore and looked at your phone. The previous call had ended at some point; you mentally crossed your fingers this shoot you were heading to would be a quick and easy one. “Can you hold this?” You handed the gentleman the camera around your neck and the equipment bag on your back. You hit redial and listened as it rang. 

She picked up on the third ring. “Y/n, what happened? I heard you swear, then the line dropped. You’re still on your way, right?”

“Yes Nat, I’ll be there. Just give me ten minutes, please?”

“No problem!” Nat ended the call.

You turned your attention back to the beautiful man in front of you. You took a deep breath and straightened into your 5’ 2” stature, pulling a business card out of your back pocket. “If you change your mind about your pants, give me a call.” You took the bag back first, then the camera. He startled at your card before allowing a wide grin to take over his face. You mentally rolled your eyes at his glow. How the fuck does a guy get away with being this… it’s unfair.

“Or I could ask you out to dinner?” He didn’t even try to hide the hopeful tone of his voice.

You offered him a small smile. “You could. But I really have to go. Sorry!”

Bucky watched you jog faster in the direction of Central Park before glancing back down at your business card:

“So do I call her?”

“Dude, she gave you her card! Yes! Call her!” Sam rolled his eyes at his friend. “Was she cute?”

Bucky thought back to the encounter. The first thing he had noticed were the blue of your eyes; they reminded him of Steve. Bucky shook his head, knowing Steve was off on his own adventure and that it was ridiculous to compare you to him. Still, there was something familiar… friendly… safe with you, despite the spilled coffee, he thought with a smile. Then he remembered the shine of y/h/c hair that caught the dim sunlight, and the blush pink tone of the t-shirt you matched with pale blue jeans and grey slip-on shoes.  “Yeah Sam, she’s beautiful.”

*

Nat corralled her daughter, settling her into the stroller with a squeal. You had spent most of the morning letting the little girl run wild in Central Park’s grass, blowing bubbles that she happily popped, playing with the dogs that approached. Then Nat had suggested they ride the carousel; the picture of mother and daughter brought a smile to your face, and just a small twinge of tears wishing for your own little one. Your favorite picture would still be the large Malamute that had let little Nikita snuggle right up to her; the dog sat perfectly, smiling at the camera while Nikita rested her head on the dog’s back, stroking her fur and saying ‘soft puppy’ over and over.

“So tell me about this guy you drenched with coffee,” Nat teased.

Your cheeks bloomed a light pink, then you groaned when you realized. “I didn’t get his name!”

“Hahaha! Come on! My dearest friend takes time out of her weekend to shoot my wild child, runs into what you describe as ‘a gift from God,’ and you didn’t get his name?! He clearly had you dazzled!”

You stuck a tongue out at Nat. Nikita giggled at the face and did the same to her mom. Nat rolled her eyes, pointing a finger at you. “Thank you for teaching my child that. And you!” She knelt down to smirk at her daughter. “You better do that only at your dad, ok?” The little girl giggled and stuck her tongue out again. Nat laughed and straightened back up. “He’s going to call you; you gave him your card. He can take the hint, right?”

*

Bucky sat out on the balcony, phone in one hand, your business card in the other. He hadn’t been forward lately, due to the prosthetic arm he had lost while serving overseas. But the memory of meeting you, even rushed, had given him a constant smile. You hadn’t brushed off his idea of dinner, but he was still nervous. Sam watched this internal dilemma play out in front of him and decided to help out his friend. Without a word, Sam grabbed the phone and card, dialing, then handed the phone back to Bucky. “You’re welcome.”

“Hello?” you heard the unfamiliar male voice on the other end. You had answered every call in the last three hours, hoping it would be the mysteriously gorgeous guy from earlier. You heard a cough then a more familiar voice came through.

“Hey, that was my friend. He was being…”

“Helpful?” You chuckled. “Is this pants guy? Sorry I didn’t get your name earlier.”

Bucky chuckled at the weird moniker. “Call me Bucky, it’s less wordy than ‘pants guy.’ Did you make it to work ok?”

You settled back into your couch cushions. “I did! Thankfully my best friend understood so it wasn’t a huge issue. It was a fun session; I plan on doing a shoot for that kid anytime someone asks! How was your day? Any other clumsy people spill drinks on you?”

Bucky’s laugh made your stomach flutter. You rolled your eyes as Bucky stopped laughing and gasped. “Nope, just you doll.” You felt the heat on your face, hearing a smack of flesh on flesh on the other end. “Sorry, it slipped. I don’t go around calling everyone doll, really!”

You bit your lower lip to keep from grinning. A five minute conversation didn’t usually bring you this much humor and joy and you wondered if Bucky was thinking the same thing.

“So…” you both said. You giggled as Bucky sighed. “You go first,” he said.

“I was just going to say I’m sorry for getting coffee on you again, but I’m glad you called.” You bit your lip again.

“You should really thank my friend Sam for calling for me! How do you feel about Chinese?”

“Ewh,” was your honest, unfiltered response. “Unless we’re talking about their amazing acrobatics?”

Bucky chuckled. “I was thinking about dinner. Tomorrow. If that’s ok?”

You smiled into the phone. “I feel like it should be me offering, since I did the spilling.”

“No way doll! Damn it, I mean y/n,” Bucky was sure you could see his blush. “Let me try this like a normal person. Y/n, would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow?”

Present

A heavy rain startled both of you out of sleep. You kept your head rested against Bucky’s chest as his arm squeezed you closer. “Morning,” you whispered, dropping a kiss on him. You felt him kiss the top of your head.

“Morning,” his voice still rough with sleep. Then he turned his head to the side and grumbled at the clock. “Nope, afternoon.” He snuggled against you. “There’s no law that says we have to get out of bed though.”

You lifted yourself onto your left arm while your right hand drew lazy patterns over Bucky’s bare chest. The lighting in the room was muddled and Bucky’s hair was a stark contrast to the greys. You reached behind you and picked your camera off the floor, aiming the lens at his prone frame. You heard his groan over the sounds of the shutter as you captured this etheral creature laying in your bed. You giggled as he threw his left arm over his eyes, the metal gleamed as the flash went off. You glanced down at the last picture and sucked in a breath. You laid back down, this time your head resting on his chest, so he could see the shots you took as well. “Babe, this one is just… magnificent! I love the way the shadows fall over your body, and yet your arm… will you let me show this one? Please?” You looked up at him with your big blue eyes.

He kissed the top of your head and wrapped his right arm around your middle as you paged through the others. “If it makes my photographer girlfriend happy and gainfully employed, I’m willing.” You gasped and grabbed a corner of a pillow. “Don’t even think about it doll.” His teasing smile tugged at your heart. You let go of the pillow and instead turned in his grasp and planted a warm kiss to his lips.

“Yup,” the ‘p’ sound exaggerated as you pulled back. “A MUCH better decision.” You glanced at your clock and sighed. “So I guess you’re going to have to head home soon?”

Bucky’s thoughts raced at reasons why he would have to leave your bed, or you for that matter. Steve was gone, having lived the life he wanted. Sam always had plans, or dates, or work, that kept him busy. The thought of his own apartment, without you, suddenly seemed unappealing.

“You’re home for me now,” Bucky said simply. He pulled you into a searing kiss that left both of you breathless. “Doll, if you’ll have me, any place with you is home now.” You saw his watery smile and felt tears prickling in the corner of yours.

“Really?” you whispered. You kissed him softly, feeling like you had hit a million dollar jackpot. The warmth in your heart could have heated your apartment for… ah hell, you thought. You let your hands tug gently on his hair as you kissed him again.

Bucky pulled back to catch his breath and whisper back “Really. I love you.”

FIN

I would love any feedback/reblogs/love in general

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[idiocie]

                   THE PORTRAIT THAT HANGS ON THE WALL                " what do you remember about your mother? "

there was nothing wrong with the question in and of itself,   but lucille still disliked the way liam often asked such things with such bluntness.          it was as if he was incapable of   warming   his tone for the sake of the others in conversation with him.          she drew a sharp inhale and her gaze flickered over to jade.            luckily,   jade didn’t seem to mind being asked such intrusive questions so plainly,   but that didn’t make it right.           lucille let the liam’s plate of eggs and bacon drop rather loudly on the table in front of him.            HER  DISTASTE DID NOT GO UNNOTICED ;    he glanced at her as he placed the mugs on the table and drew back his seat.          in comparison,    jade set down the pitcher of orange juice much more gently at the centre of the table,   her dark gaze flickering over the both them briefly.

and so they settled into their seats.           HAVING  BREAKFAST  AT  3  IN  THE  MORNING  MIGHT’VE  BEEN  CONSIDERED  NORMAL  GIVEN  THE  CIRCUMSTANCES.          the circumstances being,   of course,  that the three of them had all come down,   out of bed,   after hearing a strange sound and collectively seen one of the portraits that hung on the wall  swinging by itself   and only stopping when jade had haltingly asked it to stop.           there was a moment after the painting had righted itself when one of them could have spoken up and said something soft and comforting,  something   assuringly dismissive   and suggested that they all just head back to bed.           but that moment came and went without anything said and it was their unspoken agreement that none of them were going to sleep again tonight that lead them to making breakfast.

it had also led to jade asking liam the inevitable question seeing as this was his family’s manor that they were staying in.             “       WHOSE  PORTRAIT  IS  THAT?       ”           she’d asked him in a tone that implied she already   knew   the answer.

liam had kept quiet for a long while,   leading them down the dark corridor towards the kitchen.           eventually,  his voice rang out in the darkness,   clear and strong :     “       MY  MOTHER'S,       ”          he’d said.

the light hanging above their table glowed with a soft yellow.           it made lucille feel safe despite knowing what had happened in the next room.           she held her mug of coffee between both hands,   warming her skin as she waited quietly.           jade had only wanted to know what his mother was like,   perhaps wanting to better understand why a portrait of the woman do such a thing ;     and as it is his wont,   liam had replied with a question.           it annoyed lucille to no end the way he did that.           she thought it   rude and and unnecessarily aggressive,   especially when among the people who he considered his friends.            but jade only took it in stride :     [     NOTHING    COMES  FROM  NOTHING     /     A  QUESTION  FOR  A  QUESTION,   THAT’S  FAIR     ].          and so,   the thief simply curled one leg underneath herself and twirled her fork nimbly between her fingers.           she let her   implacable   gaze rest on liam as she thought over her answer,   her head tilted and her face open to the shine of the soft yellow light.

                                  JADE    i remember plenty about my mother. i remember the sound of her    voice, i remember the shape of her face and her eyes. i    remember how she used to watch me quietly when i was a child    and never say anything, only watched me. i remember how she    used to keep really strange hours and that once,   oh,   once    when i was trying to decide between two novels at a bookstore,       she told me to get both. this seemed illogical to me at the time    and so i asked her why both,   and she looked me in the eyes,       paused,   and then told me that                       [     I  WAS  GOING  TO  DIE  YOUNG     ]         and so,   i should start making a habit of living my life    to the fullest.

lucille’s breath caught in her throat.          she stared at jade,   horrified.          what kind of mother says such a thing to a child?          AND  WHY?           what could she have possibly been hoping to accomplish by telling her child that?           not knowing what to think,   lucille turned her head and looked at liam ;     he was also staring at jade.            but his expression was calmer,   as if it understood exactly what was going on and was only waiting patiently for jade to go on with her story.           that figured.

