#Let’s pretend that they’d ever talk like this or this casually to each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ellecdc · 9 months ago

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We need dating remus lupin general headcanons with YOUR wonderful writing. Please. 🫶🏻

I don't know if this is my best work - but hopefully this is what you were looking for. Thanks for being here with me <3

Dating Remus Lupin Headcanons

This man was completely oblivious to the draw he had on other people – including you. His quiet, sarcastic, mischievous but kind persona meant he had a lot of admirers that he never did anything about

I fully believe Remus Lupin was the biggest flirt without necessarily realizing it (or if he did realize it, it wasn’t a conscious action - he really didn’t mean to be flirty, he just was)

Also don’t believe he knew how fuckin’ hot he was: denim jackets, oversized cardigans and knitted jumpers, converse, beanies - like he always looked so comfortable and casual but so put together despite of it?

Stealing his clothes is actually a dream of mine – his denim jacket with patches sewed on and a hole or two????? Need it

Curling up in one of his sweaters and warm socks by the fire? Fuckin’ hell

His friends knew better than to ever try to (outwardly) set him up with anyone since he was so damn stubborn, so they would just happen to be in the library at the same time as you [the person they’d seen him bantering with in class time and time again] and also just happen to say hey and decide to catch up with you and then also just happen to sit at your table since they were already standing here talking to you anyway.

Forced library dates that neither of you really realized were dates, courtesy of his friends

Remus caught on after a little while what his friends were trying to do, but didn’t mention anything in case you hadn’t realized yourself; he wouldn’t want to embarrass you

And welcome to the one thing we all sort of hate about Remus Lupin: he of course believed nothing would/could/should ever come about between the two of you

I believe him to be somewhat flighty – the second he realizes he’s falling for you, or, God forbid, realizes you’re falling for him – he hightails it

Not for long though, I really don’t see James Potter letting him get away with that (Remus is stubborn so he gets ‘his way’ for at least a little before James forces the two of your out of your mutual misery)

I think you guys would grow closer and closer without ever actually saying anything about it:

Sitting beside each other would turn into leaning against one another

Leaning against one another would become the odd cuddle session

Walking together to class would turn into a gentle hand on the small of your back guiding you through the castle (but also to keep you close) [this is that mentioned unknowingly flirty side]

Hand on the small of your back would turn into his arm around your shoulder or your hand in his

And he would prefer it this way, afraid that saying anything would make it too real (flighty), or, that you would deny having feelings for him and that would hurt in an entirely different way

You tried to be okay with it – to pretend that you were satisfied with whatever Remus was willing to give you because, come on, he was one of the most popular boys in school, he was the most well-liked Marauder, he was super smart and a powerful wizard, and he was so sweet to you.

But after a while, you couldn’t deny how much this unspoken space between you was weighing on you – particularly the somewhat routine periods where he’d completely shut you out

Was it you? Had you done something?

Was he seeing someone else?

Were you just imaging this whole ‘thing’ between you?

He’d get increasingly agitated – almost like he simultaneously wanted you closer to him and further away from him; you’d never know how to help him in these moments

He’d speak more sharply to you, spoke less in general, and downplayed your friendship/relationship when other people would comment on it

“We’re not even that close, we just study together sometimes” you head him say to Marlene McKinnon

“It’s not like that” he told Benjy Fenwick when he asked if you two were dating

“She’s just a friend.” He’d said to Sirius, and that one hurt because why would he lie to his best friend? And what about you made it so difficult to see you as more than a friend?

Maybe you really had completely imagined the whole thing in your mind? Maybe he really didn’t care for you at all.

You began to pull away �� less study dates, more excuses as to why you couldn’t meet up after class, sitting with Lily or Mary at quidditch games instead, staying at Hogwarts on Hogsmeade weekends – anything to avoid having to face the friend that you quickly realized you were halfway in love with who never even gave you a second thought

He did give you a second thought, though – in fact, he gave you a first thought as well as a third, fourth, fifth and sixth

“Do you think I did something to offend Y/N?” He asked James and Sirius one day – the two exchanged a knowing look

“Why do you ask?” James asked with a smirk

“I think she might be avoiding me.”

“Does that bother you, Moons?”

