#HE LEFT A CARD A BAR OF SOAP AND A SCRUBBING BRUSH NEXT TO A NOTE THAT SAID USE THESE DOWN TO YOUR BONES

[cellphonehippie]

He left a card, a bar of soap

And a scrubbing brush next to a note

That said, "Use these down to your bones"

And before I knew I had shiny skin

And it felt easy being clean like him

I thought "This one knows better than I do"

[thewinchesters-pants]

Swing the Bat Both Ways

Pairings: Dean x F!Reader & F!Reader x Female (eventually)

Warnings: SMUT, oral (female and male receiving), unprotected sex, language, praise kink, bi!reader, more submissive with dean, more dominant with new female

You guys were out celebrating after a successful hunt- Team Free Will and yourself. A coven of vampires were now a coven of dead vampires and adrenaline was still pumping for everyone. You guys were able to get two hotel rooms this time- Sam and Dean in one and you and Cas in the other- so you retreated to your respective rooms to take showers and get cleaned up before you head out to a local bar. Cas was able to blink himself clean so he let you have first dibs at the shower, a fond smile on his face. 

“I know you want the hot water, anyways.” He said, handing you a suddenly warm towel and a stack of nice clothes that he thought you might like. 

“You’d be right, angel. Thank you.” You leaned forward to press a soft kiss to his cheek before taking the items from him and heading to the bathroom, quietly shutting the door and turning on the water to get warm as you undressed. 

Soon enough you were nude and stepping into the steaming tub, pulling the shower curtain shut behind you and stepping under the warm spray of the water. You were humming an old tune as you grabbed the vanilla shampoo and squirted some into your palm before lathering it together and running it through your hair. Sam had convinced you to cut it a couple weeks ago and you still weren't used to your hair not reaching your hips anymore; it now barely reached under your ears, but it was still floppy like you liked it. While that soaked, you grabbed your loofah and covered it in honey-scented body wash and started scrubbing at your filthy skin- leaving it rosy and clean once you were finished. Your legs were already smooth from having shaved the night before so you just took a couple of swipes under your arms with a razor so you were smooth everywhere. Once that was done, you rinsed out the shampoo and slathered in the conditioner, using the time to exfoliate and let the warm spray work out some of the kinks in your muscles. Eventually you were done- soap out of your hair and off of your body- so you turned off the water and stepped out to grab your towel and dry off. 

“You hungry?” Cas called through the door, waiting for your reply as you dried off and wrapped the towel in your hair.

“Yeah, I’d just like a sandwich and some grapes though, please.” You called back, pulling the lotion out of your bag and rubbing it into your legs, arms, and torso. 

“It’s ready when you are.” He answered a moment later and walked away, letting you have a moment to slide the black panties up your legs and buckle the black push up bra around your chest. 

“Thanks, angel!” You called back, sliding your feet through the holes of your hole-ridden skinny jeans and yanking them up your legs to settle at your hips. He had gotten you a matching soft button-up that you left buttoned right below the start of your bra to teasingly show off your cleavage. Dean had gotten you a long necklace with an anti-possession symbol that you could wrap extra, depending on the length that you wanted. You left it sitting right at the top of your chest, two extra loops above it for extra style. Once you were dressed, you collected your dirty clothes and opened the door- revealing the brothers eating their dinners while Cas talked about a possible case in Nevada. 

All of their heads turned at the sound you made, but they were all quiet. Sam whistled in approval as Dean choked on his burger, coughing as he tried to swallow and come up with a coherent sentence. 

“Do I look okay?” You were suddenly shy, looking down at your outfit with worry before glancing back up at the three of them. 

“Sweetheart, you look more than okay.” Dean’s voice was husky and low, eyes trailing down your body like a lover would do with their fingertips. 

“You look beautiful.” Sam agreed, eyeing his brother curiously. 

“I knew you would like it.” Cas was smiling happily, taking pride in his growing understanding of female attire. 

“Give me ten minutes to do my makeup and hair, and I’ll join you for dinner.” They all nodded but Dean didn't look away, watching your hips as you turned around and groaning quietly as the curve of your ass came into full view. 

True to your word, ten minutes later you were sitting between the two brothers with your food half-way gone and full-on laughing at something Cas had said. You had done easy makeup- mascara and nude eyeshadow to make your grey eyes brighter- and light hair gel to keep your hair tame as it dried (straight, as always). Sam was finished with his food first, and he went to grab his shoes and wallet from the adjacent room while the rest of you finished eating and cleaned up so you wouldn't have to later. The guys got the rest of their stuff together while you bagged up everyone’s dirty laundry and grabbed your favorite pair of heels from your duffel. Cas disappeared for a couple minutes to clean your clothes and it gave you enough time to grab your jacket and slip on your shoes, yet you were still inches shorter than the guys. 

“Ready?” You asked, sliding your arms through the leather jacket and tucking your wallet into the inside pocket.

You got affirmations from everyone so you each grabbed a hotel key before heading out, Sam in front then Cas, you, and finally Dean. He made sure the doors were locked and that the salt lines were secure before turning and following after you guys. You felt a hand at your arm so you turned around, curious as to what Dean wanted. 

“What’s up?” You asked him, watching the other two disappear down the stairs. 

“You look amazing, sweetheart. I’d like to… steal you away for a while, later tonight. Does that sound good?” His emerald eyes had darkened considerably at the idea of seeing you out of that amazing outfit, but he would always give you the option. 

This set-up wasnt new to the two of you, ever since you moved in with the Winchesters’, you and Dean had an agreement to fool around if neither wanted a stranger in their bed for the night. It had saved you many countless attempts with terrible hook-ups and it always made you both feel better in the morning because you were waking up next to someone that cared for you. 

“That sounds good, De.” You smiled cheekily, confidence having boosted ten notches knowing that the older brother wanted you in this outfit. 