“       of course,   if there’s anything i don’t remember about my mother,   i can just call her and ask,       ”            jade added,   forgoing her fork and picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers.           she looked between the two of them as she took a bite.             “       YEAH,   MY  MOM’S  NOT  DEAD.     although that’s what everyone always seems to think.       ”              beside her,   liam gave a short,   vicious bark of laughter and turned to his food.          admittedly,   lucille was surprised as well ;     SHE’D  ALWAYS  ASSUMED  THAT  JADE  WAS  AN  ORPHAN.           she never spoke about her parents,   but then again,   jade never spoke about much of anything unless directly asked.           it wasn’t that she was secretive,  just private.           suddenly,   lucille began to understand why liam so often just shot questions at her :     it was the only way to get to know the enigmatic woman.

lucille cleared her throat,   took a gulp of her coffee,   and set it down.             “       AND  YOU?       ”            she asked,   letting her gaze bore into liam.           he looked up at her with a mouthful of eggs.           “      what do you remember about your mother?       ”           in her mind’s eye,   she could see the swinging painting again.           the way it moved   so violently   that she thought it would fly right off the wall and chase them down the hall,   screeching the whole way.

liam swigged his coffee and swallowed hard.             “       what do you want to know?     she was lovely,   she was sharp,   and i remember she had a very dark sense of humour that i never appreciated when i was young.     it was only ever me and her.       ”

jade chewed thoughtfully.          her brows slowly came together.             “       WAS?     liam,   i thought your mother was still alive.       ”

“       oh,   she is,        ”             he said,   pushing food into his cheek.             “       she just isn’t the woman she once was,   but i suppose going inexplicably missing for nearly two decades will do that to you.     but you know how that goes,   jade.       ”           one corner of jade’s mouth quirked and she nodded,   shrugging.          going missing,   being presumed dead...     it was a familiar story.

lucille drew a deep breath and blinked hard at her reflection in the coffee.            “       yes,   but that still doesn’t explain why her portrait did what it did.       ”          a long silence fell over the table.

after a moment,   liam smacked his lips and leaned back in his seat.           jade drew a deep breath,   met lucille’s gaze,   and said :       “       YEAH,   THAT  WAS  FUCKED  UP.       liam,   maybe you should call your mother.       ”

liam nodded and made to get up.            “       yeah,   i should.       ”             then,   he sat back down.             “      and i will.     when it’s not 3 in the bloody morning.        ”

[shellalana]

Furball of a Problem

((I blame @maliwarm for this))

It had taken them a long time to get to this point, to be able to trust each other, watch each other’s back, sit down and have a conversation that didn’t devolve into an argument five minutes in. It had been a struggle - with tears and vented drinking on both sides - but Reyna was absolutely positive that he was ready. That they were. “C’mon, mom, this is stupid!” K’ struggled to keep his balance with her hands over his eyes, trying her best to keep up with him while blocking his vision from the surprise waiting for him. Why did the universe have to bless her with a tall-as-fuck son? “You say that now, but you’re gonna be thanking me for a week straight once you see what it is. Now stop bitching.” Better yet, why didn’t she just have the big man do this part for her and carry him down the hallway himself? It would have been easier, but it would have made the moment much less special. It was very rare that they got moments like this alone that didn’t involve coming with another plan to take down Thrall or Jennerit forces or NESTS. Those quiet peaceful moments where they could just sit and be in each other’s company. “Ha! Doubt it. Unless it’s a lifetime supply of jerky, there’s nothing you can do to make me that grateful.” Oh, how hard she wanted to smack him in the back of the head at that moment. She was going to make him eat his words. Carefully, she stopped him in front of his quarters and nudged the door open with her hip. She hid the little gift in the last place he’d look while he was out on his last mission; Maxima had kept him out at the bar too, in “celebration” of their success. That gave her enough time to get everything set up. “Okay, we’re gonna head to the bed now. I need you to just sit there, okay? And for Pete's sake, don’t scream your fucking head off.” “Swear.” A bit hypocritical of him, since he did it all the time, but she’d chastised him for the same thing. It was only fair that they played by the same rules. “Yeah, yeah, shut up.” Reyna sat him down and positioned his arms across his lap, his hands palm-up. She held her breath as she stepped into his bathroom and scooped up the little fuzzball into her arms. She kept a hand around its muzzle just in case she decided to yap or whine in protest, but it was proving to be something of a struggle. “You ready?” K’ sighed. “Just get it over with, will ya? I got shit to do.” Reyna plopped the little into his arms and stepped back. K’ flinched and almost shot out of the bed, his eyes shooting open at the strange warm thing in his lap. On witnessing the puppy, however, his face began to turn an unbelievable shade of red. Reyna swore she saw glimmers in the corners of his eyes. When he didn’t say anything for a good solid minute, the puppy staring up at him with her tongue lolling out of her mouth, Reyna finally kneeled on the floor in front of him and held up the little tag on its collar. Worried by the possibility he hated his gift, she needed something to fill the silence with. “I named her Starbuck, but we could always go with something else if you like. And I got her a crate and some toys, a bag of food, some pee pads, and a leash. I went with green instead of pink since, uh, you’re you and I know you like your tough image, so-” Reyna’s words were choked off by the arms suddenly flung around her neck. Starbuck wriggled between them, a little crushed from the surprise hug. It was only when she let out a little whine that K’ finally let go and slid onto the ground beside his mom, the puppy in his arms. “How... Why did you...” He ran his hand through his hair but Reyna was sure he was wiping away the remnants of a tear. “Cuz you wanted one when you were younger. I figured since you’re old enough to actually walk a dog on your own that you deserved one. Someone else to tell your secrets to when you... don’t feel like sharing with me.” Reyna gave Starbuck’s ear a good scratching; she leaned into it, her hind leg twitching and jerking with relief. “I know we’re still trying to patch things up, and you know how busy I am. I don’t want you to feel like I’m blowing you off when I can’t be there to listen. You understand, right?” K’ wanted to so badly, to put himself in her shoes and just let go of all that anger and hatred he’d held onto over the years. For her giving him up. For not looking for him. “For not” a lot of things. That anger he’d become comfortable with because it was what had kept him alive for so long. All this soft... it made his skin crawl, despite it being the one thing he’d been looking for all his life. So he nodded silently and buried his face in the soft fur of Starbuck’s neck. She filled his ear with snuffling and then playful licks until he couldn’t help devolving into soft chuckles. “Don’t... think this makes up for everything,” he said in a chastising tone. “I don’t. I know where we stand. I’ll leave you two alone.” Before Reyna could get too far, the warm metal glove caught her wrist and pulled her back to the ground. There, she gazed upon a face that was half hers, half someone else’s. But those eyes - honey-brown and piercing - were definitely hers. How could she have let him go in the first place? “Y-yes?” Her throat was suddenly tight with emotion she didn’t want to show. “Can you show me how these pee pads work? ... before she pisses on my bed.” K’ gave her a look of slight disgust, mixed with amusement. “Might as well. This room already smells to high heaven, no reason it has to get worse.” K’ smirked and shoved her shoulder, eliciting a playful growl from Starbuck in response. “Thanks, mom.” Reyna would never get used to hearing that. “No problem, kid.” Now if only she could get those other three words out, then everything would be perfect.

[orangeoctopi7]

Liars

Spider Stan AU Chapter 5 Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve been distracted by other fandoms. Also trying to apply to Grad School again. As such, don’t expect the next chapter until after November.

It had only been a couple of days, but already Fiddleford was about ready to smack these brothers. They barely spoke to each other, and when they did, it was clear they were walking on eggshells. Every so often, either Stan or Ford would take a bitter tone with the other, and McGucket hoped they were on the brink of actually talking about their issues, but each time, it just resulted in a heated argument. Twice now, Stan had driven off in his car, and Ford had stormed out into the woods. Ford came back first, worrying that Stan had left for good this time. Each time Stan had eventually returned, murmuring that he knew Ford wanted to run more tests.

That was another thing that had been bothering McGucket. The tests they’d run the first day had been interesting, to be sure. Stan’s nervous system, his immune system, all of his senses, were faster than any normal human’s. But there was nothing to indicate that his mutation was continuing or that it had any ill effects on Stan. If anything, Stan was healthier than he should have been, considering his living conditions. But Ford insisted on running more each day. Testing the extent of Stan’s strength, his flexibility and reflexes, whether he could see in the dark, how he stuck to walls, anything, it seemed, that Ford could think of. Fiddleford couldn’t help but think this went far beyond just checking to make sure Ford’s brother wasn’t negatively affected by his mutation. 

McGucket decided to air his grievances while he and Ford were alone, looking at some X-rays of Stan’s hands.

“Incredible! Look at this!” Ford pointed to some faint lines running between the phalanges and metacarpals, “Normally, in a human being, these muscles are vestigial, useless. But Stan’s mutation somehow enlarged and invigorated them. That must be how he can hold himself up just by sticking to a wall!”

“Well, that certainly is fascinatin’.” McGucket agreed. “D’you think it’ll lead to overcrowding with his other muscles? Arthritis? Carpal-tunnel?” 

“Mmm, no. Stan’s hands are rather large and meaty. There should be plenty of room. And it actually lessens the stress on his joints.”

“I see....” McGucket nodded, making a mental note to try and replicate the effect on a robotic joint later. “Ford, don’t ya think this is beginnin’ to go well beyond jus’ lookin’ after yer brother’s health? It’s pretty clear he’s fit as a fiddle, heck, even more fit than yer average athlete!”

“Well… yes, but… there’s still more to do… to, uh, study the long-term effects…”

“Stanford, please, you gotta start bein’ honest with yerself. And with him!”

Ford flinched. “Him who?” he asked nervously.

“Your brother! Who else?”

“Oh. Of course. I-I mean…” the researcher huffed a short sigh. “I know, sooner rather than later, he’ll decide he’s had enough and leave. I’m just trying to learn as much as I can from him until then.”

“Well, he’s already left twice, and ya spent a good hour or so worryin’ he was never gonna come back.”

“Be-because if he leaves, we’ll lose a great research opportunity!”

“But he’s come back each time. Supposedly because he knows ya wanna run more tests on him.”

“Fiddleford, if you’re trying to make a point, would you please just get to it?”

“Alright, fine! You two keep dancin’ around yer issues, pretendin’ like yer jus’ here fer the sake of science, but it’s pretty obvious yer both hopin’ that somehow bein’ in the same place long enough is gonna somehow make everythin’ right. But it ain’t! Nothin’ about whatever bad blood you two got betwixt y’all is gonna get solved unless ya both sit down an’ talk. An’ I mean really talk, not jus’ yellin’ or bein’ passive-aggressive all the time.”

Ford was taken aback by his friend’s bluntness. He spluttered for a solid thirty seconds before finally shouting, “It is incredibly presumptuous of you to make assumptions as to why I choose to keep my brother around, let alone deem yourself qualified to offer me advice on how to conduct my own family matters! And while we may be old friends, I shouldn’t have to remind you that while you are here you are technically my employee. As such, keep your overly-large nose out of my personal business!”

“Personal business!? I’m the one who has to live with both of ya!” Fiddleford retorted, then stormed out of the lab.

“I’m not forcing you to stay here!” Ford shouted after him. “You could get a room at the motel if it bothers you that much!”

McGucket’s raging mood quickly dissipated as he took the elevator back up to the main floor. He hadn’t had an angry outburst like that in a while. He wasn’t nearly as short tempered as those Pines twins, but even the mild-mannered inventor just lost his cool sometimes. 

“Good to see I’m not the only one he has shouting matches with.” Stan commented from the chair sitting in front of the TV when McGucket passed. Oh right. Enhanced senses, including hearing.

“How much did you hear?” Fiddleford asked. 

“Eh, more the volume than actual words.” Stan shrugged.

McGucket briefly considered telling Stan how much Ford had worried each time he left, telling him exactly what he’d told his brother. But Fiddleford had a feeling Stan would have a very similar reaction, except the con man’s temper was even worse than his brother’s.

Instead he settled for a beleaguered “You two’re gonna drive me off the deep end.”

* * *

It didn’t take long for Ford to regret his words. Sure, he was mad that McGucket would try and wheedle his way into the brothers’ issues when the inventor clearly didn’t understand the complexities of their relationship, or the extent of the betrayal Ford still felt. But the inventor’s heart was in the right place, and he was the one who had to live with the feuding twins. And while Ford had been truthful in telling Fiddleford he was free to leave, that certainly didn’t mean Ford wanted him to go. Just the opposite, in fact.

Stanford had never felt lonely after moving out to the woods of Gravity Falls, oh no. He’d kept far too busy exploring and studying for that. But after Fiddelford had moved in, the researcher found he preferred his friend’s company to solitude.

Of course, if McGucket were to move out now, Ford would not be returning to solitude. He’d be sharing his cabin with Stanley.

Stanford decided he really needed to apologize to Fiddleford.

The researcher hastily put away the x-rays and the other print-outs he’d be going over and rushed into the elevator. He hummed impatiently as it creeped back up to ground level. Once he reached the kitchen, he rummaged around the pantry until he found a can of those baked beans McGucket liked, heated it up over the stove, and began searching for his roommate so he could extend the peace offering.

He found McGucket just as the researcher was finishing a conversation over the phone.

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.” He hung up the phone.

“You’re leaving?” Ford asked, trying not to sound hurt. He’d known his harsh words would probably come back to bite him, but he hadn’t expected it to be so soon!

“Uh, that’s right…” Fiddelford began awkwardly. “I jus’ spoke with Emma-May an’--” 

“Fiddleford, I’m sorry, alright? I shouldn’t have yelled, and I certainly shouldn’t have insinuated you might be fired, or insulted you. But please, don’t leave!” Ford pleaded. “I’ll admit, the situation with Stanley is volatile, but that’s why I need you here now!”

“Calm down, calm down!” McGucket placated him. “I ain’t leavin’ fer more’n a few days. I was tryin’ to tell ya, Emma-May’s sick, an’, well, she needs me to come take care of Tate ‘til she gets better.”

“O-oh.” Ford squeaked out once his mind processed what his friend was saying. McGucket was leaving, but it wasn’t because he was mad, it was because of a family emergency. That was almost worse. Ford could try and apologize or talk his friend out of it if he was mad, but the researcher couldn’t, wouldn’t, try and stop his friend from taking care of his family.