Remus scoffed “of course it bothers me”

“I thought she was just a friend?” Sirius taunted

“Sod off...”

Remus couldn’t ignore it anymore – you weren’t just a friend. Never could be in his mind, he doubts. He would be your friend for the rest of your life if that’s all you ever wanted from him – but he’d probably always hold a candle for you; that’s why this divot you seemed to be carving between you two hurt like hell

He decides to do something very un-Remus like and face this head on (thoughts and prayers)

“Hey Y/N” he said gently as he approached your table in the library

You seemed surprised at seeing him and started packing your things up

“Oh, hi Remus...” and the lack of your usual ‘hey Rem’ furthered his suspicions. “I was just finishing up, actually.”

“Have I done something to upset you?” He blurted suddenly. His assertiveness threw you off kilter – was he...talking? About feelings? You paused in your haste to pack your things

“No?” you said in the form of a question – you knew he picked up on it when the space between his eyebrows dwindled

“Are you sure? I just feel like you’ve been avoiding me lately.”

You were starting to get frustrated. “What do you want, Remus?” You asked sharply. He winced.

“I just miss you, is all.” He admitted quietly as he played with a fray on his sweater between his tantalizingly long fingers.

“What exactly about me do you miss, Remus? You have plenty of friends; I hardly see how Sirius, James or Peter can’t fill the same role.”

He guffaws – actually guffawed! The bastard. “What are you on about?”

“What are you on about, Lupin? I’m tired; I’m tired of being called a friend while you keep me closer. I’m tired of feeling like I’m being played by arguably the most important person in my life. I’m fucking exhausted – so tell me exactly what you’re ‘on about’ Remus, and make it count because I’m done.”

“No! No, not done; don’t be done.”

“What do you want, Remus.” You whispered dismally.

“You.” He whispered back

“Don’t fuck with me, Lupin.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at you a little bit. “I’m not. I’m not, I swear it – I’m sorry if you’ve felt played by me. I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel anything but loved because... because I do – I love you.”

“Love me?”

“Love you. So much.” He professed as he dared to step closer to you. When you didn’t seem entirely averse to his proximity, he moved to close the gap – enveloping you in a long-needed hug. “I’m sorry.” He apologized again.

“You should be” you murmured petulantly from his chest.

He chuckled and pressed his lips to the top of your head “let me make it up to you?”

And he did – you spent that evening on the astronomy tower, enjoying the view of the stars as they melted into the forbidden forest along the horizon and the rest of the Hogwarts grounds – and he told you his secret, that he was a werewolf

You were the first person he willingly told – James, Sirius, and Peter just figured it out on their own and there was no hiding from them

You were the first person he chose to let in – so uncharacteristic of the lycanthrope, but that just went to show how serious he was about making it up to you and garnering your trust

This changed everything

There was no more pushing you away near full moons, in fact – he got nearly downright territorial

No one else was allowed to sit beside you – that was Remus’ spot

He was irritable and snappy with everyone, but instinctively melted at the sight of you

“I can’t believe we survived Moony all these years without Y/N – she’s like a sedative” Peter muttered as he picked up the cards Remus had thrown at him in a fit during their game of exploding snap. There was no sign of that Moony now – smiling down at you as you sat curled up in his lap like he had nowhere else he’d rather be

I believe Remus was the king of trinkets – his dorm was littered with little bits and bobs he found that he thought were cool/interesting

He started gifting you little things once you began dating

An enamel pin that made him think of you

A small pewter wolf

A cool rock that he thought looked like the colour of your eyes (you didn’t see it, but who were you to argue?)

Little themed snow globes

Flowers he found on his walks

Pretty beads/crystals

Tealight candle holders

The ribbon from a box of chocolates he got from his mum that he thought you would like

Acts. Of. Service. This man didn’t come from money, the way he saw his dad spoiling his mum was through his actions – so this caring attitude came super naturally to him

Fixing up your tea/coffee the way you like before you’ve even thought about it

Carrying your bags/books for you

“Your shoe’s untied, dovey. Give ‘er here.” He said as he patted his thigh for you to place your foot so he could tie it for you

If you got sick/under the weather, he’d totally do your homework for you (his friends have done the same for him due to the moons – pay it forward)

I think he’d be so soft and needy after a moon – just melt into whatever love and care you’re willing to show him; give you complete control and take care of him.