“Perfect.” He leaned forward, giving you time to back away, before cupping your cheek in his hand and pressing a searing kiss to your lips as a promise for later. 

~~~~~~~~

Music was blaring from the building as you showed the bouncer your IDs, flashing him a smile and a wink when he had to double-check your license. You were legal and beautiful and that’s all that mattered, especially when it meant cutting line to get in somewhere. He handed them back and let the four of you inside, shooting you a wink as you passed. You dipped your head in acknowledgement as you headed inside, letting the smell of alcohol and sweat and sexual tension settle into your bones. Your hips started to sway of their own accord, the beat of the music flowing through you and pumping up your adrenaline again, but in a new way. 

“To the bar and then find a table?” You asked, pulling ahead to look at them. 

“Sounds good, we’ll get the drinks if you guys want to find us a table?” Dean said, hoping they’ll take the hint and disappear. 

“Call if you can’t find us.” The place was packed so that was a good possibility, and you nodded. 

The other two disappeared, leaving you and Dean to weave through the people and make it to the bar. He grabbed your hips as you walked, thumbs sliding under the bottom of your shirt to brush teasingly against your soft skin. You let out a sigh but didn't falter, taking the lead and managing to get you both to the bar with ease. 

“What can I get you, doll?” The bartender called over the loud music, her hair in loose braids and glasses tipped low on her nose. 

“Four shots of tequila and four beers.” You called back, flashing her a smile as she took your order and your card for the tab. 

“Be right back.” You could see a flush cover her skin as she turned, heading to grab your drinks and open a tab in the last name “Winchester.” 

Dean had pressed up behind you and you wiggled your hips teasingly, basking in the groan he let out and the grip that tightened at your hips. He pressed closer, letting the curve of his hardening cock nestle into the swell of your ass. 

“Better stop that, sweetheart.” He whispered in your ear, nipping gently at the lobe and grinding once and then twice. 

“Here you go, darlin’.” The bartender was back in an instant, drinks on a tray and salt and limes in a bowl. 

“Thank you!” You called, grinning wide as you took the tray from her, fingers brushing against skin softer than your own. You saw her eyes fall to your lips and then even lower to your barely open top before shooting back to your eyes, a blush evident on her cheeks again. 

“It looks like someone has a thing for you, baby.” Dean chuckled, taking the tray and leading this time as you followed, turning around once to see the bartending still watching you. 

“She’s cute.” You replied, a knot forming in your lower abdomen as you thought about testing out the waters to see if he was being honest. 

“We can fool around in the bathroom and then you can have her, I think I found my own prospect for the night.” This was common, too- you and Dean messing around as foreplay and then going after your prospective women for the main course. 

“That sounds amazing.” You turned around again, biting your lip as you saw the bartender still watching with a soft smile on her lips. 

“I’ll take these to the guys and I’ll meet you back there.” You nodded, turning on your heel and heading towards the bathroom at the opposite end of the loud bar. On the way, the cute bartender flagged you over to the end, and you obliged, eager to see if she was interested. 

“I’m out of here at midnight, doll.” She whispered in your ear, pressing a quick kiss to your neck before pulling away with a wink and a bright grin. 

“I’ll be here at 11:59 then.” you replied, running a hand through your hair as the nerves running through your body picked up considerably. 

Being with girls wasn’t new- frankly you favored it over most men- but she was beyond beautiful and just your type. You ducked into the bathroom, locking it and waiting impatiently for the three knocks that meant Dean was on the other side of the door. He sounded off two minutes later and you quickly unlocked it before yanking him inside and shutting the door again.

He was laughing as you pressed him against the wood, arms snaking around his neck as he took the lead and flipped you guys so it was your back pressed against the door and his thigh pressed between your legs. 

“You were right, De. She’s off at midnight.” You groaned, rocking wantonly against his thigh as he pressed bruising kisses to your lips and jaw. His hands were wondering all over your body- fingers undoing to the buttons to your shirt and sliding it off your shoulders so he could pepper your sensitive skin with licks and sloppy kisses as your own hands dug into his shoulders and raked down his back hard enough to only leave light red marks. You knew most girls didn’t like knowing that the man they were fucking had just been with another woman, so you took it easy. 

“I’m gonna eat you out, princess, and then you’re going to get on your knees and take me down your throat and then we’ll get back, okay? I know you want to leave the rest for that bartender.” He was gasping and growling, fingers moving from your tits to the waistband of your skintight jeans to undo the button and yank them down to your knees.

“You would be right.” You whimpered, laughing quietly as he pulled you from the door and bent you over the sink so he could get behind you and press kisses to your back and thighs and squeeze at your ass cheeks. He always was an ass man with you, if that wasn't already obvious. 

“God, it’s so damn hot thinking about you eating out another woman. Having her begging for your tongue, fingers tangled in your hair, knees holding your head and heels digging into your back as you fuck her with your mouth.” His words were sinful as he yanked your lacy panties down to meet your jeans and pulled you back to his mouth to do the exact thing to you that he was just talking about. 

His favorite thing to do when you were rushed was eat you out from the back, one hand snaking around your thighs to rub circles into your clit as he buried his tongue deep inside you. Your legs buckled and head fell forward as you rode his mouth, fingers clenching at the marble of the sink as you fought your orgasm to make it last as long as possible. His hands grabbed both hips then, urging your movements as he moaned intentionally to stoke the fire in your belly. 

“You’re gonna make her cum for you just like I’m about to make you do for me.” He promised, knowing the signs of your impending release like being able to read the time on a clock. 

“Oh, I’m gonna do more than that.” My tone was weak though, hips rocking even faster against his tongue as my climax was peaking without me being able to stop it.

“God, De, I’m about to cum.” you said the same words over and over, body convulsing as the nerves rushed through your body and you came faster than you ever have before. 

He swallowed down everything you gave him, tongue stoking the fire until you were pulling away from too much stimulation and turning to fall to your knees so you could suck him off. He didnt stop you; rather, he grabbed at the sink as you unbuttoned his jeans and yanked his own jeans down, his hard cock slapping against his stomach and leaking a steady stream of precum down the impressive length. 

“Such a pretty cock, Dean Winchester.” You knew it did things to him when you used his full name and you saved it for times like these. 

The resounding groan and “fuck, baby” settled into your bones as you began to stroke him with a turn of your fist at the top of every upstroke. This lasted for only four strokes before he fisted your hair and you opened your mouth- tongue out- to take him into your mouth and down your throat. You had no gag reflex, which he loved, so you let him fuck your mouth for a couple moments before taking back over. You batted his hand away and resumed your own pace, tongue tracing along the sensitive skin on the underside of his cock and paying special attention to the head and all of the nerves that surrounded it. 

“God, you’re so good with your mouth. No wonder it always gets you in trouble.” He chuckled but it caught on a moan and a shiver as you bottomed out on his dick, balls brushing your chin as you tongued every inch of him before pulling off with a tight ‘pop’ and giving a quick lick across the top to tease him.

“You love it.” You snarked, bottoming out again and breathing through your nose as you got him off like this. His hips snapped forward on every pull, constant moans and curses leaving as he teetered on the edge of his own orgasm. Dean nodded eagerly as it only took two more licks and one final suck to have him coming thick ropes of cum down your throat. He had to cover his mouth to cover the loud noises he always made, but you loved them just the same as you let him finish and then pulled off gently to help him clean up and then clean yourself. He was panting as he helped you to your feet and held you steady as you tugged your panties and jeans back up to rest on your hips once more. 

“I always love it.” He was laughing, using one hand to tip your chin up so he could press a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away.

“Let’s get cleaned up and go meet the guys. You’ve got a date to catch.” You smiled wide, eager for it to get started, as you both became presentable once more and went to the Team Free Will table.

Reblog, comment, and let me know if you guys want to see her with the bartender! Please no copying of my work on different sites, this is original work! 

Much love xx

[lonelyheartsclubhaze]

Chilly mornings away from home

January 2019 // Chapter 4

Soft piano notes waded their way into my mind, rousing me from sleep. Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” complemented streaks of sunlight that seeped in from cracks between the window shutters.