“What’s goin’ on?” Stan peeked into the hall, checking to see what all the commotion was about.

“Oh, uh, I was just tellin’ Ford I gotta head back home to help take care’a things while my wife’s sick.”

Stan scrutinized McGucket carefully, taking in his expression and stance, before glancing at Ford briefly. “Uh-huh.” the con-man grunted.

“So, I’ll be leavin’ soon as I get packed. Are… are you gonna be fine here, just the two of ya?”

“Sure, mom.” Stan rolled his eyes.

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” Ford folded his arms defensively.

“That’s not really what I’m worried ‘bout.” McGucket muttered under his breath. “Oh! Are those baked beans?” He exclaimed, like he’d only just noticed the pan Ford was carrying, “I think I’ll go eat these before I pack.”

With that, the inventor made his way to the kitchen, leaving the two brothers alone, with the fact that they were about to spend a lot more time alone together hanging over them.

Stan shook his head. “He’s a bad liar.” he said as soon as McGucket was out of ear-shot.

“What!?” Ford spluttered. “He’s not--”

“Just callin’ it as I see it.”

“He’s coming back!” the researcher insisted, even as his own thoughts doubted “He wouldn’t just leave…” He wouldn’t just leave me like this.

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be back soon enough.” Stan agreed. “But his wife ain’t sick.”

“Oh, and is that another thing your ‘Spider Sense’ can detect?” Ford asked sarcastically. Ever since Stan had interrupted one of his visions with Bill, the researcher didn’t have a high opinion of that particular ability.

“Nah. You lie enough, and you get pretty good at tellin’ when other people are doin’ it. If his wife was really sick, you’d think he’d be a lot more concerned. I mean, you’ve mentioned he has issues with anxiety, but he doesn’t seem all that anxious about it. He did seem keen on gettin’ out of here before we could ask him more questions about what’s wrong with her.”

“I think that if you lie enough, you start to assume everyone else must be lying too.” Ford said icily. Although he couldn’t help but remember a time a few years back when Fiddleford had gotten news his mother was sick. His poor friend had been so worried, he’d barely eaten the day he got the news.

“Whatever.” Stan harrumphed and turned back down the hall. “Honestly, I can’t blame the guy for wantin’ a break from all of this.” He gestured back and forth to himself and his brother. “Anyway, I’m gonna go see if there’s any of those baked beans left.”

* * *

That night, Ford had a hard time falling asleep. Stan’s wrong. He kept telling himself. But a part of him couldn’t help wondering, But what if he’s right? What if all this tension with Stan is driving Fiddleford away? What if he doesn’t come back? 

When he finally did fall asleep, Ford was glad to find Bill waiting for him. He could really use a little help from a friend right now.

“HUH, YOU’RE LATER THAN USUAL. I DON’T THINK YOU’VE HAD THIS MUCH TROUBLE FALLING ASLEEP SINCE THE HAUNTED CABIN.”

“Sorry, I’m just really stressed right now, what with everything that’s going on with Stan and McGucket.”

“HEY, I WARNED YOU BRINGING YOUR BROTHER BACK HERE WOULD BE BITING OFF MORE THAN YOU COULD CHEW.”

“It’s not.” Ford said defensively, “I mean, yes, I’m a little more stressed than usual, but I can handle it.”

“OH SURE.” Bill rolled his eye, “THAT’S WHY YOU’VE KEPT WORKING ON THE PORTAL, OH WAIT! YOU HAVEN’T! AND NOW THE GUY WE NEED TO ACTUALLY START THE BUILDING PROCESS IS LEAVING!”

“That’s unfortunate, yes, but it’s not McGucket’s fault. His… his wife’s sick.” Ford explained, although there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

“YEAH, NO. YOUR BROTHER MAY BE AN UNTRUSTWORTHY LEACH, BUT HE WAS RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING. FOUR-EYES WAS LYING TO YOU.” 

“Hey, Stan’s not--”

“OH, ARE YOU SAYING I’M WRONG? ME? THE ALL-SEEING EYE?”

“No, of course not!”

“HERE, I’LL SHOW YOU!”

Bill’s yellow bricks flickered like a television screen, and suddenly Ford was watching McGucket’s conversation on the phone earlier, from the perspective of one of the many effigies of Bill he had hanging in the house.

“Hey sugar, it’s me!” Fiddleford began the conversation. “Yeah, things’re, uh, things’re goin’ great here. But, you’ll never believe what happened last week! We were in Portland, doin’ some, er, some research, an’ guess what? Stanford ran into his twin brother!” 

He paused and listened to her reply. “Yeah, he don’t talk ‘bout it much. They ain’t seen each other in over ten years. Anyway they, uh, need some time to re-connect, So I’m gonna head home, jus’ so’s I can give ‘em some space fer a bit.”

Another pause. “Aw, naw, Ford said it’s fine! I don’t think it’ll be a problem! And besides, this way I’ll be home fer Tate’s first spring break!”

“...Uh-huh. Yeah, I’ll leave as soon as I can. See ya soon. I gotta go sugar.” He said when he saw Ford enter the hall. “Love ya.”

Ford shook his head in disbelief. “I-I don’t know what to say…” 

“WHAT’D I TELL YA, FORDSY? I’M THE ONLY ONE YOU CAN TRUST!”

On one hand, he was hurt that his friend would lie to him like that, but on the other, it was clear that poor Fiddleford just wanted to spend some time with his family, and Ford could hardly begrudge him that. All the same, there were those same thoughts that had been keeping him up earlier, only here in the Dreamscape, they echoed around him in surround-sound.

It’s my fault. I’m driving him away, all because I can’t get along with my own brother!

“AW, DON’T FEEL SO BAD, SIXER!” Bill patted him on the back comfortingly. “IF THIS IS ANYBODY’S FAULT, IT’S YOUR DUMB BROTHER. HE’S THE ONE WHO BARGED BACK INTO YOUR LIFE JUST WHEN WE WERE ON THE BRINK OF CHANGING THE WORLD.”

“I know you don’t like me spending so much time studying Stan’s mutation. But it’s so incredible! We’ve only just scratched the surface of what he’s capable of! I know with just a little time and training, he could even help us build the portal!”

Bill didn’t look convinced. “FORGIVE ME IF I’M NOT SOLD ON BRINGING THE GUY WHO SMASHED YOUR SPIDER HABITAT TO SMITHEREENS INTO CONTACT WITH THE DELICATE WORKINGS OF A TRANSUNIVERSAL PORTAL.”

Ford frowned. “I know, but… but ever since I learned that Stan’s the Spider Man, I’m beginning to think… maybe he’s changed.”

“HA!” Bill laughed sharply. “I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR A SENTIMENTAL FOOL, STANFORD!”

“I’m serious!”

“I KNOW! THAT’S WHY IT’S SO HILARIOUS!” But Bill noticed Ford wasn’t taking this not-so-good-natured ribbing well. “HEY, DON’T LOOK SO SERIOUS, IQ, IT’S JUST THAT YOUR HUMAN SENTIMENTALITY IS SO FAR OUTSIDE MY PRIORITIES. IF YOU’RE SO DEAD-SET ON IT, GO AHEAD AND INCLUDE YOUR BROTHER IN ON THE PROJECT. EVEN IF HE DOES MESS THINGS UP AGAIN, YOU’VE GOT ME FOR DAMAGE CONTROL THIS TIME.”

“Thank you, Bill, I’ll do my best to make sure Stan doesn’t cause too much trouble.”

* * *

Once again, Stan woke in the middle of the night, his Spider Sense twinging. He was really getting tired of this. Not wanting another wild goose chase like his first night here, the conman tried just sitting quietly and concentrating on the unfamiliar sensation. It was so unlike his usual Spider Sense, and yet… somehow he knew it was the same sense. 

Maybe this was a newly developing power, like Ford had predicted. Unfortunately, waking Ford in the middle of the night seemed to have ticked him off so much that now Ford didn’t want to hear anything about the Spider Sense. And McGucket had left earlier that evening. So Stan was going to have to figure this out on his own. Ha. That wasn’t any different from his other powers.

As Stan sat focusing on the strange sensation for a few minutes, he finally though he could place a direction to it. It seemed to be coming from everywhere, but there was definitely one direction where it was the strongest. It was coming from downstairs.

Stan followed the sensation as quietly as he could, which was pretty darn quietly. It led him to Ford’s bedroom.

“Oh no, we’re not doin’ this again.” Stan muttered to himself. Ford had been mad enough the first time. Twice in one week, and he was sure to be kicked out. But still, he couldn’t help wondering what was going on. Was Ford in some kind of danger? Or maybe… Ford was the danger?

“Great, now my Spider Sense is trying to protect me from emotional harm.” Stan grumbled to himself as he climbed the wall back up to the attic.

* * *

Dbae’k rwou se apfleqnx dtirj. Swt tyw xwrv jpisff ew gvl cqd fx sqm. Sme pon lz oek Ktfei lz bhigh bhzk mqg Dsnseiww jatc tvtf lsm svs?

[feel199x]

♛┈⛧┈┈•༶to protect our district ༶•┈┈⛧┈♛

I II III IV V VI VII

ceo!hwang hyunjin, mafia!au, fem!reader

masterlist

a/n: hey there! hhh this isn’t too fluff heavy but it’s there if you squint! thanks for reading! hope you enjoy! (title subject to change bc i couldn’t think of anything)

warnings: angst, alluding to death and assassination, branding

words: 2362

                            ♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡

 It was said that the Hwang family was always successful, and came from a line of royals. Now, they ran a mega-corporation, known internationally. Your family, however, came from a long line of right-hand men and servants, and apprentices. All your life, you were being prepared to follow the CEO of that company, the heir of the throne you could say- Hwang Hyunjin. It should’ve felt major, something you were indebted to do, and you were. But Hyunjin never made you feel that way. You weren’t supposed to interact with the Hwangs unless they asked something of you. But here he was, sneaking off from an important family banquet and talking to you.

“Aren’t you scared?” you whispered, looking up at him. “Won’t it be hard to handle a huge corporation like your dad?” It was something you always probed him when you had the chance, even though you knew you’d get a vague answer.  He scoffed. “A mega-corporation is the least I’m afraid of.” You raised an eyebrow at him. “I should get going,” he added, “They’ll get suspicious.” You grabbed his hand and looked up at the stars. “Just stay for a minute longer,” you asked, “admire the stars.” You both leaned against the railing of the porch? “If anything,” he muttured, “You should be afraid.” The stars were exceptionally bright tonight, it felt like they burned through the atmosphere just to shine.

“Of what?”

“Everything.”

And when you turned around to tell him off for being weird and vague, he was already gone.

You hadn’t seen Hyunjin since that night. You had assumed that he was busy preparing his coronation of sorts. But you were busy too, preparing for the same things he was. But the truth was, you weren’t exactly sure what the preparation was for. “But how am I supposed to help Hyunjin if I can’t speak directly to him?” Your mother smacked the back of your head. “Refer to him as Mr. Hwang!” Your arms flailed up and over. “He’s only two years older!” you said, “And he’s not even here!” This earned you another smack. “It doesn’t matter,” she scolded, “We work for them, not the other way around.”  For eighteen years, you had asked the same questions, and received the same answers- if one could even call it that. But tonight, the night of the ceremony, was the night of answers, and more questions. Your mother zipped up your evening gown, a color that complimented your skin tone well. It was good fabric, silk, and wrapped around your body tightly. “You look great,” your mother whispered in your ear, “All grown up.” You shuddered at the thought of growing old.

“Where’s dad?”

Your mother paused before brushing your hair back. “He’ll be back before you and Mr. Hwang Hyunjin sign the contract,” she responded, “He just had to take care of something for his father.” You held out your pinky, looking at your mom from the mirror. “Pinky promise?” She put your pinky down. “I can’t promise you anything.” You brought your hands together, and you didn’t push. “You should go,” she said, “You don’t want to be late.” Your mother cupped your face as you turned to leave. “I love you,” she said, “And I’m sorry for putting you through this.” You shrugged. “Nothing to fear but fear itself.” Your mother smacked your head again. “I don’t know if you’re brave, or just utterly clueless.”

The fact was, even if you didn’t want to admit it, was that you were. You were utterly clueless.

You stood at the entrance you were sent to. Playing with the skirt of your dress absentmindedly, you heard someone approach. “Jinnie,” you called out, “I thought you wouldn’t have made it.” He scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. “I couldn’t miss this if I tried.” You smiled. You smiled at him. “Always one with words,” you teased, “I bet you’re unbelievably popular with the ladies.” You made a dramatic gesture, your hand on your forehead. “I’m going to have you guillointed.” “Oh Jinnie,” you called out after him, “You’re sweeping me off my feet.”

“Shut up!”