It may have been super hard to get Remus to give love a chance – but once you got it, you were stuck with him because he was not going anywhere

Loyal to a fault

He’s so afraid of losing good things that he’s willing (and desperate) to do anything and everything he can to keep it [i.e., you]

Thankfully, you make it very easy to do <3

#marauders era #marauders fanfiction #ask elle #self insert #reader insert #remus lupin #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #dating Remus Lupin headcanons #dating remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #the marauders #marauders #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfiction #ellecdc fics

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whirlpool-blogs · 2 months ago

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‘born with the condition that touching other people causes them physical pain’ + clegan anyone??? Gale grows up isolated because every time he tried to play with the neighborhood kids, they’d run away crying and screaming that he had hurt them, even though all he’d done was try to play tag or play pretend soldiers. His own mother carefully pats him on the shoulder through his shirt, and certainly never risks a hug. Gale wants to join the fight for his country, but can’t risk living in the cramped quarters of a Navy ship or side-by-side in a trench with infantry. So he decides to become a fighter pilot, where you sit in the cockpit alone. And you live and you breathe and you fight and you die alone in that cockpit, too.

Until he walks into flight school and meets John Egan. And here’s the thing — John is touchy. Gale is so nervous on his first day, he completely forgets to warn his roommate about his ‘condition’. Except the strangest thing happens — John shakes his hand, and throws an arm over his shoulders and…he doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t scream or wince or accuse Gale of trying to hurt him. It’s as though….Gale’s touch doesn’t affect him.

Eventually, when they’re talking about girls late at night, Gale admits that he’s a virgin. After all, how can you have sex when even brushing against someone’s elbow in the street sends them screaming? Since John is impervious, he offers to show Gale what it’s like.

They hook up. They keep hooking up. It’s kind of fucking mind-blowing. And it also breaks Gale’s heart, because he’s convinced John is only doing this for him as a favor, not because he actually likes him. (Meanwhile John is convinced that Gale is only letting him do this because it’s the only option Gale has, not because Gale actually likes him back…)

So they stop hooking up. Gale finds a nice Christian girl from home who is saving herself for marriage, and they write letters but never meet up. John goes back to casually sleeping around. (Both of them are seething with jealousy.) They’re just friends. It’s fine. They can be friends.

Then it’s winter in the stalag, and John is the only possible option to bunkshare with Gale. As they cling to each other for warmth, Gale finally admits that he’s not really planning to meet up with that Casper girl in any real way. And John admits that none of his hookups ever felt the same as he feels for Gale. Buck, he says, I just wanna touch you forever.

#mota fic #clegan #post

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awkward-walking-potato · 3 months ago

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You asked I deliver lol. Deadpool request: what about exes wade and reader that see each other after the break up and the talk between them ends hopeful? 🤭🤭♥️🖤♥️🖤

Lipstick and Heartache

Deadpool didn’t do grocery shopping. Not usually. That was one of the perks of having a blind roommate—she never knew when you brought home takeout instead of the ingredients you were supposed to buy. But today was different. Today, he’d lost a bet with Logan, and now here he was, pushing a cart down the cereal aisle, pretending he wasn’t contemplating murder by Frosted Flakes.

Logan was ahead of him, growling something about the price of beef jerky, while Blind Al was arguing with an innocent store clerk over the alleged existence of a non-alcoholic whiskey. Wade was zoning out, mentally debating which flavor of Pop-Tarts could be weaponized the best, when it happened.

He saw you.

You were standing by the produce section, examining a bunch of bananas with the kind of focus Wade usually reserved for choosing between chimichangas or tacos. His heart did a weird little flip-flop in his chest—like it always did whenever he saw you—but this time it was followed by a pang of something darker. Regret.

It had been months since he ended things. Months since he decided that his life was too dangerous for someone like you. Someone good. He thought he was doing the right thing, letting you go, keeping you safe from the chaos that seemed to follow him like a shadow. But it was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and judging by the way his chest ached just looking at you, it hadn’t gotten any easier.

You glanced up, your eyes catching his. For a moment, everything around him blurred—Logan’s grumbling, Al’s cursing, the mundane bustle of the grocery store—all of it faded into the background. It was just you and him.