I rolled onto my stomach, patting along the bedsheets, searching for the alarm’s source. Locating my iPhone under a fluffy body pillow, I quickly tapped the snooze button, earning myself nine more minutes of repose.

Mornings were always so disorienting. I still had yet to remember where and when I was. Such things could wait. Clinging onto that snoozy state of nonexistence, I didn’t want to wake up. I was eager for unmindfulness.

Inevitably coming to, dizziness hit like a military grade tank as I realized that my bed was facing the wrong way. My morning senses spun westward from their southern-facing expectations. Cracking my eyes open a few nanometers more, baby blue walls, rather than white, met my gaze. I faced a medium size flatscreen TV set atop a brown cabinet bordered by cream, cushioned seats and a black mini-refrigerator.

It was so easy to be surprised by mornings. Here I was, expecting one thing and receiving another. It wasn’t a huge deal, and they were natural mistakes, but jeez, was I caught off guard. My bed typically faced a window on the southern side of my room in Berkeley, confined by white walls under high ceilings. Unlike my room in Berkeley, however, the ceilings in this place were much lower with windows much wider. My forgetfulness fading, I remembered why I was in this barely decent Denver hotel room, namely, for a job interview.

Grimacing, I also remembered that the aforementioned job interview had taken place yesterday—giving me a sense for why I might have preferred snoozy states of nonexistence to waking life. It was for some technician role at a Pharma-lab. And while they didn’t pay anything close to what Ajay would be receiving at Facebook (while still remaining just as controversial), money was money. Plus, it seemed like a good way to boost my med school app during the summer. Worst case scenario: I’d just spend the upcoming summer studying for the MCAT, which had to happen sooner or later. At this rate, however, it was looking like the worst case scenario would be my only scenario.

Oh well. With a redeye flight the next morning and the interview out of the way, I had a day to kill in Denver. Classes were still on hold for another week-and-a-half and since everyone was home for the holidays, Grace had offered to put me up at her place for the day. She was supposed to come by around nine AM to pick me up.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled up the blanket. The AC units at hotels were always freezing cold—particularly on especially inconvenient occasions, like now, right smack in the middle of a January morning. I flipped over my phone and turned off the alarm. The clock read seven-twenty-one AM. Just enough time to get ready and grab a quick bite before Grace was to arrive.

My hands smacked against the headboard of the bed mid-stretch, my wrists rolling as I struggled to fully wake up. Sitting up, I checked my phone for missed messages, sending out short, succinct text messages where they were needed. I cracked my neck and thrust my legs off the tall bed, my feet grazing the hotel carpet. I stood up, stretching my arms toward the spinning fan that hung from the low ceiling, and started toward the bathroom, tossing my iPhone onto the bathroom counter.

The shower roared to life with the turn of a knob. I grabbed a hotel-provided toothbrush and some paste on my way to the shower, along with a travel-size bottle of CeraVe foaming face wash. Inside, water rushed over my short, black hair, splashing onto medium broad shoulders and size ten-and-a-half feet as I washed my face. After mopping my chest, toes, and everything in-between with an ivory bar of soap, I squirted some toothpaste onto the brush and got to work, counting out one-hundred-twenty seconds in my head. Finally, I turned off the water and reached around the shower curtain for a towel. Drying myself off, I stepped out of the shower and packed up my bath supplies into a compact travel bag.

I shook the towel over my head to dry my hair and tapped on my iPhone screen to find one new notification. Hovering my face over the phone to unlock it, a blue message from Maddie read:

To which I replied:

She followed with:

Heart racing, I replied:

Two minutes passed. I held my breath.

Four minutes—then, a small blurb of text underneath my last message read:

Read 7:46 AM

I sighed and put down my phone. My face contorted as a profusion of expletives rushed my thoughts. Shouldn’t have double-texted her.

I supposed that it didn’t matter too much. She was with someone, anyway. When I’d seen her in December, before we’d left for winter holidays, she’d been at Bear’s Ramen House in the Asian Ghetto—the food hub a block from Sproul Hall—eating with some guy I’d seen around, probably on campus. He was a moderately wealthy, white kid from Marin studying one of the various biology sub-majors offered by Cal. He was also a junior, like Maddie, so a year ahead of me, as if his towering six-foot-three-inch figure wasn’t enough to give him a leg up on me with regards to Maddie. I didn’t know him all that well, despite having had a discussion section or two with him, though we greeted each other with a polite nod of the head when passing by one another in the Valley Life Sciences Building (VLSB) or in the library. To be honest, I didn’t even remember his name, just his face. His outfits often consisted of athleisure wear from Nike and/or Champion, giving off the impression that he played sports. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this impression was accurate, but I did sometimes see him on the Glade or other grassy campus sites playing Spikeball, accompanied by peers with faces I vaguely recognized.

We’d often talk, Maddie and I. Sometimes I’d run into her on the spiral staircase at VLSB—the stairs that’d curl around the large, plaster T-Rex model to face broad windows on the east, granting access to the morning sun. She’d be on her way to a bio lab downstairs; me, on my way to the private, grad student bathroom that I’d secretly gained access to on the second floor. The restroom upstairs was protected by a keypad, but the code was too obvious: 362 362, or DNA DNA.

“Wonder where you could be going,” she’d say.

“Just need to make sure my hair is okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get a few extra points from Professor Meighan,” I’d joke back.

“Do you poop here everyday?” she’d ask with wide eyes. “Or maybe you just like seeing me, huh? Is that it?”

I’d freeze up.

She’d laugh, saying, “Maybe a little bit of both, right, J?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I’d mumble.

“You’re funny,” she’d say. “You should have your own TV show. Maybe once you’re done with your residency you can join Grey’s Anatomy, or Scrubs. Or maybe you can have a talk show! Like Dr. Phil, but more funny and less depressing.”

“What about me gives off the impression that I’d ever want to have a TV show, at all, in any way whatsoever?” I’d say, shaking my head.

“See? Just like that! Always asking the right questions! Like Ellen DeGeneres but all doctor-like.”

She tended to tease me a lot. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was probably part of her appeal—definitely was, on second thought.

Like a good portion of the many pre-med students out there, Maddie was a biology major. Berkeley offered a few different options for bio students, and I’m pretty sure she was studying molecular and cellular biology, though it’s hard for me to say. If I wanted to remember something about her, I’d write it down in my iPhone notes. Otherwise, my hippocampus tended to toss it out, preferring to form memories of her nose, her lips, and those low cut shirts that left me off balance.

We’d text back-and-forth about classes, sometimes. A lot less after I saw her eating with what’s-his-face. I didn’t blame her.

My phone read eight AM. I tossed on a waffle knit shirt and long johns, then a Columbia fleece and Levi jeans, topping it off with an aged ski jacket that I’d ‘borrowed’ from Adam, who was up in Tahoe at least twice a month in the winter. I slung the beaten, black JanSport backpack containing my belongings over my shoulders and headed out the hotel door, making for the elevator.

The room door shut quietly behind as I banked right into a narrow corridor housing four elevators, two on each side. I pressed a button to summon one and within a minute, the light above the furthest elevator on my right blinked on. The door opened and I entered, clicking the button indicating the main lobby of the hotel. The door shut and the elevator fell five floors before slowing to let in an older, Black woman wearing a fitted, bell-shaped hat.

“Ground floor?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly. “Yes, honey. Thank you.”

We descended the final four floors in silence. Arriving at the ground floor, the elderly woman smiled and nodded at me before exiting first. I followed her out, glanced down at my iPhone, then diverged from her path as I headed toward the central lobby to check out. After snapping my room key card in half, I left the hotel, walking toward a Caribou Coffee a few blocks north.

Under the warm skies of Seal Beach, California, where I was born and raised, people tended to take their coffee with ice more often than here in Denver, Colorado. Every Friday, my mother would pick up an americano for herself—black, with no cream or sugar—on her way to work. I’d tag along as a kid, but sooner than later elementary school drop-offs morphed into middle school bike rides, then high school walks with pretty girls I swore I had a chance with, and then the here-and-now, flying Economy for interviews that wouldn’t yield job offers.

It’s funny—when I was a kid I practically hated being seen with my parents. At back-to-school events—the evenings when parents conglomerated to celebrate the annual accomplishments of their children—I wouldn’t be caught dead near my family. Somehow, I thought it made me look childish, or immature. After graduating from high school, however, I started seeing them less and less, and I began to find myself missing mom’s morning espresso runs more and more.