Your laughing came to a cease when the door opened, a young man around the same age as Hyunjin, motioned for you to come in. “It’s time.” You nodded, making your way throught the narrow and long corridor- dimly lit and ominous. “You must be nervous,” he commented, “I am too.” “Oh yeah?” you asked, “What’s your position?” His step slowed down for a moment before picking up again. “His right hand man,” he continued, “Han Jisung, to live and to serve. And you?” You pondered for a moment. “I guess I’m not too sure,” you said, “Probably his assistant or something. They never really told me.” He opened his mouth to say something, but hushed as the light peeked into the hallway. You both stepped into the banquet hall, upon the right side of the band’s stage. The light shined in your eyes, making you cover your them as you walked to the center. You quickly pulled your hand down once you realized there was a grand number of people in the room- all of their eyes on you. You spotted Hyunjin on the opposite side of the stage, in a formal black suit. His hair was parted to the side, as usual, but something about this lighting made him look soft and almost angelic. Hyunjin caught you staring and winked, then resumed to wave to people familiar to him. It took all of you to maintain a poker face and not stick your tongue out at him, you reminded yourself that this was a serious event.

Even if you weren’t too sure what exactly it was for.

It wasn’t until Hyunjin’s father walked upon the stage, that you stopped zoning out and fix your posture. “It is a pleasure to welcome you all into my home, and present you to the next generation of our organization,” he recited, “Let me introduce you to my son, your next leader, Hwang Hyunjin.” Hyunjin walked and stood next to his dad, you wish you could say he looked nervous, but he was completely composed. Except for the nearly imperceptible tapping of his fingers on his thigh, he looked like the next ceo. “We have Han Jisung and Seo Changbin, taking over as Hyunjin’s right hand men,” he announced, “Their predecessors have worked will within their area. We expect and promise that these young men will do the same.” You leaned a bit to see another boy stand by the side of Hyunjin. His face was long, and he had the best poker face you had seen. Both boys bowed at either side of Hyunjin and stood behind him, formally. “And ___,” you looked up to see Hyunjin’s father look at you expectantly. You fixed your posture and walked as professionally as you could to the father’s side. You looked for your father within the crowd, but found your mother instead. She looked down and shook her head. “When ____ was born, we expected a male to take her father’s place. But we do not discriminate,” he paused as the crowd laughed knowingly. And you took this time to give a questioning look at Hyunjin, who ignored your gaze. “Here to take care of whatever must be taken care of.” A group of older men, including Hyunjin father took a paper within their hands, as their children stood before them. Your father stepped on stage, limping, but on the stage nonetheless. He smiled brightly at you, holding the contract tightly in his hands. “This group of young men,” he paused again, “and woman, hold our future in their hands. Signing this contract, you agree, in front of the entire organization, to take the role you were assigned at birth. Within life and death.” All of the fathers extended the contracts, and the pen that sat within the pocket of their expensive suits. One by one, you signed. You hesitated for a moment, not too sure what the future held in store for you. But you signed nonetheless, mostly because you had no choice.

You eagerly waited to get off stage, when Hyunjin’s father spoke once more. “I know you’re all waiting to go home,” he spoke into the microphone, “But there’s one more thing we must have you do to prove your loyalty.” There were murmurs and smiles amongst the crowd. You looked worriedly at Hyunjin, and he nodded without looking at you. A hot piece of metal was brought to the almost former leader on a velvet cushion. He turned to the group.

 “Who’s first?”

The boys looked nervously at one another, but before you could stop yourself,  you stepped forward. “Me,” you tried to say it firmly, but your voice wavered at first, “I’ll go first.” Hyunjin’s father looked at Hyunjin and gave him the cushion. He held it in his hand for a moment before reaching for the metal bar. “I’m sorry,” he whispered in your ear before brushing your hair away from the nape of your neck. He pressed the bar’s logo onto your nape and your eyes welled with tears as you bit your lip. A small, curved nine forever imprinted on the back of your neck.

“Welcome to District Nine!” the crowd shouted, their drinks raised in the air. And one by one, you all had the same curved nine on the nape of your necks.

You stepped of the stage, as the actual band came up and played lively jazz music. Jisung poked the back of his neck and winced. “I don’t think it’ll hurt less if you keep touching it.” He whined in response. “Give me a break! I didn’t think it’d hurt this bad.” Changbin slapped his back. “I think the brand is officially the least of our problems.” The conversation muted as Hyunjin joined the rest of you. “It’s just me,” he scolded the group, “I’m not high and mighty like my dad.” “Oh Mr. Hwang,” you teased, “Don’t be so modest.” He clicked his tongue and frowned at you. “Actually can I talk to you,” he added, “Alone.” The boys took this as their cue to leave silently, Jisung’s cheeks puffing out as he quickly took some food from a nearby waiter’s platter.

“Are you scared now?” Hyunjin asked. You sat at the creek’s edge, admiring the surrounding garden. “I guess I should be,” you commented, your fingers skimming across the water’s edge. “But now I know that you don’t work for a huge company now.” He sat by you. “No,” he corrected, “I do. But I do more than that.” You looked at him, his side profile illuminated by the moonlight. “Like what?”

“Trick people. Make money.”

You laughed, but he still didn’t look at you. “Jinnie,” you said, “You would never. You’re too nice.” He shook his head. “People change under pressure, under difficult situations.”

“Do you even know what your job is?” he inquired, “What you’ll have to do?” His voice cracked and your concern grew. “Well,” you paused, thinking about it, “Your dad said-”

“Not what my dad said,” Hyunjin cut you off, “But what he meant.” He shook his head before you get a word out. “You don’t understand. You’re not ready.” You both stared out at the garden. Looking at the greenery and organized rainbow of flowery upon you. You loved flowers, and if you could, you would be a botanist. Your voice grew steady and clear. “I’m not stupid you know,” you said, “Whatever bad thing I’m about to do, I was made to do. That’s the only reason I was born.” Tears grew welled up in your eyes, as you stared up at the sky. “We could run away,” he whispered. “No,” you said sadly, “They’d find us.” You looked back at him to see him crying, tears falling like raindrops down his face. You wiped them away. “You’re even handsome when you cry,” you said bitterly, “That’s so annoying.”

You picked a rose nearby, cutting the tip of your finger on it’s thorn. You dropped it on his lap. “Jinnie,” you nudged his arm, finally earning an annoyed look from him, “Every rose has it’s thorns.” You laughed as his eyebrows furrowed. “You’ll change too,” he said as he pushed hair out of your eyes and tucked it behind your ear, “And you’re just a kid.” You both leaned in, but he pulled away nervously. He picked up the rose where there were no thorns, and walked away before you could say anything. “You should get back before anyone starts asking questions,” he yelled, “Technically only the Hwangs are allowed up here.”

“Oh you little-” you got up and ran after him, holding up the skirt of your dress with one hand and heels in the other. “If that’s how you woo girls then I take it back,” you yelled, “You’re awful!”

You both made your way back into the banquet hall, out of breath and barely holding yourselves together. As his Hyujin’s father approached the both of you. “I’ll deal with you two later,” he scolded and looked at Hyunjin, an added, “We’re having a meeting with your team.”

His father lead the both of you into a room where Jisung and Changbin stpod, and another boy you didn’t recognize. They all bowed at the sight of Hyunjin, and you moved to join the others. “Your first assignment,” Mr. Hwang handed a stack of files to Hyunjin, “I trust that you’ll brief them as necessary.” Mr. Hwang left the room, and Hyunjin passed out the files. “Each of you have a role,” Hyunjin started, “Changbin is our informant. Jisung is my second in command. Chan is the organizer. And  ___, our executor.  In order to work as a team, we must all recognize our roles and respect one another.” Hyunjin opened his file, and flipped through it until he reached a group of pictures. “These are our rivals,” he slid the file across the table, “We meet them tomorrow to negotiate..” He paused, taking a glance to look at you.

“Or take them out.”

[winchester-books]

Lady in White

Characters: SisterReader x Sam and Dean 

Warning: Cussing, Death, Bad Family Relationships

Word Count: 2,000

a/n: it’s been a really long time since i’ve updated this series, but i’m excited that i finally got a chance to. also, happy holidays!

tagged: @namelesslosers

part one, part two, part three, part four, part five, next part

masterlist / send a request

Part of you felt bad for snapping at Sam, but another part of you couldn't care less, he deserved it.

He decided to abandon you and Dean. He decided to never call. He decided he didn't want you and Dean anymore. He made his choice.

You sighed, curling up against the window, the ride would be a few hours and you could feel the familiar burn of pure exhaustion throughout your body. You tried to keep your eyes open, knowing that all sleep would bring you was another terrifying nightmare. As much as you tried to fight it, you couldn’t help but let your eyes close as the Impala's gentle hum lulled you to sleep.

Dean waited until he was positive that you were asleep until he started a conversation with his younger brother, "You know, she's got every right to be pissed at you,"

Sam nodded, Dean was just pointing out what he already knew, "She's so..." Sam glanced back at you, "different,"

Dean smiled softly, looking back at you in the mirror, but his tone towards his brother was still cold. "Yeah, she's not so little anymore. That’s what happens when you leave Sam, things change,”

Sam didn’t say anything and the two rode in silence for a while until the sound of your voice filled the car. You turned in your sleep, "Stop. No, no,no," you muttered.

Sam furrowed his brow, turning back and looking at you. He reached back to wake you from your nightmare, but Dean grabbed his arm before he could stir you.

He shook his head at Sam’s confused expression, "She has those every night," he said sadly, "I don't wake her unless it's really bad- she has to sleep some time,"

Sam looked back between his brother and sleeping sister worriedly, "What defines 'really bad'?"

Dean sighed, it always bothered him that he couldn't protect you from your nightmares, "Sleepwalking and screaming-"

Sam paused, thinking about his own array of night terrors. “What are they about?”

Dean sighed, “She won’t tell me, the poor kid pretends like she doesn’t even have them. She tries to hide how shaken up every time she wakes up, but I can tell she’s terrified,”

"How long has this been happening?” Sam grew agitated thinking about what his baby sister had been going through.

“Maybe six months,” Dean frowned as you flinched in your sleep again, “They’ve gotten really bad the past few months though,”

“W-why didn't you tell me?" Sam felt guilty, how could he let his little sister suffer like that?

Dean scoffed at his brother, "Why didn't I tell you? I tried sam. You never answered my calls," Sam fell silent again at Dean's words. Dean was right, he hadn't checked in on them since he left.

-

"Y/N, wake up," Dean gently tapped your shoulder.

Your eyes snapped open and you took a deep breath. Your heart was still racing from the dream you had been having. You didn't understand why it scared you so much.

For months it had been the same dream; you were surrounded by darkness and you couldn't see anything except for a pair of yellow eyes staring at you.

Sam turned back to look at you, "Y/N, stay in the car. Dean and I are gonna go talk to the cops,"

"Okay," you nodded, still a little shaken from your dream. Sam and Dean climbed out of the Impala, taking their fake IDs with them.

You watched your brothers pull out their badges and start taking to the policemen. You sighed, a little hurt that Dean had told you to stay in the Impala. Sam had been back for a day and Dean had already replaced you with him. As much as it hurt, it wasn't surprising, Dean always saw you as the baby sister. You weren't useful when it came to hunting, if anything you were a burden to him; just another person he had to save.

-

You sighed, closing Dad's journal. After the three of you figured out that the ghost killing the men was Constance Welch, Dean decided that all of you should go investigate the bridge where she died.

From your research, the best you could tell was that she was a Woman in White. She fit the profile perfectly; a woman whose husband was unfaithful, driving her to kill her children and than herself. Now, she tempted other men, killing those who were unfaithful.

It was dark when Dean pulled in front of the old bridge. You climbed out of the car and scanned your surroundings.

Dean walked to the side of the bridge and looked over the side, "So this is where Constance took the swan dive,"

You walked over next to him, looking into the murky water below. "Do you think Dad was here?"

"Probably, he was following the same trail we are and we're following him,"

"What's the plan after this?" Sam spoke up.

"We keep looking for Dad," Dean answered shortly.

"Dean, I have to be back at Stanford on Monday," Sam reminded.

"Right, right. I forgot about that," Dean paused, locking eyes with his little brother, "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

He nodded.

You rolled your eyes, it was getting annoying how much Sam was determined to get away from you and Dean and back to his ‘normal’ life. "Sam, come on, who are you kidding? No one gets out of this life,"

Sam shot a glare your way, "Y/N-"

You ignored him, "What are you gonna do when the monsters come knocking on your door?" You continued, "What do you plan on telling Jess?" You snapped.

"Nothing. She doesn't need to know about this life," Sam snapped back, you rolled your eyes and walked to the other side of the bridge.

"So you’re our gonna lie to her for the rest of your life?" Dean raised his eyebrows condescendingly, "That's healthy. You know Sammy, you can run as much as you'd like, but Y/N’s not wrong. You’re gonna have to face up to who you are eventually,"

"And who's that," Sam scoffed looking between you and Dean.