And then, you smiled.

“Wade?” you called out, clearly surprised but pleased to see him. You set the bananas down and walked over, your steps confident, casual, like you hadn’t been haunting his thoughts since the day he walked out.

He put on his best grin, the one that was just a bit too wide, a bit too cocky. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite fruit ninja,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. “How’ve you been, beautiful?”

“Good,” you replied, stopping just a foot away from him. “And you? I didn’t expect to see you in a place like this. I thought grocery stores weren’t your style.”

He chuckled, glancing at Logan, who was now glaring at a stack of canned beans like they’d personally insulted him. “Oh, I’m just here to supervise the world’s angriest lumberjack and pick out some adult diapers for Al. You know, the usual.”

You laughed, and the sound hit him like a warm breeze. It was familiar and comforting, but also a reminder of everything he’d been missing. “Sounds about right,” you said, your eyes softening as they met his again. “I’ve missed your sense of humor, Wade.”

His heart skipped a beat, but he forced himself to keep it together. “Yeah, well, it’s a package deal with the stunning good looks and the terrible life choices,” he joked, though his voice cracked just a little on the last part.

You looked at him for a moment, like you were trying to read something in his eyes. “I always liked the package,” you said softly, and it was like someone reached into his chest and squeezed.

He wanted to say something—anything—to keep you here, to explain why he’d done what he did, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, staring at you, feeling like the biggest idiot in the world for ever letting you go.

Sensing the shift in his mood, you smiled gently and reached up, your fingers brushing against his masked cheek. “I’ve got to go, Wade,” you said, and before he could protest, you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

He froze, every nerve in his body buzzing as you pulled back, leaving a perfect imprint of your lipstick on his cheek. “Take care of yourself, okay?” you whispered, giving his hand a quick squeeze before turning and walking away.

He watched you go, his heart pounding in his chest like a drum. It wasn’t until you disappeared around the corner that he realized he was still standing there, like an idiot, with a goofy grin on his face.

“Nice lipstick, Romeo,” Logan grunted, sidling up beside him with a smirk. “You gonna frame that or what?”

Wade blinked, reaching up to touch his cheek where your kiss still lingered. “Shut up, honey Badger,” he muttered, trying and failing to sound annoyed. But the truth was, he couldn’t stop smiling, even as he felt the blush creeping up his neck.

Blind Al’s voice came from behind them. “What’s this I hear about him getting a smooch? Did hell freeze over or is Wade actually getting some action?”

Wade rolled his eyes, turning to push the cart down the aisle. “It’s nothing, just a little fan service,” he quipped, trying to play it off, but his heart wasn’t in it. His mind was still replaying that moment over and over again, the feel of your lips on his cheek, the look in your eyes when you said goodbye.

Logan chuckled, grabbing a pack of beer and tossing it into the cart. “Yeah, well, if that’s what you call ‘nothing,’ then you’ve got it bad, Wilson. Real bad.”

Wade didn’t respond, too lost in thought to come up with a snarky comeback. Instead, he let himself savor the memory of your kiss, the warmth of your touch, and the bittersweet ache of knowing that, for a moment, you were his again.

Even if it was just a moment.

“Hey, Wade,” Al called out as they headed toward the checkout. “You think you’ll ever grow a pair and actually talk to her about why you ended things?”

Wade sighed, the smile finally fading as reality set in. “Maybe, Al. Maybe one day,” he said quietly, knowing full well that day might never come.

But for now, he had your kiss on his cheek, and that was enough to keep him going—at least until the next time fate decided to throw you back into his life.

And as they walked out of the grocery store, Logan and Al still teasing him mercilessly, Wade couldn’t help but feel that, somehow, he was a little bit closer to you, even if it was just in his heart.

And damn, if that didn’t feel like the best thing in the world.

#marvel imagine #x men imagine #deadpool imagine #deadpool x reader #deadpool oneshot #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson imagine #wade wilson

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stevesjockstrap · 9 months ago

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Crash & Burn

Rated M • modern era, no UD • read on ao3

Friends with benefits, pining, idiots to lovers feels

Eddie’s phone buzzed, and buzzed again. He looked down at it. 1:39am. Two messages from Steve.