It seemed as though I must have picked up my mother’s coffee drinking habits, because when I arrived at the Caribou Coffee on sixteenth street at approximately eight-twenty-five AM, I too ordered an americano with no cream or sugar.

“That comes out to three-thirty-nine,” said the female barista. She wore a black apron over red and black striped under-layers, with a white wool beanie on her head, and deep black mascara on her eyelashes.

I thanked her and handed over three dollar bills along with some loose change from my jacket pocket.

“On second thought,” I said, retracting my hand. “Can I also get one of those?” I gestured to a blueberry scone behind the glass counter.

“Sure. Just three extra dollars.” she said.

I counted out three extra dollar bills, handing the money to the barista. Then I walked over to a small rounded table situated near the entrance and sat down. Scanning my iPhone, I saw that Grace had texted me, so I responded, asking her to pick me up at the Denver sixteenth street Caribou Coffee. Then I put my phone away and tapped silently along the underside of the table, slightly impatient for my pastry and drink.

I wondered what Grace had in mind for the day. I hadn’t seen her since—well, I suppose it wasn’t that long ago—final exams last semester. Personally, Grace and I had yet to have a class together, but Adam always took one or two bullshit classes with her, so she was often around my house anyway—especially during the week of final exams, when they’d study together all day long. As an English major, she had it pretty easy schedule-wise. She hardly stressed, at least outwardly, and was rarely overburdened with work, so she never missed a chance to chat it up with my housemates or me when Adam brought her over. She was really likable too. Even Albert got along with her, making small talk about Proust or the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel from Jennifer Egan, and that’s saying a lot.

She always made it a point to stop by my room upstairs, at 2231 Dwight, waving ‘hello’ to me before vanishing for hours into the recesses of Adam’s single downstairs. I really liked that about her.

A small vibration from my left pant pocket convinced me to reach in. I pulled out my iPhone and saw that Grace had texted me. She was to arrive a bit early, in fifteen or so, around eight-fifty-five AM. She was driving in a black Honda Civic, she’d said. I texted her back to let her know that I’d be ready.

“I’ve got a medium americano and a blueberry scone!” called the barista.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over the chair to mark my temporary territory, then hurried over to the counter to grab my order. “Thanks,” I said before hurrying back to my table, balancing the warm, paper cup in one hand with the scone in the other.

Sitting back down at the table, I huffed down the scone. Then I took off the lid of the cup, wisps of steam condensing on the furl of my lip. I blew gently, cooling the drink.

I sipped slowly, then decided to put on my jacket and wait outside. Grace would be here any minute and I didn’t want her to miss me. I was getting sick of waiting by myself anyway. Walking outside, an icy burst of air cut right through me. I shivered, then zipped up Adam’s ski jacket. It was a good thing that it wasn’t snowing, because it was cold enough as it was.

I paced around for a bit, rubbing my hands to keep warm, until finally, a black Honda Civic with a freckled girl at its helm slowed to a stop slightly ahead of the sixteenth street coffee shop.

Grace rolled down the passenger window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. My pace quickened as my feet approached her car.

“I missed you, dude,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing outside.” A crimson hoodie hid most of her delicate contours, though the graceful arcs that formed over her breasts hinted at something more. The left side of her chest housed a star-shaped sports logo with the words ‘Broomfield Soccer Club’ below in a decorative typeface.

I opened the car door and hopped into the passenger seat. Gusts of warm air ruffled my hair.

She reached over the center console and squeezed me in a close hug. “How was break?”

“Pretty good. I mean, I was finally able to—”

“Bruh,” she groaned. “Did you read Science?”

“What?”

“The magazine,” she said, squinting her eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. “Was I supposed to?”

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can you?”

“Is there something I should be looking for?”

“Oh my god. Take out your phone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Jesus-fucking-Christ, J.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling the iPhone from my jean pocket.

“Okay.” She cracked her finger knuckles. “Google ‘butterflies’.”

“Grace—” I started.

“Come on. Look it up.”

“Okay. Just because you’re asking.” I opened Chrome’s mobile browser on my phone, typed in ‘butterflies’, and pressed ‘search’.

She cleared her throat.

“Butterfly,” I read. “An insect from the ma-cro-lep-id-opt-er-an clade Rho-pal-o-cer-a, from the order Lep-id-op-tera—”

“No!” She snatched my phone and scrolled down. “Here. California’s monarch butterfly count drops by eighty-six percent, just last year!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is butterfly watching a hobby you picked up over break or something?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know you took butterflies so seriously.”

“God, and I’m supposed to go to a guy like you for my yearly checkups?” she gasped.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Grace—”

“I don’t want to hear it, insect-killer.” She blew aside a tuft of hair from her forehead. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“How was break?”

“Oh. Right,” I said. “Well, I finally got around to watching that show you and Adam were talking about last semester.”

“Peaky Blinders?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I really like Tommy’s brother, Arthur. I think he’s funny. I’m not too sure how I feel about Polly yet, though, but then again I’m only on season three.”

“Adam fucks with Arthur too. Personally, I’m more of a John-kinda-person. I think he’s less murderous than Arthur. Kills too much. How’s Adam doing, though?”

“Honestly, you probably know better than me. Haven’t seen him since we left for home.”

“I feel it.”

Grace made a sharp right onto the I-25 freeway, accelerating until our speed plateaued around ninety miles per hour. I gripped the sides of my seat—ninety was a little too fast for my tastes. I considered myself a defensive driver. Dull buildings bordered the freeway shoulders, and I tried to focus on them to distract myself from Grace’s driving.

“What do you say we stop by a park or something, J? Not really tryna see my parents right now.” Grace glanced at me, her hands still on the wheel.

I felt a bit queasy watching her take her eyes off the road. “Yeah, works for me. Something going on?”

“Eh, the usual. Just get sick of ‘em being home for so long,” she said. “But anyhow, I have a ball in the trunk. We can kick it around or some shit.”

The road grew bumpier as we drove over a waterway on the way to Grace’s neighborhood. Spoiled by scenic coastal sights on the drive up to Berkeley, the glum scenes around me felt sobering. I tapped my foot, eager to get out of the car.

Eventually, Grace took exit 225 on the right, keeping left to merge onto East One-hundred-thirty-sixth Avenue. We passed a stucco structure with a sign that read ‘Broomfield’.

“Almost there,” said Grace. “I know just the spot.”

Finally, Grace made a left into a small parking lot bordered by bright green, grassy fields on one end and unkempt trails on the other. “Quail park. I grew up playing soccer here.”

I looked around. I was glad to be there—it certainly yielded better views than the drive had. “It’s pretty.”

Grace popped open the trunk and pulled out a soccer ball and pump. She filled it with air quickly, then gestured for me to carry the ball. We walked over to the open fields, brushing permafrost aside as we squished the grass beneath our feet. Back and forth, we kicked the ball to one another, Grace showing off every now and then by booting the ball over her head and onto her knees, juggling it for ten, maybe twenty bounces before passing it back to me.

“So?” she said. “Did you kill the interview?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

Grace toed the ball inward, using its momentum to whip the ball onto the flat of her foot. With a touch of force, she tapped the ball into the air and into her hands. “Come on, J. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

I smiled a bit. “It really was though.”

She laughed and dropped the ball to her feet. Passing it back to me, she said, “Ah, whatever. You don’t want to work in Denver anyway. You’re not cut out for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering your ass off since I picked you up, dummy. And I have heated seats!” she said.

“Hey,” I started. “You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am. Anyhow, how are things with, uh, you know . . .”

“Maddie?” I finished.

“Yes, right, Maddie.”

“She texted me this morning.”

“Oooooh,” said Grace. “How’s Brandon gonna feel about that?”

Ah, right, Brandon. How could I forget?

“Brandon . . . Right. Well, I doubt that it’s a major concern of his at the moment. She left me on read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, it’s her loss anyhow. She’s missing out on a star athlete!” said Grace as she punted the ball, knocking me square in the chest.

“Fucking shit!” I howled.

“You sound like Adam more and more everyday,” she said.

“So dreams do come true.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Grace, juggling the ball on her quads. “Don’t you feel like certain words belong to certain people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, don’t you associate certain words with certain people? Like every swear word with Adam, for example, and or maybe, I’m sure there are some you have in mind for Maddie or whoever.”