"You're one of us Sammy," Dean said smugly.

"No, I'm not. This is not gonna be my life!" Sam spat angrily in Dean's face, "I'm not gonna be a part of Dad's crusade. I'm not wasting my life looking for this thing that killed mom,” Sam threw his hands up in anger, “Dean, if it wasn't for pictures I wouldn't even know who mom is. It doesn't matter if we find the thing- it won't bring her back,"

You shuffled back to the side of the bridge, growing quiet as Mary was mentioned. You always felt out of place when Sam and Dean spoke about her. Mary wasn’t your real mother. You were the result of one of John’s affairs.

The boys continued to yell at each other and you couldn’t help but wince as Dean grabbed Sam by the collar and slammed him against the side of the bridge. "Don't you dare talk about mom like that!" Dean growled.

Something caught your eye and you turned, noticing a woman in a white dress standing on the ledge of the bridge, "Uh, guys?"

Dean let go of Sam's collar and they both watched the woman as she stepped off the bridge, "No!" You yelled as the three of you ran to where she had been standing.

"Where'd she go?" Sam asked. No one had time to answer his question as the Impala's engine roared and it's lights turned on.

"Who's driving your car?" You turned to Dean, whose mouth was open in shock as he held his keys in his hand. "Run," You said as the Impala began to creep forward. The three of you took off sprinting down the bridge.

"We're not fast enough," Dean panted, "We have to jump!" Without bothering to think twice, Dean launched himself over the ledge, you and Sam doing the same.

You reached out for the side of the bridge, trying to stop yourself from plunging into the muddy water below. Your stomach dropped in terror as your hands missed the bridge.

Suddenly, a hand shot out, stopping your fall. You gasped in relief as you looked up to see Sam holding the ledge with one hand and your arm in the other. "Thanks," you muttered. Sam pulled himself up, then helped you get safely back onto the bridge.

Sam quickly leaned back over the edge, his eyes scanning the water below for his brother, "Dean!" He yelled.

"Ughhh," Dean groaned as he crawled out of the water.

You stifled a laugh, noticing that he was covered in mud, "You okay?" You called out.

Dean held up the ok sign with his hand, "Super," he groaned.

-

The hotel clerk tried to hide his smirk from behind his desk as he saw Dean approaching, still covered head to toe in mud. Dean just grunted in annoyance and smacked a credit card onto the counter, "One room. Two beds."

The man picked up the card, reading the name on it. "Huh. Bert Aframian? Y'all having a family reunion or something?"

Dean's eyes widened at his question, that meant that Dad had been here- maybe he still was.

-

You struggled to pick to lock of the door that supposedly Dad had been staying in, "Hurry up Y/N," Dean urged as he and Sam stood outside anxiously making sure no one was watching you.

You rolled your eyes and continued to jiggle around the lock pick. Finally, it clicked, "Got it," you smirked as you pushed the door open.

The three of you walked inside, searching the room for any signs of John.

"Look," you pointed to the floor, "Salt, cat's eye shells- he was worried about something," you turned, noticing his journal on top of the bed. That was odd, he never left his journal behind.

Dean picked up a burger, making a face as he saw mold, "I don't think he's been here for a while," he said as he tossed the burger back into the table, disgusted.

"Y/N," Sam muttered as he stood in front of the wall filled with newspaper clippings and photos, "You were right, it is a woman in white,"

-

You and the boys had settled into John's abandoned motel room. You continued researching Women in White and Sam had taken to listening to his voicemails from Jess.

"I'm starving," Dean announced as he grabbed his jacket, "You two want anything?"

"No," Sam muttered, not looking up from his phone and you shook your head.

Dean nodded, "I'll be back in thirty," he walked outside the room, shutting the door behind him. He froze, noticing then police car and two cops in the parking lot. "Dammit," he muttered as he quickly called Sam and pretended to play it cool around the officers.

Sam rolled his eyes as he answered Dean’s call, "Dude, what do you want-"

Dean quickly cut him off, "Five-O, right outside, you've got two minutes tops,"

Sam quickly sat up from his spot on the bed, mentioning for you to do the same, “What about you?”

“I’ll be fine, just take Y/N with you and find Dad,” Dean quickly hung up and turned, smiling at the policemen who were approaching quickly, "Is there a problem officers?"

"Where’s your partner and the girl?" The man ignored Dean question.

"What partner?" Dean pretended to be clueless.

The taller officer gestured for his partner to go check inside the motel room "So, fake marshal, fake credit cards, you got anything that's real?"

Dean flashed a shit-eating grin at him, "My boobs,"

[foreverwayward]

“Wayward Hearts” Season 2 Chapter 2: Everybody Loves a Clown

Summary: After the sudden death of John, Sam and Dean, along with Riley, continue their quest for vengeance. As Sam and Riley’s powers continue to grow, the three young hunters find themselves closer to the Yellow-Eyed demon than ever before. The strength within themselves and their loyalty to each other will be tested as they are left to fight their families’ lifelong war alone, unaware that unimaginable evil will lead them to face darkness itself as they carry the weight of their fathers’ legacies. 

Masterlist

Word Count: 9,625

Content Warning: language and violence

DISCLAIMER: any words or phrases in bold in the story are not my own and are credited to the writers of Supernatural.

**GIFS ARE NOT MY OWN**

In the middle of the night, somewhere in the backwoods of Missouri, smoke seeped through the trees into the starry sky. 

Still healing wounds remained on the Sam, Dean, and Riley’s faces. Bruises, scrapes, and stitches were only further, painful reminders of what they had lost.

The three stood around a large fire as they gave John Winchester his hunter’s funeral. He was wrapped in cloth from head to toe as his body laid on the pyre of wood that they had freshly chopped down. 

The fire warmed their faces and the tears that fell from their eyes. It was completely silent beyond the sounds of the forest and the crackling of the fire.

Dean’s face was vacant as he stared into the flames. His eyes still welled until he could almost no longer see. As he blinked, a slow stream flowed down his cheek. Without John there to guide him, the oldest Winchester wondered if he could ever finish what his father started, or if he would ever be able to really let him go. John was more than a father to Dean--he was a mentor, a leader...a partner.

The doctors didn’t know what happened to John Winchester. The injuries he had sustained in the car crash were nowhere near capable of taking his life. He had been cleared only hours before his death. It was as though he just stopped breathing. 

John had slipped away quietly and alone, just like his old partner had. The similarities did not go unnoticed by Riley. His and Jackson’s deaths were too alike to be a coincidence. There had to be a connection.

Sniffling, Sam thought of the last conversation he had with his father. It was one of irritation and disrespect as they had fought, just as they always did. He wondered if John really knew how much he loved him, if he knew that all Sam ever wanted was to be enough for his dad by just being himself. What pained Sam above everything else was that all those years or bickering and unmade memories with his father would haunt him forever.

As Riley’s hands sat in her pockets, she wished for a way to bring John back. She knew that the boys would never be the same. Even more so, she knew the unbearable agony that came with losing a father. The last time she stood before one of those fires, was to say goodbye to Jackson. Memories of his funeral flashed before her eyes, the pain just as fresh as it was that night. There wasn’t a day that passed that she Riley didn’t ache to have him back.

It was hard for Riley to give Sam and Dean their space. All she wanted was to hold them and tell them it would be okay. But she remembered how she was after losing her dad and knew it wasn’t her place to push it. They would come to her when they would be ready. 

Riley sought after the switch in her mind to turn off her empathic abilities to the boys. Hearing their suffering would only make it more difficult not to rush to their sides. 

In a way she blamed herself. She knew something was wrong with John before he died and yet she said nothing. Riley had decided to wait for a better time to discuss things, though that time never seemed to come. The guilt of it weighed heavy on her.

With a sniffle, Sam spoke to his brother, “did, uh--did he say anything to you? Before?” His still bruised and scratched face was wet from crying.

Dean's voice was flat as he mentally checked out. He held tightly to John's secret as a tear ran over his swollen lip. “No... nothing.”

Sam, Riley, Dean fell back into the quiet as they cried to themselves. 

John was gone. The Colt was gone. 

It seemed as if all hope had died and was burned along with the brave hunter.

------

Bobby sat in his study as he worked through anything he could find on the demon. He thoroughly went over all of John’s research over the last year and looked for a way to continue it.

Riley and the boys had been at the scrapyard for a week. Things were tense and somewhat awkward. Sam’s emotions had been up and down and Dean had put up a wall. He wasn’t handling losing his father well and refusing to feel his pain was the only thing keeping Dean afloat.

Dean had even created some distance between him and Riley. She wasn’t sure if it was just his grief, or if he was protecting her or if he was pushing her away. 

Either way, Riley missed him. More than that, she ached for him. They slept in the same bed, though they may as well had been worlds apart. 

Riley had decided to give him his space. But it was harder than she thought it would be. It would have been easier if Finn was with her. However painful though, Riley knew he was safer where he was back in Lawrence.

Grabbing her freshly poured coffee, she went onto the large white porch. The screen door creaked and slammed behind her. Riley leaned onto the railing and looked out into the sea of cars. 

The hunters had sat still so much that past week that her mind was left to wander and overwhelm her. Even the nightmares had returned.

As she took a sip from her cup, she heard shouting in the distance. It was Sam. Riley put her coffee down and hurried down the steps towards the voice. 

She found herself by the garage as she saw the brothers stand by the wrecked Impala. 

Dean had been working on Baby tirelessly as a way to distract himself. He had rebuilt her from the ground up. 

Sam was staring at his brother, holding nothing back as he yelled. “Don’t patronize me, Dean,” Sam scolded. “Dad’s dead, the Colt is gone, and it seems pretty damn likely that the demon is behind all of this.”

“What do you want me to say, Sam?”

“Say something, alright?! Say anything for Christ’s sake!” The young Winchester was tired of not dealing with their problems and he had to let Dean know. “Aren’t you angry? Don’t you want revenge? But all you do is sit out here buried beneath this damn car!”

Dean looked apathetic as he interrupted, his words still dripping with disdain. “Revenge, huh? Sounds good. So, you got any leads on where the demon might be? Any of you making heads or tails of Dad’s research? ‘Cause I sure ain’t. And when we find the son of a bitch--oh, wait. Like you said, the Colt’s gone. But I’m sure you figured out another way to kill it, right?” His voice changed and he grew stern. “We got nothing, Sam--nothing. The only thing I can do is I can work on the car.”

Riley took the awkward silence as a chance to join them. Her arms were folded with her eyes cast down as she took her time reaching the brothers. “She’s looking good,” she told Dean. “You know, I’d be happy to help if you’d like.”

“Thanks, sweetheart, but I think I’m good for now.”

She nodded and feigned a closed mouth smile.

“Well,” Sam said trying to break the tension, “now that we’re all together, I found us something.” He pulled out a cell phone from his pocket and scrolled through it. “It’s one of Dad’s old phones. Took me a while, but I cracked his voicemail code. Listen to this.” Sam put the phone on speaker as the others gathered around it.

The tone sounded. As a voice came through the phone, it was that of a woman. “John, it’s Ellen...again. Look, don’t be stubborn, you know I can help you. Call me.”

“That message is four months old,” Sam added.

Dean looked surprised. “Dad saved that chick’s message for four months?” 

Hunters almost always immediately deleted any trail on their phones. It was safer that way and made it harder to be tracked. 

“Well, who’s Ellen? John ever mention her?” Riley asked.

Sam shook his head. “No. No mention of her in his journal either. But I ran a trace on the phone number and I got an address.”

Riley and the youngest Winchester waited for Dean’s response. They knew there would be no going unless he was on board. 

“Ask Bobby if we can use one of his cars,” he answered as his eyes squinted to hide from the sun.

------

The loaned blue with brown paneled minivan screeched and smoked from behind it. Dirt from the lot Dean drove over kicked up around them. An old windmill sat in the middle of the quiet property next to a phone booth. There was a large sign reading ‘Harvelle’s Roadhouse’ that sat at the top of a small wooden building. It looked old and almost abandoned. 

As the van parked, it rattled under the hunters.

Dean smacked the steering wheel in frustration. “This is humiliating. I feel like a fucking soccer mom,” he added in annoyance as they all got out.

“Hottest soccer mom I ever met,” Riley smiled. She got a small smirk from Dean in response. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

As Sam walked towards the entrance, he replied, “it’s the only car Bobby had running.”

“Hello?” Riley yelled as she and the brothers searched for any sign of someone else. “Anybody here?”

Shrugging, Dean opened the screen door and went to pick the lock. With ease, they were quickly able to get inside.

It was a bar. Everything seemed to be made of wood, even the floor. Planks of wood made up the walls and random odds and ends hung on them. The air was somewhat stale, yet smelt of the familiar smell of whiskey and spilled beer. It was mostly dark, except for the light that broke through the curtained-up windows. Empty glasses, bottles and shot glasses were littered across the untended bar.