Groaning, he flipped his phone over and peeled himself off his couch to pace back and forth across the room, hands raking through his hair. Why couldn’t he just block his number? It’d been weeks (maybe months?) since he’d heard from him.

He only reached out after some girl broke his heart. Again.

Eddie couldn’t keep-

His phone started buzzing more urgently, repeatedly. Picking it up, he saw Steve’s name and had to answer it.

When you feel all alone and the world has turned its back on you

Give me a moment please to tame your wild, wild heart

“Hey.”

“Hi Eds…”

Just two words made everything come flying back front and center into Eddie’s mind. The amazing sex, sure, but mostly the soft touches, staying up all night talking, the way Steve looked at him like-

He shook his head, clearing whatever that was from his thoughts.

“What’s up neighbor? Need a cup of sugar?” He winced as the words left his mouth. For once his double entendre not being intentional. Oh. That was the other thing. They lived in the same row of townhouses, Eddie getting to see whichever current conquest Steve was wooing come and go, or Steve himself walking hand in hand with the supermodel of the week.

Thankfully Steve snickered back at his dumb joke. “I don’t need any sugar, actually. But I wanted to see if you were as bored as I am. Wanna come have a beer?”

This was his play, usually. Get Eddie over for a casual hang out, watch a movie, drink a beer, maybe smoke a joint. Once they were both a lot looser, things ended up happening.

Eddie would have to hear about whichever girl it was who Steve was sure was ‘The One,’ who was clearly using him for his name and money and when they’d find out Steve Harrington actually had no contact with his rich parents and only a upper middle class salary, they usually didn’t last long.

But Eddie was also a sucker. “Sure, man. Give me a few.”

I know you feel like the walls are closing in on you

It’s hard to find relief and people can be so cold

When darkness is upon your door and you feel like you can’t take anymore

Let me be the one you call

After a few beers each and politely listening to the play by play of the breakup (Dana this time), Eddie eyed Steve as he crept slowly closer to him on the couch.

Maybe it would be fine this time. They could just blow off some steam. It’s not like he had any better offers.

He pretended to be very interested suddenly in whatever dumb sitcom Steve had thrown on for background noise, and a hand slid up his thigh. He bit into the side of his cheek and stayed still. The butterflies he got every time he was in this position came back full force.

“Steve, I-“ he shook his head, but then caught the look on his face, like a rejection right now would send him crumbling.

If you need to crash then crash and burn

You’re not alone

“C’mere,” he breathed instead.

They met in a slow kiss, less heated and desperate than usual. Eddie cupped his jaw tenderly, trying in equal measures to hold back and show him some of the emotion he’d bottled up for so long.

Steve gasped an “Ed-“ into his mouth and shoved closer to him. They wrapped their arms around each other and he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be doing this.

When hopes and dreams are far away

And you feel like you can’t face the day

Let me be the one you call

The first slow thrust into Steve’s body was heart stopping. He didn’t think it had ever been like this, slow and gentle, instead of the frenzy he usually felt.

But that wasn’t altogether the truth, as he sucked in a breath, he realized while they usually came together in a rush, he’d usually find himself slowing it down. Making it more tender and caring.

Steve pulled him down for a soft kiss and he sunk into it with a small sound. Oh no. He pulled back. They could do slow passionate sex or they could have soft tender kisses but he couldn’t do both. He couldn’t take it. Especially not the eventual ghosting once Steve found a new girl to fall for.

But Steve was looking up at him now. Panting, cheeks flushed. Staring wide eyed up at him almost reverently. Eddie got stuck in his deep brown eyes for a long moment, transfixed until they both gasped on a particularly good thrust and Eddie realized what was happening.

He loved him. Was soul crushingly in love with a guy who only used him after he was broken up with.

Unable to meet his gaze, he mouthed along his neck and shoulder instead, allowing himself to hide his face, committing the little sighs and punched out sounds to memory.

This would have to be the last time.

When you feel all alone and a loyal friend is hard to find

You’re caught in a one-way street with the monsters in your head

When hope and dreams are far away

And you feel like you can’t face the day

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he jumped. Peering at it, he ignored the new text and looked back at Gareth.

“Why are you so jumpy, bro?”