“You sure you’re not projecting, Grace?” I asked.

This time she threw the ball at me, and it proceeded to hit me right on the head. We kicked around for another hour or so, talking about this or that—how final exams went; our plans for the semester; and Pac-12 Women’s soccer, despite an utter lack of knowledge regarding the sport’s conference on my part. Around five-thirty in the late afternoon, we decided to get something to eat, so Grace drove us to a Vietnamese spot called Golden Bowl Noodle House which she heralded as the greatest phở restaurant on the west coast.

We sat down in blue booth seats across from one another, red and gold walls bordering us on my left. A large, square, green painting depicting an ocean scene lined the wall between us. I ordered the same thing as Grace, the Combo Number One, which consisted of a small rare steak phở, 2 spring rolls, and an iced tea. Grace asked to change hers to a warm tea, which was probably the better move in hindsight. Our drinks arrived first, and we sipped on them slowly. I was hungry—blueberry scones could only provide so much sustenance.

A robed Asian woman, with a slight hunch in her back as she hobbled over, arrived with a tray carrying two bowls of soupy noodles; four translucent wrapped appetizers; and a small dish with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and other add-ons. She bowed slightly and left us to our meals, so I looked over at Grace who had already taken her first bite from a spring roll. I followed her lead, feeling the cool cloak of rice wrappers over fresh shrimp, cilantro, and basil. Taking a bite, my teeth met shrimp with just the right amount of snap, the unexpected tang of hoisin sauce gifting a pleasant surprise.

Grace smacked my hand. “Use the peanut sauce! You gotta appreciate it properly, cuz some people can’t. Did you know that the rate of food allergies is increasing rapid as fuck—especially in developed nations like the US?”

I did as she said, dipping the spring roll into the gloppy, brown sauce. She wasn’t wrong—it was better that way. After swallowing my last bite of the spring rolls, Grace tossed some bean sprouts into my soup and squeezed lime juice over my bowl.

“You know this isn’t my first time eating phở, right?” I said.

Grace hushed me and continued eating. I watched her twirl a handful of noodles into her chopsticks, lifting them to her mouth over a soup spoon. Noisy slurps concluded with sapid bites followed by quick sips of tea. Rinse and repeat.

I opted for a fork, twisting firm noodles around its prongs as best I could, gulping down spoonfuls of savory soup in between steak and noodle bites. I watched the red meat cook to a brownish hue, the hot broth’s steam parting like sea waves under my chin.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said. “It’s good.”

Grace glanced at me, nodded, and continued eating. Finishing promptly, she leaned back into her chair and exhaled heavily.

I rushed to keep up with her, but it took me significantly longer to finish. Sooner or later, the robed woman limped over with the bill. I rose to my feet and met her halfway. I pulled out a Mastercard and slipped it into the folded check before handing it back to her and sitting back down with Grace.

“Real gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me today. Besides, you’ve just introduced me to the ‘best phở on the west coast’, right?”

“Suppose that’s true. Okay, you’re right, dinner on you.”

The restaurant owner signaled that I could take back my card, so I walked over, tipped four-and-a-half dollars, tucked away my card, and we left for the car.

Grace’s eyelids were a bit heavy, so I asked her if she wanted me to drive. She handed me her keys and jumped into the passenger seat. After I buckled into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition, she directed me to make a right out of the parking lot. I drove slowly back to her house, which was only ten or so minutes away, then pulled into her garage. The garage led into a two-story, vinyl sided, upper-middle class home with a comely, green lawn out front.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

I followed her over hardwood floors into the living room, where a tall, white man with square sunglasses over his eyes and a black beanie atop his head shuffled through TV channels with a remote. The lights were off in the room even though the sun had set a little less than an hour prior.

“How are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“Wassup?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “How are you today, sir?”

“All good.” He took a long draw from an IPA resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Catch y’all. Gracey—you got trash, yea?”

Before Grace could reply, a voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “I got today, hun!”

We nodded in acknowledgment to the man and turned to leave. “Must be your dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. And that was the end of it.

I followed Grace into the kitchen. A woman—her mother, presumably—with a polka dot apron around her neck and a noticeable accent in her voice greeted us warmly. I was surprised by the speed of the woman as she rushed me with a sturdy hug, a tactic she then repeated on her daughter.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ayo,” she said. “No problem. Sleep good, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for letting me stay—”

“Sorry about him, mom,” said Grace. She hit me on the back playfully and the two women burst into laughter in unison. “You’re always welcome, J.”

I smiled, said goodbye, and trailed Grace as she led me up a winding staircase to a small bedroom encapsulated by canary yellow walls laden with rooster prints. The room housed a twin bed and two lamps with cube-ish shades. The bedsheets matched the walls, realistic rooster designs corresponding with the overarching theme of the bedroom.

“Don’t ask,” said Grace. “Night, J. Sleep up.”

I hugged Grace and thanked her. “Night.”

It was still early, only six-thirty or so, so I plopped onto the bed and pulled out my iPhone, intent on watching YouTube videos to pass some time. I chuckled to myself as I admired the chicken print theme of the room.

Clicking my phone to life, I was surprised to find text messages from Maddie that read:

I sighed and put the iPhone down as my heart rate spiked into the mid eighties.

[thedasdrabbles]

Slices of Life - Modern AU Thedas Valentines

He didn’t go all out for every holiday. Some didn’t have the same feel behind them, the same groove. Valentine’s Day was one where he put a little extra in, though -- in part because at first he hadn’t thought his lover would expect it and now because he liked to keep the expectations high and the anticipation just on the edge of heart pounding and breathless. He’d left a card tacked to the door for his lover to find when he made it home, a trail of flower petals starting in the foyer and leading up the stairs. The hall was dark save for the gently flickering glow of tiny LED candles that he’d left along the stairs, lighting the way for Ferion to follow. 

The trail led to their bathroom where there was another card, its contents brief and naughty with a post-script that contained promises of more scandalously wicked to come. 

Get cleaned up, get comfortable and come find the rest of your present whenever you’re ready.  - Bull

Alongside the card atop a neatly folded towel was a fresh bar of Ferion’s favorite soap, a new container of the scrub he had mentioned enjoying the last time Bull had brought it home, a small, unopened bottle of lube and a plug, weighted nicely with a heart-shaped flare. It was easily enough to imagine what the rest of his ‘present’ might be from there.... The rest of the night was going to be good. Bull would make sure that he’d get it nice and hard to counter all of the soft. He always did, and each Valentines Day they spent together made it seem like he always would.

--------------------

Rylen didn’t do romance, at least that was what he always said. He had other ways of letting Cullen know that he loved him throughout the year and early on in their relationship they’d come to terms with the fact that Valentine’s Day wasn’t really for them. It meant that neither of them took issue with the fact that as part of his work rotations his travels typically had him out of town over that holiday; something that he was more than alright with as it meant he was back for the ones that meant more to them. 

It didn’t mean that he spent Valentines alone, however. Why waste a perfectly good night centered around fine dining, fine wine and lingerie alone when he could spend it in the company of Miranda… 

 He’d promised to keep his eyes closed after dinner -- a dinner they’d had delivered to his room rather than eating out this time, neither one of them of a mood to deal with the typical crowds drawn to high-end restaurants even if they could have worked a private dining room into their expenditure budget. She’d talked him into wearing a tie that night and he was painfully aware of its closeness, each draw of breath making him all the more aware of it along with the knowledge that he could hear her moving around, breath catching when he caught a trace of her perfume drifting closer.

 When he felt her fingers tug at the tie to loosen it he almost opened his eyes, knowing with the way she had to have  leaned in he would have gotten a glorious eyeful of the tops of her breasts spilling over whatever she was wearing -- either the dress she’d donned for dinner or whatever she had on beneath it. He closed them tighter, though, knowing she hadn’t yet told him he could peek yet and the resulting laughter, sultry and sweet like honey was entirely worth it just like the rest of the night would be… 

--------------------