Towards the back, sat a pool table. A man was laying on top of it, sound asleep.

“Hey, buddy?” Dean called.

Riley gave a look of sarcasm. “Huh. Well, I’m guessing that’s not Ellen.”

Splitting up, the team looked for clues or anyone else they could find. Sam and Riley went into the back towards the kitchen as Dean checked the bar.

As he walked around alone, Dean suddenly felt something hard being pushed against his back.

He was caught off guard and closed his eyes in a fake prayer. “Oh, God, please let that be a rifle.”

The rifle to his back cocked. “No, I’m just real happy to see you,” a woman snarked. “Don’t move.”

“Not moving--copy that.” Dean put his hands up in surrender. “But you should know, when you put a rifle on someone, you don’t' want to put it right against their back. ‘Cause it makes it real easy to do...” he turned around swiftly and grabbed the weapon from her hand. Dean discharged a shell from it. “...that.”

Before he could say anything else, the woman’s fist connected with his face. Dean yelled for Sam and Riley as he stumbled. She took the gun back and pointed it in his direction. “I need some help in here, guys.”

“Sorry, Dean,” Sam came out from the back with his hands on his head and Riley did the same at his side. An older woman held a pistol in their direction as she guided them out. “We got a little tied up.”

Finally getting a moment to look, the three stared at the women who had them at gunpoint. The youngest was a long-haired blonde and was actually quite beautiful. She was thinly built, though obviously had a tough demeanor. The other woman that had brought in Sam and Riley, looked like an older version of the blonde, only with sandy hair. Her voice matched that of the one on John’s voicemail.

“Sam and Dean?” the older woman asked? “...Winchester?”

“Yeah,” Dean groaned as he held his aching nose from the punch.

“...son of a bitch,” she whispered.

The younger woman looked her way. “Mom, you know these people?”

“Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys.” There was a moment of silence where Sam, Riley, and Dean waited to see what would happen. The woman laughed as she put down her gun. “Hey, I’m Ellen. That’s my daughter, Jo. But I don’t believe we’ve met...” Ellen said looking at Riley.

“Riley. Riley Munroe.”

“Jackson’s girl,” Ellen scoffed. “It’s a damn reunion in here. I haven't seen you since you were a toddler.” There was a pause as she tried to find the right words. “We were all so sad to hear about Jack’s passing. I’m sorry, Riley.”

With a small smirk, Riley acknowledged Ellen’s sentiment. “Thanks.”

Jo had gone behind the bar to fetch some ice for Dean’s nose. 

When she handed it to him, he sat down on a stool and looked at her with trepidation. “You’re not gonna hit me again, are ya?” She chuckled as she went back to cleaning the bar. Dean looked to Ellen, “you called our dad, said you could help--help with what?” He held the ice wrapped in a dish towel to his face.

“Well,” Ellen trailed. “The demon of course.” The three looked at each other, taken back. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Dean looked over at her. “Was there an article is ‘Demon Hunter’s Quarterly’ that I missed? I mean, who the fuck are you? How do you know about all of this?”

“I just run a saloon, but hunters have been known to pass through now and again--including both your fathers a long time ago. They were like family once.”

“Oh, yeah? How come he’s never mentioned you before?”

“...you’d have to ask him that.”

The room went quiet. She didn’t know about John’s death yet and no one really wanted to be the bearer of that news. 

Skipping over the comment, Dean went on. “So, why exactly do we need your help?”

Ellen’s tone changed. She was annoyed with Dean’s attitude. “Hey, don’t do me any favors. Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. Don’t let the door smack your ass on your way out. But John wouldn’t have sent you if--” As if she had put two and two together, she stopped and her face fell. “He didn’t send you.” Ellen waited for a response and a lump grew in her throat. “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

“No,” Sam answered with a heavy heart. “No, he’s not. It was the demon we think. It uh--just got him before he got it I guess.”

“I’m so sorry.”

Dean didn’t want to keep talking about John and turned to her trying to end it with a quick thank you. “It’s okay. We’re alright.”

“Really? I know how close you and your dad--”

He interrupted her with an almost stern tone. “Really, lady, I’m fine.”

Feeling tensions rise, Riley spoke out from her spot off to the side as she leaned against the wall. “Look, Ellen...” Her voice was soft. “You said you could help us. Honestly? We need all the help we can get.”

“Well, we can’t,” she replied. “But Ash can.”

“...who’s Ash?”

“Ash!” Ellen shouted.

A startled whine came from behind them as they all turned. The sleeping man on the pool table could barely get up and knocked the balls as he stumbled awake. 

“What?” he yelled completely disoriented. “Closing time?”

Pointing over to the hungover man, Sam asked, “that’s Ash?”

“Mm-hmm.” Jo nodded. “He’s a genius.”

As he stumbled to meet the others at the bar, Dean retrieved John’s research and dropped it on the counter in front of him. He was irritated as he studied Ash. The man had a mullet and the back of his hair went nearly halfway down his back. Cheap tattoos were on his upper arms that showed from the cut-off sleeves on his plaid shirt. Ash had an awkward demeanor and a face to match with a single earring in his left ear.

“You gotta be freaking kidding me,” Dean snarked as he tried to contain his language. “This guy’s no genius. He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie.”

Ash found the hunter amusing and chuckled. “I like you.” His voice was kind of raspy with a mid-western accent.

Riley joined the rest of the gang at the bar. She knew she would need to be a buffer for Dean while he was dealing with everything. They weren’t going to get anywhere with him biting everyone’s head off. “This file is everything John got on the demon in the last year. Can you tell us what you think?”

Taking out a large stack of papers, Ash flipped through them. “C’mon,” he started. “This shit ain’t real. Ain’t nobody can track a demon like this.”

“John could,” Riley reaffirmed. She looked up to see the Winchesters looking at her, pleased with her answer.

“These are non-parametric statistical overviews, cross-spectrum correlations...I mean damn. They’re signs--omens. If you can track them, you can track this demon--you know? Like crop failures, electrical storms. You ever been struck by lightning? Well...it ain’t fun.”

“Can you track it or not?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, with this? I think so. But it’s gonna take time. Uh--give me...” Ash seemed to do calculations in his head. “51 hours,” he stated matter-of-factly. He collected the papers and got up to leave.

“Hey, man,” Dean called. “By the way, I dig the haircut.”

“All business up front,” Ash flaunted as he flipped his hair, “and party in the back.”

Sam and Riley looked at each other and chuckled lightly under their breaths. As he turned, he noticed a folder sitting near the bottles of liquor. “Hey, Ellen, what’s that?”

“Uh--” she went to retrieve it and brought it to Sam. “I was gonna give this to a friend of mine, but take a look if you want.” The folder had a newspaper clipping paper clipped to the front. Handwritten on the cover was ‘Couple murdered. Child left alive. Medford, Wisconsin.’

Riley had found a chair at a table to sit near Jo as she cleaned up tables. “I gotta ask, Jo, how did your mom get involved in all this stuff?”

“My dad, actually. He was a hunter.” Jo paused. “He passed away.”

She could feel the sadness coming from Jo, like an old scar that never quite healed. “I’m sorry.”

“I was just a kid. So, it’s been a long time. I’m sorry to have heard about your dad.”

Taking a deep breath, Riley asked the question she knew only Jo might know the answer to. “Does it ever get easier? Them being gone?”

Jo feigned an obviously fake closed mouth smile. “No. I wish I could say it does, but it doesn’t.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid you were gonna say.” Riley looked over at Dean still sitting at the bar. He was alone and quiet as his hands sat clasped together with his eyes down.

“He okay?” Jo asked.

Almost reminiscent of Jo’s earlier response, Riley looked back at her. “I wish I could say I knew, but I don’t.”

“He’s actually kinda cute. I don't think they’re together. He seems pretty distant.”

Stumbling into Jo’s thoughts, Riley snapped her head back in her direction as the blonde gave her a smile. 

Jo was right. It wasn’t obvious that they were together. Things had been different since Dean lost John.

“Riley, come here,” Sam called. “Come check this out.” Getting up, she went back to the bar and Dean found a seat close to them. He went on, “a few murders not far from here that Ellen caught wind of--looks to me like there might be a hunt.”

Knowing that they all needed something to take their mind off the past week, Riley looked towards Ellen behind the bar. “Well, then I guess we’re gonna go check it out.”

------

Shortly after they had left the Roadhouse, night had fallen over Wisconsin. The rain poured down on the minivan as they drove down the highway. 

They found themselves in a powerful storm. Lightning flashed in the distance ahead of them as the sound of drops slapped against the metal and windows.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Dean started. “A killer clown?”

“Yeah, he left the daughter unharmed, but killed the parents--ripped them to pieces actually.” Sam held a flashlight over the file of paperwork as he went over it with his partners.

Riley found a way to wiggle up between the two front seats from the back. “The family was at some carnival that night, right? Maybe we’re just talking psycho dressed as a clown?”

“Yeah, the Cooper Carnival. And I don’t think so. The cops have no real leads and all the employees were tearing down shop--alibis all around. Plus, the girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air.”

Making a face of discomfort, Riley looked over his shoulder at the clippings. “Fun case, Sam.”

“Well, I know what Sam’s thinking,” Dean said to Riley. “’Why did it have to be clowns?’” He looked over at his brother with a teasing look and smirked.

Riley chuckled. “What'd you mean?”

“Sammy’s been scared of clowns since we were kids. The guy still busts out crying whenever he sees Ronald McDonald on the television,” he laughed.

Annoyed, Sam scoffed at his older brother. “At least I’m not afraid of flying.”

“Planes crash, dude!”

“And apparently, clowns kill,” Sam rebutted knowing he’d won that argument.

Trying to stifle a laugh, Riley kept it to herself as best she could. “It’s alright, Sam. Clowns are unholy creatures. I’ll agree with you on that one. No one is that damn happy all the time. It’s not natural and flat out creepy.”

“Thank you,” he emphasized as he looked at Dean. “At least someone gets it.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Alright, so these types of murders--they ever happen before?”

“Uh--file says 1981 with ‘The Bunker Brothers Circus’. Same M.O.--it happened three different times, three different locales.”

“They definitely still could be connected. Maybe it’s a spirit. And if so, maybe it’s not bound to a specific place, but a thing. Cursed object?” Riley was always gifted when it came to putting things together. It was something her father had taught her well. “It attaches itself to something and the carnival just carries it around with them.” 

Sam made a face of being pleasantly surprised and nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

“Awesome,” Dean added in a fake tone. “A paranormal scavenger-hunt.” Taking a beat, Dean turned to his little brother. “Why did you take this case by the way? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.” Sam looked back at him confused. “It’s not like you, that’s all I’m saying. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt.”

“I don’t know. I guess--taking this job? It’s what Dad would have wanted us to do.”

The sound of the pouring rain was all that was left as the three hunters went silent on their drive down the road.

------

The van garbled to a halt as they had finally reached the carnival grounds. Two clowns stood talking to two clean-cut men in suits.

“Check it out,” Dean said. “Five-0.” He unfastened his seat-belt as he opened the door. “I’m gonna go see what’s what. I’ll be back soon.”

Sam and Riley got out of the car and slammed the doors shut. Almost in sync, the two found their jacket pockets and rested their hands. 

Putting a hand to block the sun from her eyes, Riley watched Dean walk away.

The young Winchester turned to look at her as they walked over to the side of one of the rides. “You okay?”

Almost snapping her out of a daydream she replied, “huh? Oh...yeah. I’m good.”

Sam scoffed with a smile. “And why don’t I believe you?” He paused. “It’s because of what’s going on with Dean, right?” 

Riley sighed. “Yeah. I just--gotta be patient. That’s all.” They leaned against the metal railing. “He’s dealing with a lot.”

He nodded. “He loves you. You know that, right?”

“I know.” Riley turned her head up to look at the hunter. “The whole thing just friggin’ sucks. But I’ll be here when he’s ready.”

Dean made his way back over to his family. “Alright, so two more murders last night. They were ripped to shreds and they had a little boy with them.”

“Who fingered a clown...” Sam said, innocently not realizing the innuendo. 

Riley and Dean looked at him with discomfort and awkwardness. 

“What?”

“...gross, Sam,” Riley joked. 

He rolled his eyes.

Dean tried not to chuckle. “Yes, a clown. Who apparently vanished into thin air.”

“Dean,” his brother started, “finding a cursed object? That’s like finding a needle in a stack of needles. I mean it could be anything.”

Stepping in front of the two, Riley added, “well, it’s gotta give off some EMF reading, right? So, I guess we just scan everything.”

“Oh good,” Sam chuckled. “Because that’s not inconspicuous at all.”

Dean turned to see a ‘Help Wanted. Inquire with Cooper’ sign on a nearby tent. “Guess we’ll just have to blend in.” 

Giving each other a look of concern, Riley and Sam followed Dean inside.