Shaking his head, he tried to return the conversation back to the gigs they had lined up, but Gareth could always see right through him.

“Uh uh, whose texts are you avoiding? That’s not like you. Spill.”

“Gare, I promise, it’s nothing,” he raked his hands through his hair and Gareth raised an eyebrow at him. Well fuck, now he’d done his tell, hadn’t he? Sighing, he decided on, “It’s just something that needs to fizzle out on its own. A mistake that I keep making. I should block him.”

“Ahh,” Gareth nodded. “Hot neighbor guy.”

His jaw dropped. “Wha- how? I mean, shit.” He leaned down and thunked his forehead on the table. “How do you know he’s hot?”

Giggling, Gareth patted his shoulder. “The mistakes that we can’t block- they’re always hot. So what happened? Usually you’re off to the races when he texts.”

Sitting back up, he sighed. “I can’t keep doing this. I lo- I care too much about him and he only wants to hook up after some girl fucks him over. It’s killing me.”

Gareth hummed at him, nodding. “Caught feelings for the booty call. That’s a lot, dude. Did you tell him?”

“Are you kidding? No way! Zero chance that he’d actually stop his womanizing ways to have something real with me. He just likes getting fu-“

Gareth held up a hand. “I don’t need the details, man.”

Laughing, Eddie shook his head again. “Maybe if I just don’t answer, he’ll find some girl who wants to peg him and go run off with her.”

“There’s always a chance.”

‘Cause there has always been heartache and pain

And when it’s over you’ll breathe again

You’ll breathe again

Groaning, Eddie read through the last text Steve had sent again.

Hi. I know you’re avoiding me and I just wanted to know why. Did I do something wrong? I’m home all night if you want to talk.

He knew he was being an asshole by ignoring him. He knew exactly how shitty it felt to be ghosted after their encounters and now he was doing the same thing.

Knocking on his door felt like approaching the executioner. Would he get punched in the face? Kicked in the balls? Would he need to move? He really liked his place.

“Oh hey, he is alive after all,” Steve said sardonically as he pulled the door open.

“It appears so. Can I come in?”

Steve seemed weary, but nodded and turned to walk into the kitchen, propping himself at a stool at the bar. Eddie stood on the other side of the counter from him.

“I’m sorry,” he huffed. It didn’t seem like enough, but he made himself relax his shoulders and continue. He looked down at the swirls in the countertop as he talked. “I can’t do this anymore. I- um, I really like you, Steve. And this only calling me when you get your heart broken is … it’s too much for me.”

After a beat, he chanced a look up at Steve’s face and winced. He looked like he’d gotten ice water thrown in his lap.

“I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I just worked it out myself very recently. I thought I could do the casual hookups but my heart can’t take it anymore. Because I know you don’t feel the same and-“

“Of course I don’t feel the same,” Steve growled out, his face now completely closed off and hard.

Eddie clenched his jaw and gave a stiff nod.

“I’m not- I don’t swing that way, man.”

Instead of arguing, he just nodded again and walked towards the door. Somehow that’d been worse than he’d expected. He almost wished he would’ve received an actual punch instead.

When you feel all alone and the world has turned its back on you

Give me a moment please to tame your wild wild heart

A few days later he pointedly turned away when he saw Steve walking hand in hand with another blonde woman. Good for him. Maybe he’d settle down and find a different neighbor to fuck him through his denial.

He finally blocked his number and his Instagram. Gareth took him out for depressed drinks and darts. He started parking around the side of his townhouse and coming in the back door when he couldn’t stop himself from checking for strange cars on the other end of the lot.

Maybe he would need to move.

If you need to fall apart (you’re not alone) I can mend a broken heart

And if you need to crash then crash and burn (you’re never alone)

You’re not alone

A pounding woke him and he pushed away from the warm body next to him to look at the time. 2:11am. What the fuck?

Throwing pants on, he went downstairs and flicked a light on.

Someone was standing on his porch.

Throwing the door open, he immediately realized it was pouring down rain, Steve was at his door, and he should’ve put a shirt on.

“Hi.” Steve started. His eyes widened as he took in Eddie’s appearance, rumpled hair and hickeys going down his neck and chest.