The kitchen was filled with laughter, music lightly floating through the background. Her sides were starting to ache but it felt so good that she didn’t care. Eli leaned back into Cullen’s arms, cheeks rosy and warm as she tipped her head to rest against his shoulder, peering up to him. She couldn’t remember ever being with anyone who’d made her feel this way before -- so light, so loved. It must have shown in her eyes as they met his because she only had a second to process the desire that shifted through his amber eyes before he was kissing her breathless. 

With a soft gasp followed by a low moan she turned, slipping her arms around his neck. Before she knew it his hands were on her hips, lifting her to set her on the counter. He seemed to take a second to breathe, the briefest of pauses to make sure she was alright and that there was no trace of protest before he was kissing her again. If kissing Rylen was like drowning in desire, kissing Eli was like a rush of spring air, warm and gently demanding in the most wonderful of ways. He couldn’t imagine his life without either of them, but he was so grateful for moments like this, that he could have moments like this. 

Cullen drew back slowly, touching his nose to hers, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth only to lean back, smiling. His smile brought the light of the sun to his face, warm and just a bit sheepish. “This isn’t going to get the rest of dinner put away.” 

“Says the man who put me up here,” she laughed, closing her eyes in an attempt to find her breath, always amazed by how easily he could take it away. From the den she heard a woof which drew another soft, breathless laugh. “See… Sari agrees with me.” 

“Traitor…” He muttered beneath his breath, acting cross for the briefest of moments before kissing her again. They’d get back to the leftovers sooner or later… Probably later…

--------------------

“We’re going to miss our reservations.” He’d made plans this year, just as he tried to make plans every year. For Garret Hawke plans were often things to be shuffled around or rescheduled, especially when they involved plans with Anders. The medic had gotten much better over the years, started taking better care of himself, dropped a few bad habits and picked up a handful of others that were less detrimental to their relationship. It wasn’t always easy, but they’d made things work after a fair amount of growth and work between them. 

“We’re not going to miss our reservations. They’re not for another hour and a half, Hawke -- that’s more than enough time for me to finish getting dressed, make sure Liberty and Barkus have had their Valentine’s treats and be on our way.” His lips pursed together into a pout as he looked over to the other man after pulling his shirt down over his head, taking the time to smooth wrinkles that weren’t there out of it. He loved Garret desperately and it had taken him more time than it should have to come to terms with that, even longer to come to terms with the idea that he could be loved that fiercely in return. Spending a day with him meant everything… Spending this day with him meant more. 

“We are going to miss our reservations if you keep looking at me like that while looking like that, though.” Hawke grinned as he stepped up, slipping an arm around Anders’ middle as he planted a kiss on the corner of the other man’s mouth. “Check your hair once or twice more, like I know you’re going to do, grab that necklace you’ve changed your mind on twice… This shirt is fine. It was fine the last time you put it on before you tried something else and it will go well with that coat that you love that you swear doesn’t match the jeans you have on, but it does. I’ll feed your cat and Barkus and then we’ll be on our way. Dinner and a movie. Normal Valentines. Promise.” 

“Normal?” His heart swelled as he looked at Hawke, reaching up to rest a hand alongside the other man’s face. He leaned in to brush a soft kiss to the other man’s lips, his expression radiating all of the love and affection he had found a hard time giving voice to for so long. “Nothing about being with you is normal, Hawke… And that’s part of what I love about it. About you. About us...”

--------------------

He approached the tub with two glasses of wine, holding one out to his lover and waiting for him to take it before reaching down to trail his fingers through the water. It was warm enough that it would feel wonderful, the steam already reminding him that Ryn’s next business trip would take them somewhere away from the snow that had fallen outside. They’d stayed in that night, not wanting to get caught out if it came back with a vengeance -- an excuse on his part, really. In truth, he’d just wanted Ryn to himself. 

 He set his glass down on the edge of the tub as he stepped up and into the water, seeming entirely satisfied as he sank down into it opposite the other man. He nudged his lover’s hip with his foot as he leaned back, retrieving his glass to take a sip. “This? This is the life, amatus. Warm, comfortable, quiet dinner at home, wine… You.” His smile was warm, eyes only for the man sitting across from him. He’d known that Ryn was the type of man he could easily find himself falling for almost from the start but he hadn’t expected them to be so good together, so good for each other. 

He took another sip of his wine, easing back again and closing his eyes. It was a moment before he heard the soft clink of a glass being set down across from him, the shift of water moving around him as Ryn leaned forward, kneeling between his knees. He opened his eyes in time to see the other man leaning in, following his lover’s movement as he plucked the glass from his fingers and set it down as well. When he felt Ryn’s lips press against his he pressed back, fingers sliding into the other man’s hair to draw him down closer. Ryn was the best part of this, the best part of everything. Ryn made their house home, made wherever they went when he traveled somewhere that he wanted to be. 

Dorian often thought that Ryn was a better man than him, had thought at first that Ryn might be too good for him -- too good to be true. They’d unearthed flaws, grown and evolved and now they were so good together. Their romance was the kind meant for lifetimes, not just for a single day, and he intended to make sure that Ryn knew that in every way.  

--------------------

“Tethras Investigations.” He’d kicked back in his chair, heels on the corner of his desk, the pages for the novel he’d been working on tucked into folders on the opposite side. He had a deadline to meet, but deadlines could wait. Deadlines meant little when it came to spending Valentines with the light of his life, especially when it came to having the opportunity to dress up while doing so. 

He reached up to tip his at up just enough that he could get a good look at her as she came in the door. For a second he lost character -- more than a second, honestly. It was going to take a beat or two for him to pick his jaw up off of the floor. “Shit, Gadget, you didn’t tell me you were going that far out. If I’d’ve known I would’ve done more than just put together some things from my closet…” He caught himself as she clicked her tongue to chastise him, clearing his throat in an attempt to find his character again. “What can I do for you, doll?”

His eyes followed her as she sashayed towards his desk, the glamor of the vintage fashion suiting her far better than he would have expected. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected that, really, given how good she looked in just about everything she put on. If the Renaissance Festival had been any proof of that, well… 

“I’ve heard you’re good at what you do, possibly the best.” She made her way around to his desk, nudging his feet down off of the corner so she could take a seat on the edge of it. Grinning, Lani leaned back on one hand, resting a foot on the chair between his thighs. “Tell me, Mr Tethras… Are you the best?” 

She was going to be the death of him, the absolute utter death of him. He cracked again, for a shorter spell this time, recovering by holding her gaze as he rested his hand on her calf as he leaned in to brush his lips to her knee. “That all depends, ma’am, on what you’ve heard I’m the best at… Why don’t you let me know and we’ll go from there? All I’ll say up front is that I never leave a job unfinished or a dame unsatisfied.” That was enough to trip her up, his knack for witty dialogue and bad one-liners finally coming through. The resulting laughter was well worth it. 

Shit, everything with her was worth it. She’d done so much for him in the time they’d known one another, drawing him out of a bottle he hadn’t known he’d been hiding him and introducing him to some of the most beautiful parts of life. Whatever he’d done, however he’d managed to get this lucky, Varric knew he’d never be able to top convincing Lanira to be his wife. 

[uas-fics]

Title: Bangs and Hair Ties

Summary: If Tweek doesn’t get his bangs out from his face, Craig will have to do something about it!

Rating: G

Ships: Creek

Other: For @tweekweek hair

Read on Ao3

---

Craig was half tempted to get up, take the safety scissors from his sister's art set, and cut Tweek's bangs himself.

Tweek kept reaching up and brushing them out of his eyes the whole time they played board games. He tried tucking them behind his ears at first, but the bangs in the middle couldn't quite reach so they fell down the bridge of his nose.

Tweek rolled the dice. He squinted before moving his piece three spaces.

"Draw a card, Craig." He nodded to the space his piece landed.

'Opponent draw 1 card,' it said.

As Craig reached for the deck in the middle of the board, Tweek once again tried to move his bangs out from his face. Craig wrinkled his nose. He didn't know why he found the action so annoying, but he couldn't help it! Something about Tweek constantly pausing to mess with his hair bugged him.

"What's it say?" Tweek asked. A lock of blond escaped from behind his ear and brushed down his cheek.