An older man in a black suit wearing sunglasses stood on a wooden box. He flung large knives at a target, never missing a bulls-eye.

“Excuse me.” Dean moved closer to the stranger. “We’re looking for a Cooper. Have you seen him around?”

Taking off his sunglasses, the man revealed his fogged over, blind eyes. “What is that? Some kind of fucking joke?”

“Oh...oh, god. I’m so sorry.”

“You think I wouldn’t give my right kidney to be able to see Mr. Cooper, or a sunset, or anything else for that matter?”

Dean turned to the others. “You wanna help me out here?”

They tried to control their laughter as Sam pinched his lips together. “Not really.”

“Hey, Barry,” a voice said from behind them. “Is there a problem?” The man was about half the size of Dean. He was in a blue and white starred leotard and had a sequenced cape over his shoulder with a club in his hand. 

“Yeah,” Barry replied. “This guy hates blind people.”

Chuckling nervously, Dean looked back at the knife thrower. “No, I don’t. It’s just a little misunderstanding, that’s all.”

The shorter carnie seethed. “Little? Oh, you son of a bitch.” He went towards Dean aggressively as he raised his club.

In a panic, the hunter went on the defensive. “No, no, no! Could somebody please tell me where Mr. Cooper is?” Riley and Sam couldn’t take it anymore and laughed. Still scared things would escalate, Dean pleaded, “please?”

As Riley’s laughter trailed off, she heard faint laughter as if coming from a distance. It was a sinister cackle that brought chills up her spine. What perplexed her even more was that the sound wasn’t coming from the carnival around her. 

Riley’s telepathy had kicked in. There was something nearby, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out where.

------

Mr. Cooper led them into a small trailer. “You guys picked a hell of a time to join up. Take a seat.” 

The three looked down at the available chairs. There was one basic wooden one, a tattered leather covered metal one, and a chair made to look like a clown. 

Riley and Dean scurried over to the normal looking seats. Sam was forced to take the chair that made him beyond uncomfortable. 

Covering her mouth, Riley hid a small snicker at her brother’s hesitation and awkwardness to sit. 

“A couple of folks got themselves murdered in the area. Cops always seem to start here first.” Adjusting himself in his seat, Cooper looked at the hunters. “So, you three ever work the circuit before?”

“Uh--yes, sir,” Sam replied. “Last year through Texas and Arkansas.”

“Doing what?”

Not knowing the right answer to give, the young Winchester answered, “a little bit of everything, you know?

Mr. Cooper didn’t buy the ruse for a second. “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?”

“Nope,” Dean admitted without hesitation. “But we really need the work. Oh, and uh--Sam here’s got a thing for the bearded lady,” he laughed.

“My daddy was in this business too--used to run the Freak Show until it was outlawed in most places. Apparently, displaying the deformed isn’t dignified. So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That’s progress, I guess,” the old carnie shrugged. “You see, this place is a refuge for outcasts, always has been--for folks that don’t fit in nowhere else. But you three?” Mr. Cooper eyed the young hunters. “You should go to school. Get married, have 2.5 kids. Live regular,” he said sternly.

“Sir,” Sam leaned towards the desk, “we don’t want regular and we don’t want to go to school. We want this.”

------

Riley looked up at her brother as the three walked away from the trailer. The dirt beneath their boots crunched as they went on. “Sam, did you mean what you said back there? Do you not wanna go back to school anymore?”

“I don’t know, I think I might be having second thoughts about it.”

“Really?” Dean asked in surprise. “I thought you would drop all this and go back to Wussy State once we handled the demon.”

“I just--I feel like Dad would have wanted me to do this--to do the job.”

“Since when have you given a fuck about what Dad wanted?” Dean snapped.

“Since he died, okay?” Sam looked at him in almost a challenge. “You have a problem with that?”

Dean scoffed. “Nah. I don’t have a problem at all.” He walked ahead of the others.

Riley took Sam’s arm in comfort as he leaned into her and they slowly trailed behind.

------

Carnival music played as people crowded through. Holding stuffed animal prizes and an assortment of junk food, the park visitors enjoyed themselves. Screams of fun came from the rides around them.

Sam and Dean had been put on garbage duty. The red windbreakers they wore as a uniform read, ‘Cooper Carnival On-The-Go’. The two walked aimlessly through the park on opposite sides.

After going through a Fun House that made Sam way too nervous for a hunter, to check for EMF, he called Dean. 

“Hey, man,” he said nervously and almost out of breath.

“What’s the matter? You sound like you just saw a clown,” Dean chuckled.

“Haha, very funny,” his little brother replied in annoyance. “So, I was thinking, what if the spirit isn’t attached to a cursed object? What if it’s attached to its own remains?”

Dean brow went up in curiosity. “What made you think of that?”

“There was a skeleton in the fun house.”

“Wait, like a real skeleton?”

“No...still got me though,” Sam said almost ashamed he had been so jumpy.

“Alright, I’m headed to you.” Dean hung up and headed through the crowds.

Barry, the knife thrower who already had a grudge with the oldest hunter, grabbed him by the arm. “What are you doing here, kid?”

“Uh--just cleaning up.”

“Bullshit. We don’t like outsiders. We take care of our own problems.”

“Do we have a problem?”

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

Dean checked around to make sure he was out of earshot before whispering to the old man. “...you believe in ghosts?”

Taken back, the carnie asked in surprise, “what?”

“Me and the others I came with? Uh--we’re writing a book about them.” After a few minutes of lying through the conversation, Dean finally made it to Sam. 

“Dude, what the hell took you so long?” Sam asked.

“Long story. Where’s Riley?” 

Sam pointed behind them to a booth. She was smiling and helping kids throw ping pong balls into fish bowls. 

Riley threw her hands up and cheered as a little boy won. 

“Makes sense. Cooper knew what he was doing. She’s too cute to be picking up garbage.” Dean’s voice lacked the excitement and luster it once had when he talked about her.

With an annoyed scoff, Sam looked at his brother. “What the fuck is going on with you, Dean?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You have this incredible girl that’s head over heels for you, for reasons I’ll never understand. And you’ve been pushing her away. You used to be all over each other and this last week? It’s like you’re afraid to look at her.”

“Look, Sam. My relationship is my relationship. Let me worry about what happens between me and Riley.”

Sam sighed. “Well, you better figure it out, and soon. Or you’re gonna push her so far away you won’t be able to get her back.”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Turning back towards Riley, he noticed she caught his glance. She forced another smile in his direction. 

He knew his brother wasn’t wrong, but his head was all over the place. Dean would talk to her when he was ready.

“Mommy, a clown!” a little girl yelled. 

The brothers turned in her direction.

The mother looked around. “What clown, honey? There’s no one there.”

“He disappeared.”

Unsure of what to make of what her daughter had claimed to see, the woman went to turn her the other way. “Come on, sweetie.”

------

After their shift, it was already dark. The hunters followed the family home in their rickety van. Their house was small, quaint, and well kept. The green lawn looked freshly cut and flowers lined the front of the home. 

Sam, Dean, and Riley parked across the street and watched the mother and daughter head inside.

“Dean,” Sam said with a sigh from the back seat. “I cannot believe you told that guy about the homicidal phantom clown.”

“Uh-uh. I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real.” Dean pulled out his shotgun to load it with rock salt rounds. “Oh, and get this. I mentioned the Bunker Brother’s Circus in ‘81 and their evil-clown apocalypse. And...” he drug out. “Before Cooper worked for Cooper Carnivals, he worked for the Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager.”

Riley shifted in her seat to look over at her boyfriend. “So, maybe Cooper brought whatever the clown was attached to with him.”

“Yup.” Dean looked over at the family in the large front window. “I can’t believe we keep talking about clowns.”

------

Riley, Sam, and Dean had been on their stake-out for a few hours and the lights in the house were all off. The couple both had fallen asleep in the front seats against their windows while Sam sat alert waiting for any sign of movement.

Suddenly, there was a light on in the main room of the home. The young daughter walked through in her pink pajamas. 

“Rye, Dean...” Sam patted them both to wake them as they too turned to look.

Without hesitation, they all grabbed their weapons and ran for the front door. When she was the first to reach it, Riley pulled out her kit to pick the lock. Within a minute, they were in. 

In tactical team fashion, the hunters split up and waited in the shadows. The little girl came walking down the hall as she held the hand of the clown, his bells jingling with every step.

Its face was painted white with a red smile though his mouth stayed in a frown. Under a faded stocking cap, it had bright red curly hair. The onesie it wore was old and worn with polka dots and a large white long collar that wrapped around its neck.

"Want to see Mommy and Daddy?” she asked. “They’re upstairs.”

Once the clown was in a perfect position, Riley grabbed the girl and pulled her to the side as Dean shouted, “hey!” 

The little girl screamed in fear of the strangers and as the oldest Winchester fired a shotgun shell into the clown’s chest.

The creature hit the floor and laid still for only a moment before beginning to get back up.

Dean reloaded as he saw the clown rush in his brother’s direction. “Sam, watch out!” 

Sam dodged its charge in time for it to rush past him. 

The creature flew through the glass door as it shattered. It let out an inhuman, maniacal scream and disappeared.

Both parents ran downstairs to the noise as the father yelled, “what’s going on?” Seeing the hunters, his voice was filled with panic. “What the hell?! Who are you?! What did you do to my daughter?”

“Mommy, Daddy, they shot my clown,” the girl cried.

Quickly, the trio sprinted back to the van as they escaped the angry father.

------

Unloading the minivan, the three had parked it in a secluded and covered area off some quiet road. Dean gathered the gear and Riley took off the license plates. Sam searched the car for anything they’d forgotten.

Riley grabbed her tools and put them back in her bag. “Better safe than sorry. Not sure if they caught our plates or not.”

“Good riddance,” Dean huffed. “I hate this fucking thing.” The family closed up the van and slung their bags over their shoulders before trudging down the old road. “Well, one thing’s for sure. We’re not dealing with a spirit. That rock salt hit something solid.” He turned to his brother. “You find anything in Dad’s journal?”

“Nothing useful,” Sam replied.  

There was a moment of silence. The only sound around them was that of the insects in the abandoned fields around them. 

Riley held on to her backpack with her eyes down. Things were too tense, and she needed to focus to keep her mind from wandering into the boys’ emotions; not to mention the thoughts running through her own head at a mile a minute. 

Watching Dean in the hospital had nearly killed her. Riley only had him back for a brief moment before everything came crashing down around them. Dean was right beside her and yet she still missed him--missed how they were, who he was.

Sam pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.

“Who’re you calling?” she asked.

“Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash will know something that can help us. Hey,” he paused. “You think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?”

“Oh, god,” Riley scoffed as she rolled her eyes. “Sam, I was trying not to think about my own father possibly with her.”

He laughed. “I don’t know. I mean why did they never mention her to us?”

Dean was still disconnected and his tone showed it. “I don’t know, maybe she and Dad had a falling-out.”

“You ever notice John had a falling out with a lot of people?” Riley smirked. 

Both of the brothers nodded in agreeance.

“Well, don't get all maudlin on us, man,” Sam looked Dean.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean this ‘strong silent’ thing of yours, it’s bullshit.”

“Oh, god,” Dean exhaled. “Here we go.”

“I'm over it. This isn't just anyone we're talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”

“You know what, back the hell off, all right? Just because I'm not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

“No, no, no, that's not what this is about, Dean. I don't care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man. Listen, I'm your brother, alright? I just want to make sure you're okay.”

Riley felt the emotions change from frustration to anger in the blink of an eye. Intervening would only make things worse. She stayed a step behind them as she breathed through it. Dean was about to lose it.

“Dude, I'm okay. I'm okay, okay?!” he yelled. “I swear, the next fucking person who asks me if I'm okay, I'm gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!”

They stopped walking as Sam turned Dean. “What are you talking about?”

“I just think it's really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It's like, ‘oh, what would Dad want me to do?’ Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you--you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him for Christ’s sake. And now that he's dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I'm sorry Sam, but you can't, it's too little, too late.”

Taking out her bottled water, Riley took a sip and closed her eyes. “Focus. You can only control it if you focus.”

Sam’s face looked nearly brokenhearted. “Why are you saying this to me?”

“Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I'm dealing with Dad's death!” Dean’s eyes widened as he shouted loudly. “Are you?

Riley ran a hand through her hair. All she could do what watch the two most important people in her life struggle to grieve for their father. She could feel every bit of their pain if she just let go and it was too much. The worst part about her empathic abilities was not being able to fix the hurt she knew others were in.

There was a hard lump in Sam’s throat as he grappled with the guilt he felt for how things ended with John. If he stayed there any longer, he knew he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Dean’s words had cut him like a knife. 

“I’m gonna go call Ellen,” Sam uttered.