"It says..." Craig glanced at the card. The card ordered him to lose three spaces, putting him a space behind Tweek. He peeked up over the card at Tweek. All of the hair from his left ear was out now.

"It says," He repeated. "It says let me fix your hair."

"What?" Tweek jumped, hands bolting up to tangle in his mane. "Fix how?"

Craig pushed himself away from the table without a word. He walked around to pull Tweek from his seat before taking him up the stairs to the bathroom.

Slapping closed the toilet lid, he ordered Tweek to sit.

"Craig, what are you doing?" Tweek fidgeted but took the seat despite his nerves.

Craig dug through the drawer under the sink as he spoke. "I'm fixing your hair. It's too long." Finding what he needed, he smiled. He spun around, hair ties and a brush in his hands. "I'm going to fix it by tying it back."

Tweek flinched back. "What do you know about hair?"

Craig rolled his eyes as he snapped the hair ties around his wrist. He started tugging the brush through Tweek's hair. It was much thicker and messy than he'd thought. It would take a while to brush out.

"Duh, I have a little sister. I know how to do hair. It's big brother class one-o-one, right after giving noogies and flicking boogers at your little pestering sister." Craig switched the brush to his other hand. Messy or not, Tweek's hair was soft, in contrast to its sharp appearance, so he kept absentmindedly petting it with his free hand.

"Oh." Tweek fiddled with his buttons.

"Hold still," Craig ordered. "I can't pull your bangs back until I have all the tangles out. Dang, don't you brush your hair at home?"

"Of course, I do!" Tweek countered. "I've just been busy this last week. Mom and Dad are expanding the shop menu and we have new people coming in and--"

"Excuses, excuses," Craig chided while pulling the brush through a particularly nasty knot. Tweek yelped and tried to push Craig away, but he held firm and crawled onto the toilet with his knees on either side of Tweek. The two of them barely fit, but at least Tweek couldn't escape now.

"Craig, this is embarrassing! Stop!" Tweek batted at Craig's arm. "I'll have my mom get me a haircut when I get home tonight. I promise. Errr--! Cross my heart and hope to die!"

"No, honey." Craig shook his head as he carefully took the hair tie from his wrist. Tweek's hair wasn't perfectly brushed but it would work well enough.

Craig smoothed Tweek's bangs back away from his forehead with one hand. Holding the hair ties in between his teeth, he twisted Tweek's bangs back into a small ponytail at the crown of his head then tied them back. Still not quite satisfied, he fished out some bobby pins from the drawer and pinned down the loose hairs.

Climbing off the toilet, he proudly gestured for Tweek to stand and look in the mirror. Tweek reached up to touch his hair, but Craig grabbed his wrist with a shake of the head.

"Stop touching your hair," he commanded. "Just look at it."

"Alright, alright, fine..." Tweek stepped in front of the mirror. He blinked and pressed his stomach against the counter to get a better look. "Woooow, Craig, you did great! I look amazing."

Craig nodded simply, his hands on his hips. "Big brother powers, Tweek. I help Trisha with her hair all the time, so Mom doesn't have to."

Tweek hummed to himself in thought. "Craig?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I do your hair? Please?" He twisted around with a smile. "I want to learn. I'm an only child, so I don't have big brother powers."

Craig blushed, touching his hat. For all he chided Tweek, he hadn't washed his hair in two days. After being stuck under his chullo all the time, it was sweaty and gross.

He couldn't let Tweek have a win over him like that. Craig was supposed to be the cool, neat boyfriend in contrast to Tweek's all over, messy nature.

He dropped his hand, lips pursed.

"I don't think so. It's not long enough." Craig snapped his fingers. "Oh well."

Tweek flicked up the bangs that stuck out from under his hat. "I think I could do a little bit with. At least let me try. I really want to learn."

Craig groaned. "Alright, but, but, uh, I need to use the bathroom first." He held up his finger.

Pulling the drawer out, Craig piled hair ties, bobby pins, and the brush into Tweek's arms before spinning him around and sending him back downstairs.

The moment the door shut, he threw his hat off and turn the sink on full both hot and cold water. Steeling himself, Craig shoved his head under and vigorous scrubbed at his scalp with his fingers.

For a moment, he considered lathering his hands with the soap bar and using it to wash his hair but thought better of it. It would take too much time to wash it all out. This would have to do.

Craig took the hand towel down and rubbed his head, squeezing the locks until the water drenched the towel. He rung it out over the sink before unceremoniously dropping it in the hamper.

One last check in the mirror to make sure he was dry and Craig headed out the door and downstairs.

He found Tweek already taking out one of the bobby pins he'd put in his hair. Craig slapped his hand, took the pin, and returned it to its proper place.

Tweek rolled his eyes. "Sit down." He ordered with a nod to the seat in front of him. While Craig was in the bathroom, Tweek spun one of the chairs so the back faced his front.

Craig flopped down and crossed his arms.

"Ok, get on with it."

"You're supposed to be teaching me! I don’t know what to do." Tweek got onto his knees in his own chair.

"Well, you brush out the hair first." Craig straightened up so he could reach easier. "Next, you use the brush to pull back my bangs, then you pull it into a ponytail. The bobby pins hold down the runaway hairs. Mine aren’t long enough to pull back as far as yours, though."

Tweek swallowed. "Right. Urrrrk..."

"You can do it, honey. I believe in you."

His hands shook as he gently began to brush out Craig's hair.

Craig couldn't remember the last time he had someone else brush his hair this softly, not since he was little and couldn't do it on his own. Trisha didn't care if she hurt him or ripped out his hair when she played dress-up with him.

It was nice, comforting even. Craig let his eyes droop shut. It wouldn't take much to just fall asleep and nap the day away. This must be why Stripe liked being petted so much.

"Your hair is really silky, Craig. Silky and thick." Tweek ran his hands through the hair at the back of his head.

"Yours is nice, too" Craig mumbled, barely suppressing a yawn. "Soft and a good color."

Tweek chuckled. The brush handle clacked as it was set on the table. The floorboards creaked as Tweek stood from his chair and padded around to Craig's front.

"Ok, um, you said to push it back, um, like this?"

Tweek's warm hands brushed his forehead as he gathered up Craig's bangs. With a gentle, but firm tug, he gathered the locks together. A hair tie snapped and Tweek swore.

"Are you ok?" Craig peeked his eyes open.

Tweek shook out his hand. He reached onto the table for a tie. On the floor behind Tweek, Craig caught sight of a green tie on the floor. He smiled, knowing what must have happened.

With his tongue stuck out like a professional painter, Tweek gingerly tied back Craig's bangs into an uneven tuff. He then placed bobby pin after bobby pin to hold it in place a few inches back from  Craig's hairline. He probably overdid it with the pins, but Craig didn’t correct him.

As Tweek placed the last bobby pin, Craig realized just why Tweek's bangs bothered him so much.

"I couldn't see your face," he said without thinking.

Tweek blinked. "What?"

"Your bangs. They got in your face. I couldn't see it earlier," Craig explained. "It bugged me, 'cause I like your face. It's nice."

The face that Craig liked so much blushed red as a ripe tomato.

"Craig, that, uh," he laughed, "that's pretty gay, you know."

Craig grinned manically. "Not as gay as you. You fart rainbows."

Tweek pushed his shoulder. "Well you’re so gay, you let another man touch your hair!"

Throwing his hand over his chest with mock offense, Craig accused, "You're so gay you let another man kiss you!"

Tweek furrowed his brow. "Wait, when did I--"

Craig pushed himself forward and planted a quick kiss to Tweek's cheek.

"Right now."  

Tweek slapped his hand to his cheek and took a stumbling step back. He tumbled. Craig's heart skipped a beat. Did he mess up? Wait, what did PC Principal say about consent? Shoot! He was supposed to ask first right?

"Tweek, I'm sorry I didn't mean it." Craig raised a hand.

"Cr-Craig, that..." Tweek swallowed hard. "That was so super gay of you, but I won't mind if you wanted to do it again sometime. Just warn me next time." A shaky smile spread across his lips.

This time it was Craig's face that turned into a tomato. Out of reflex, he reached up to pull his hat over his burning ears, only to realize he'd left it upstairs in the bathroom.

"Deal, but only if you get a haircut," Craig held out his pinkie, "so I can kiss your face without getting hair in my mouth."

Tweek laughed, loud and clear, then wrapped his pinkie around Craig's.

"Deal."

---

AN: This is the last Tweek Week Fic I have. You can check out the other two at AO3

Now I have to start work on Creek Week =D

[fizzy-popper-blog]

Raise Your Flag

Chapter 2