Stepping up closer to Dean, Riley just looked at him. She was almost angry for how he spoke to Sam, but it still wasn’t her place. Her eyes looked hurt and lonely as she turned to head down the road, leaving Dean by himself. 

He took a long breath realizing he may have over-done it with his little brother. Dean was too proud to admit that he didn’t know how to deal with the loss of John. Dean couldn't confide in either of them the secrets he carried that weighed heavy on his every step. 

Keeping those he loved at a distance was what was best for everyone, or so he thought.

------

Further on down the road, Sam wrapped up his phone call. “Alright, thanks, Ellen. Talk soon.” He flipped the phone shut. “Rakshasa”

“...uh--bless you?” Riley said sarcastically.

He laughed under his breath. “Ellen's best guess. It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited.”

Dean held onto the strap of his bag with his duffel in the other. “So, they dress up like clowns and the children invite 'em in.”

“Wait, then why doesn't the thing just eat the kids? Not that I’m suggesting that it should.” Riley’s legs seemed to work overtime as she kept up with the two tall hunters.

“No idea. Not enough meat on the bones maybe? But I guess Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects.”

Making a face of utter disgust, Riley looked up at Sam. “Lovely.”

“Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years. Slow metabolism, I guess.”

“Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in '81,” The older Winchester added. “Hey, guys, who do we know that worked both shows?”

“Cooper.”

Riley was uncertain. “Eh, I'm not so sure. I didn’t get a vibe, ya know?”

“You could’ve missed it--it happens,” Dean shrugged.

She had had enough for the time being and huffed as she walked ahead. Riley’s little legs tried to put some distance between her and her boyfriend.

“What’d I say?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “She’s trying to help, Dean.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m just saying. We gotta be sure.”

“Right. Whatever. Anyways, legend says the only way to kill it is with a dagger made of pure brass.”

“I might just know where we can get one of those.”

As they trudged on, Sam watched Riley ahead of them. The tension between him and his brother was enough. But to watch it build between Dean and Riley as well only made it all that much worse. 

------

Dean thought Barry would be their best bet to find a brass knife and they knew they had to check Cooper’s trailer. 

After forming a plan, the team split up. Riley believed in her gut that it wasn’t Cooper and they would just be wasting their time. So, trusting her instincts, she decided her time was better spent talking to the blind carnie. Besides, she needed some breathing room. Riley was never one to bite her tongue, but she was trying so hard to be patient with Dean.

Riley found the old man and he guided her to his dressing room as his walking stick swung ahead of him to guide him along. “You know, I have a lot of knives, but I’m not sure if I have a brass one, sweetheart.”

“Well, I appreciate you checking for me, Barry.”

“Of, course.” He led her inside. The walls were cheap plank wood and the grey carpet was worn. Barry’s suits took up part of the side of the room along with his vanity station. The carnie tapped on a wooden trunk by the door with his stick. “Check the trunk.”

Riley crouched down to open the green trunk. It was cold and had brown leather straps to hold it shut. 

When she opened it, the laugh Riley had heard when they first came to the carnival echoed in her head. That same chill ran up her spine as she saw the same tattered and dirty onesie with polka-dots that the creature wore. The curly, red wig sat beside it.

She was right. It wasn’t Cooper--it was Barry.

Riley’s head snapped in his direction as she stood. “You?”

The man’s stick dropped and he removed his sunglasses. “Me.” A Cheshire Cat-like grin grew on his face that would haunt any child’s nightmares. His eyes changed to a strange and creepy glow as he waved at her in a sinister manner before disappearing. 

Hurrying to the door, Riley found the knob had been locked. She shook it and tried to break the door down, with no luck. 

The laughter returned and she felt an eerie presence. 

Riley turned to look behind her just as a knife flew in her direction barely missing her face. “Oh, shit!” she exclaimed. Knives continued to fly through the air and into the door around her. 

Knowing she had no other way out, Riley tried to bust open the door with her shoulder. Again and again she rammed the door. “Join the circus, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.” When it wouldn’t budge, Riley groaned at the new pain in her arm and grew frustrated.

She took a step back and gave a hard donkey kick to the door before it finally busted it open. Being smaller than the boys made hunting so much more difficult, but Riley would be damned if that’s what stopped her.

As she ran out and back towards the carnival grounds, she ran past the Winchesters.

“Hey!” Sam called.

Riley hit the breaks as she stumbled to stop herself so quickly. She turned back to face them.

“Oh, hey,” she replied as she caught her breath.

“So, Cooper thinks Dean and I are peeping Toms, but it isn’t him. You were right.”

“Well, as much as I love hearing you say those words, Samuel,” Riley started with an ornery tone. “I don’t think we have time to dwell on it. It’s Barry--the blind guy. He’s still here somewhere.” She looked at them between frantically searching around them. “And no, no brass blade. Just been one of those days.”

“Are you alright?” Dean asked.

Not realizing she was connected to Dean, her thoughts went through to him. “Oh, suddenly he cares.”

His face scrunched in surprise. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Riley’s eyes grew a little as she realized he had heard her.

Luckily, Sam interrupted. “I got an idea, let’s go.” He led the way as the others followed and they ran in the direction of the Fun House.

The entrance was the mouth of a large clown that poured out blue fog as they scurried up the ramp. It was dark inside and the room was filled with neon-colored glowing doors. Some were mirrors and other were actual doors. It gave the illusion of infinite possibilities. 

Having been there earlier though, the Sam knew the way as he went through the right door. But before his partners could follow him, the door slammed shut.

Dean banged on the door, “Sam!”

Riley could hear that same familiar evil laughter. “Guys, it’s here!”

“You guys gotta find the maze,” Sam yelled from the other side. 

The two turned in the opposite direction to find another door. 

Heading down the only path available, Sam walked on. He saw the organ that he had come across on his first trip through the Fun House. That was what he came back for--its pipes were brass. The other hunters had finally found another way to Sam as he was trying to pull off one of the pipes. He looked back to them as he pulled. “Where is it? Did you see it?”

“No. Nothing,” Dean replied looking around. “I mean, shouldn’t we see his clothes walking around or something?” 

At that same moment, a knife whisked in Dean’s direction. The blade nearly missed his arm as it pinned his canvas jacket to the wall. Another two flew immediately after, securing him in place.

“Dean!” Riley yelled as she went to him. Though she used all her might trying to free him, the blades still wouldn’t budge. She grunted and fought against whatever was holding them there.

Finally, the Sam had broken off a pipe and armed himself. “Where is he?!”

“I don’t know! I can hear him, but it’s in my head, not around me!” Riley looked around for another option. She spotted a lever that was connected to the pipes through the rooms. Pulling it, steam was released, and it clouded the space. Riley immediately went back to trying to free Dean.

Looking up to his brother, Dean could see the figure of something moving through the steam. “Sam! Behind you! Behind you!” he shouted.

Heading Dean’s warning, Sam spun around and thrust the brass weapon in front of him. With a thud, it went into something solid. 

A figure appeared through the smoke as soft, glowing yellow eyes flickered. There was a screaming growl that erupted from the creature as it faded away.

As if the Rakshasa’s death had released a magical bind, Riley could finally remove the blades from the wall and Dean was freed. She turned the lever she had pulled before to turn it back off.

When the couple ran to Sam, they all looked down to the ground. There, in a pile laid the clown’s costume. The brass pipe had cut through them and the creature was gone. 

Dean struggled to catch his breath. “I fucking hate Fun Houses.”

------

The Roadhouse was much livelier than their first visit. Other hunters had blown into town and sat cleaning their weapons at the tables. The sound of the jukebox played in the background. 

Sam and Dean sat at the bar as Ellen brought them beers. Jo leaned on it beside them.

“You boys did a hell of a job your dad would be proud.”

“Thanks,” Sam replied. He was busy in his own world as he thought over everything. Hopefully, Ellen’s words were true and he did do right by his father.

Jo cleared her throat. “So...”

“So?” Dean took a sip from his bottle.

“Am I gonna see you again?”

“Well, I’m sure we’ll be coming back at some point or another--yeah.”

She could see her point was being missed. “Maybe then we could, I don’t know--spend some time together? Get to know each other?” Jo’s voice was soft and flirty.

Dean chuckled. “Uh--look, I don’t know if you know this, but...Riley and I, we’re kind of a thing.”

Jo was taken back. “Really? Wow. I never would have guessed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well. you don’t seem very close is all. There just doesn’t seem to be a spark.”

Turning on his stool, Dean saw Riley leaned against the jukebox. She was looking for a good song while she sipped at her beer. 

Dean half smiled as he faced back to the bar. “There is. There really is.” His eyes found Jo. “I love her. It’s just...complicated right now.” He turned the bottle in his hands.

“It’s okay, I get it,” Jo sighed. “Well, I hope things get a little less complicated for you.”

“Thanks, Jo.” Dean’s mind seemed to disappear into a rabbit hole as he nursed his drink.

Ash came through the back door with John’s research folder and a laptop. “Where the hell have you guys been? I’ve been waiting for ya.”

Riley smiled at the ridiculous man. “We were on a job, Ash--evil clown.”

“Clowns? What the fuck?” he asked in repulsion.

She laughed with her lips around the bottle of her beer as she drank. “You got something for us, Ash?”

Ash set up on one of the tables nearby and sat down and the others gathered around. His laptop looked rigged and definitely had been tampered with to enhance it. “Well, the demon is nowhere around--at least nowhere I can find. But if the fugly bastard raises its head, I’ll know. I mean, I’m on it like Divine on dog dookie,” he chuckled.

Sam looked unsure. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, any of those signs or omens appear anywhere in the world, my rig will go off, like a fire alarm.”

With a scoff, Sam asked, “Ash, where the hell did you learn to do all this?”

“M.I.T., before I got bounced for fighting.”

Riley’s eyes grew with a smirk as she looked at Sam before replying, “M.I.T.?”

“Yeah. It’s a school in Boston.”

Sam and Riley tried so hard to contain their small, stifled laughs. 

“Okay, give us a call as soon as you know something?” Dean added.

“Sí, sí, compadre.”

Dean smiled as he downed the last of his beer. The three stood and nodded as a ‘thank you’ as they began to head out the door.

“Hey,” Ellen called. “If you kids ever need a place to stay, I got a couple beds in the back.”

“Thanks, but no.” Dean smiled softly. “I got something I gotta finish.”

Ellen smiled back as the hunters left.

------

It was warmer that day in Bobby’s yard. Dean’s sweat showed through his shirt as he worked on Baby again. The hubcap squeaked as he tightened it. 

Sam had wandered out into the yard to find his brother.

“You were right.”

Dean looked up at him as he stood to walk around the car. “About what?”

“About me and Dad. I'm sorry that the last time I was with him I tried to pick a fight. I'm sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So, you're right. What I'm doing right now, it's too little. It's too late." Sam’s lips trembled as his history with John overwhelmed him and his voice broke. “I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I'm not alright. Not at all.” Tears formed in the hunter’s eyes as he tried to fight them. “...but neither are you. That much I know.” He paused looking at Dean. The older Winchester’s jaw clenched, though he said nothing in return. “I'll let you get back to work.” Sam turned around and headed back for the house.

Riley had been working on a car of her own nearby to pass the time. She knew there may come a time when she would need some space and she wanted to be prepared. It was also soothing for her. Jackson and Riley worked on cars together all the time. It helped when she missed him.

When she heard Sam talking, Riley went over towards him. By the time she got there, he was already walking away. She stood by the garage and rubbed the oil off her hands onto a red cloth. Riley looked at Dean and could see the hurt he was feeling. If only he would let her in, she knew she could help. 

Taking a deep breath, Riley was building up the courage to go over to him. As she did, Dean picked up a crowbar and smashed the window of a nearby car in a rage. 

Riley stopped as Dean stared at the Impala. Squeezing around the bar, he slammed it down with all his might into the back of the car. Riley covered her mouth as she gasped in shock while Dean continued to wail on the trunk. It chipped, bent, and broke under the assault.

The crowbar clanged on the ground as Dean dropped it. His breathing was ragged and he shook in anger. He tried not to cry as his emotions consumed him. 

Dean turned around only to saw Riley by the garage and caught her gaze. She waited to see if he would ask for her to come to him as there was a pause. 

After a moment, Dean ran a dirty hand down his face and turned to walk away.

A soft cry escaped Riley's mouth. She had shut out Dean’s pain intentionally so she could try to give him space. But there was never a moment she didn’t know he was hurting. Watching him explode on the one thing Dean had left of John was enough to break her heart . 

Riley’s back found the wall nearby as she slid down it. Her knees sat in front of her chest and she wrapped her arms around them to comfort herself. 

With a final wave of emotions, she hid her face and sobbed. She wept for it all; John, the Colt, their failure, Sam, and Dean. Riley missed how their family had been before the crash, before they lost John.

It was moments like that where she remembered why she never dated. Being too close to someone was nothing but heartache. 

------

S2 Chapter 3: Bloodlust

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