Sitting in his chair Alex takes out his phone. He texts his friend to see where they're at but he gets no response from anyone. Scowling he puts his phone away and grabs his textbook. His first period is language art, then math, history, science, and art. He personally couldn't wait for art, he's always been in touch with his hands and was always drawing on his bedroom walls. He remembers when he was five and found his mom's lipstick. He was drawing a bird when he heard his mother curse at him and then smack him on the back of the head. She made him clean it up with a bar of soap and a sponge until he passed out of exhaustion onto the floor. His mother left him there too busy wallowing in self-pity and whiskey. Frowning and scrunching up his eyebrows he lightly shakes his head as if to forget the memories that plague his broken mind. Looking at the smart board he is reminded of the osts that will begin in a few days. He knows enough that he'll pass with flying colors but that still won't be enough. He'll still be called stupid and worthless by his mom and compared to his dad. It may not be fair but thats how life works, life isn't well faring for great minds like Alex. The reached sea of stupidity sadly sinks any opportunity to shine with the greatest potential. Alex remembers last year that a bunch of girls went I to the destroy. and started to fight. Why the hell they did he has no idea but most of them got detentions so he didn't really care to complain. Even then they should have been expelled as dangerous and disobedient delinquents. But who's he to decide that, he's just a low life from the east side.

Getting his homework out he waits for the teacher to walk through the front door. Instead of the teachers, it's the popular kids. Oh shit, he thought, hope and pray to whatever god we have that they don't care to bother me. There must be a god above because the group of perfumed girls and boys didn't take notice to him. Letting out a sigh of relief he reviews his homework one last time. Nothing sticks out to him as wrong or unsure of, just completed. Satisfied with his work he sits back in the dingy school chair and thinks. His friend should be here by now considering that Jack would never let them skip. Alex has a class with them for almost every period except art since Nathan, Jewels, and Jack have gym and Katherin has a choir. No way in hell Alex would be able to survive any of those classes, he can barely walk to school without getting winded. So he sticks to subjects that require no or minimal exercise at all coast. Last year he passed out during gym because he couldn't breathe, scared the hell out of the gym teacher. It would have been funny if Alex wasn't

Being dragged to the paramedics outside the school building. Groaning and trying to hide his blushing face he false to see a group of people walking into his classroom.

"Hey look boys, its the fag from down the street, and he's all by his lonesome." The leader of the group sneers and pits his elbows on Alex's desk. Feeling that there was something going on some other teens stop what they're doing. Alex clears his through and responds, "I ain't-a fag boy, I'm bisexual you ignorant punk." Alex spits back. There was one female and two males. The female was a Hispanic girl, Avery, with black straight hair and brown eyes and averaged size. The two males were taller than the female by a few feet. The leader, Timothy, was a white male with dark hair and green eyes, his peach skin didn't have a mark on it, no blemishes or scars. The other male, Max, was a dirty blond boy with combed back brown hair. His eyes were a steel blue that scared Alex shitless. You'd think the leader would scare him but the leader wasn't obviously that smart. Max, on the other hand, was known for being the top student(mostly because his dad paid for him). And while muscles hight help once in the strength is where the brain is.

"Hah, says the one that hangs out with those fags." Timothy sneers, hoping to get under Alex"s skin. Not wanting to admit defeat Alex fires back. "Says the one who's more obsessed with his dick than anything, maybe that makes you gay for yourself." He didn't really think it was an insult but the boy didn't take it to well. He slams his hand on Alex's desk and gets in his face. "You better take that back fagget, or else," Alex smirks, he knows this isn't the best school but he knows that they have some standards that could get this punk expelled. That's unless his daddy pays the board off again. "The hell are you smirking for queer." The leader snaps, confused as to why Alex finds the situation amusing. "Looks like the fag has a death wish." This time it's Avery who speaks up. Alex is actually stunned that she would actually bother with him. He's seen her talk and curse right in front of the prince (granted everyone has sworn in front of him) not giving a shit, so why would she now? Blinking Alex sighs, he just wanted to have a quiet morning where he got all A's or B's and hang out with the gang. But that doesn't seem to be happening today. Timothy grabs Alex by the collar and goes to swing at him but the teacher walks in just in time. "Timothy Daten, a bit your behind down!" The language art teacher yells at Timothy and he immediately let's go with a push. He smirks at Alex and walks away with the other to.

Rolling his eyes Alex turns to the front of the classroom. This wasn't the first time a teacher had to step in and protect Alex from people like Timothy. People with closed minds close the world for other people. The teacher stands at the front of the class and relays what the lesson will be about. Alex would be paying attention but he's to focused on the poster board in the hallway and who might see his name. The last thing he needs is everyone else and their mom to know that he's part of the LGBTQ. Word spreads quickly around the school, especially in the halls. Nothing can get passed the gossip of a high schooler. Alex was just about to pay attention to the lesson when announcements came on. "Attention students, there is an early morning announcement concerning the new event presented by the student council." Alex quickly perks up and looks at the speaker, he doesn't really know why maybe it's just to be polite? "As you may know, if you pay attention that is, there is a poster in the main hall, now this poster is a one time chance for the school to celebrate one thing, this can range to appropriate items to holidays." The speaker pauses, they're likely reading from a flash card or something. "The winner will be announced at the end of the day considering there is still a whole day of school and you all need to focus." Some of the student groan. Guess Alex isn't the only one hanging on the edge of his seat.

"That will be all for morning announcements have a good day." As the announcements end the morning bell rings. Students rush to get into their classrooms and pretty soon the halls are a barren wasteland with paper and pencils littering the floor. As the lesson goes on Alex can't wait for the end of the day, not only to leave but to find out if he'll have the pleasure of a pride day. As he daydreams about what it would be like as a pride day the ending class bell rings. Students rush out of their seats to the classroom door. Following their lead, Alex rushes to his next period which is math then health, study hall, lunch, American History, Art, science then another unnecessary period just to torture students. Walking into his next period he starts to become dazed. What if he doesn't get the event, what if they make fun of him for trying to celebrate such a taboo thing. Frowning and looking down at his desk he realizes what an idiot he was to think something good would happen to him. He starts to shake with uncertainty, his heart starts to beat even faster and starts to sweat. Shooting up from his seat he runs out of the classroom, down the hall and to the men's restroom. He slams the door of a stall and sits on the toilet, covering his face with his hands. Breath, just breath. He tells himself repeatedly trying to calm himself down. This is the second panic attack this month, sadly that's a record.

Tears start to stream down his face. He tries to wipe them away but there are so many tears. Instead, he just lets them roll down his face and onto the bathroom floor. When he's done crying his face is wet and his eyes are iffy. He can't go back to class looking like this so he waits the whole period in the bathroom. He swears this reminds him of a theatre song but he can't remember which one.  He listens to so many songs that he mixes them up a lot. He starts to hum a lullaby to help calm himself more. It's the same lullaby that he would sing for himself when he was a toddler. He doesn't remember where he heard it from but it's soothing to him an that's all that matters to him. Alex sighs and stands up, brushes the dust of his clothes and opens the stall door. He walks to the mirror and looks at himself. His eyes are swollen and red from how much he was crying. Rubbing his eyes he grabs some paper towels and wettens them. He scrubs his face and stares at his hands. They are still shaking from his previous panic attack. He rubs his hands and shakes his head. They've always been shaky but now he wouldn't be able to hold a pencil. There isn't any point im him staying at school if he's like this. He throws the paper towns away and leaves the restroom. Walking down the has he reaches his locker. He'd just about to get his backpack and coat when the announcements come on. "Attention students, sorry for the afternoon interruption but we have an announcement. Because of popular demand, we will be announcing the winner for the special event." Alex quickly looks up at the speaker in the ceiling and crosses his fingers. "The winner for the special event is..." Alex holds his breath. "....Alex Hecht, for pride day!" He can't believe it. He finally won something. Something good actually happened to him Letting out his breath he slides down his locker. A smile grows on his face and he tries to hide it, but it's too big of a grin to hide. He stands up and jumps for the ceiling, fist pumps the air. He starts to twirl around and just has a good time. When he's done self celebrating he grabs his stuff with pride and locks his locker. Walking down the hallway with pride he walks to the nurse's office, tells her what happend and is excused from school for the day. He doesn't have anyone to pick him up so he's forced to walk home but he isn't fazed. He still has a dopey grin on his face and arrives home. He isn't fazed when his mom yells at him for being home. He jumps to his room and texts his friends. This is the best day and the most life-changing one he'll ever have.