He’d taken home the pretty boy in the bomber jacket from the bar. Sue him. And-

“Who is it, babe?”

Steve’s eyes widened further and his face paled. Mouth opening and closing before his face closed off again and he turned away. “Never mind.”

Without thinking, he followed him, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Steve! Wait!”

Stupidly, he reached out for him and grabbed his arm to pull him around.

Steve yanked his arm back with a huff. “Save it. I see you’ve moved on quickly.”

“Me?” He sputtered, throwing his hands up. “I’ve moved on quickly? How many girls have you fucked this month? This week?”

Starting to turn away again, he grumbled, “Just go back to your-“

Eddie was suddenly so deeply tired and he couldn’t fight anymore. “You came over here in the rain to knock on my door at two AM, man. Talk to me. Please.”

That knocked the fight out of Steve, and he looked like himself again. He sighed, pushing his wet floppy hair out of his face. It made him look even more pitiful, like a little wet puppy.

“I know. I’ve been a dick.” Steve swiped across his face and Eddie’s heart clenched. “It dawned on me. Tonight. That our… arrangement before…”

Thunder boomed and they both jumped. Eddie tried to hide his satisfaction as Steve edged closer to him.

“Just, I realized I looked forward to seeing you, sometimes a lot more than the girl I was telling you about. I was stupid. I’m so sorry, Eds. These last few weeks I’ve been a mess. I think I fell in love with you a long time ago, too. And-“

Eddie cupped his face and stepped in closer, staring into his eyes. “Say it again?”

Giving him the tiniest smile, he repeated, “I’m in love with you, Eddie. I’m so sorry I said those things that day.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering, Steve closed the small distance between them. Eddie kept him there with a handful of soaking wet tshirt.

This kiss was nothing like their kisses before. Eddie could pour all of his love and affection into it now, not having to hold anything back. Even from himself.

“Wow,” Steve breathed, lips still moving against his.

Eddie pressed a few more kisses against his lip before pulling back.

“Do you wanna hear a secret?” Eddie asked, suddenly serious.

Steve nodded, confused.

“I didn’t move on. I picked that guy up at the bar last night because he reminded me of you.”

A wide grin spread across Steve’s face. “Oh really?”

Let me be the one you call

If you jump, I’ll break your fall

Lift you up and fly away with you into the night

Ali @eddiethehunted made me have a Savage Garden nostalgic moment (months ago, sorry) and ofc I had steddie feels 🖤

#steddie #Steve x Eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fic #mine #angst #angst with a happy ending

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a-sin-to-be-rin · 1 month ago

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Loss and Reunion (Part 1)

Jason knew Dick had to die sometime. Besides the fact that it was inevitable, Batman’s Robins all seem to die early. It was really just a matter of time. But can Bruce at least pretend to be upset about it?

Part 2 here

---

Part 1: Loss

His mouth is stern. Jaw tight. Eyes unreadable behind the godforsaken cowl. Jason knows that something is up with Bruce - sorry, Batman - even beyond the obvious.

“You’re here,” Batman growls.

“I’m here,” Jason echoes. He hadn’t been there when the world was under attack. He’d been with the Outlaws. He’d been busy. There’s only so much one person can do, and Jason is becoming more and more aware of that fact as time goes on.

In an attempt to remain casual, Jason crosses his arms and leans back on one of the Cave’s many walls. He keeps his expression as neutral as possible. Batman doesn’t need to know that his voice still makes Jason’s hands shake.

The muscles in Batman’s jaw and mouth relax. The corner of his lip tips up ever so slightly. If anyone other than a protege of Batman and child of Bruce Wayne saw it, they’d never notice the difference.

But Jason knows. Jason knows quite well.

Batman - or is it Bruce? - is smiling. It seems to be out of relief, but Jason frustratingly can’t see his eyes. Can’t tell for certain why he’s smiling.

“You’re here,” Batman repeats, and Jason has ten witty comebacks on his tongue when he’s abruptly silenced by the hug.

Hug.

Batman.

Batman is… is hugging him. Jason can’t remember many times Bruce hugged him. He often jokes that the only time he’d been cradled by Bruce was after he was already dead. No one ever finds it funny, but Jason keeps saying it anyway.

“Bruce,” Jason says, tone flat and arms stiff at his sides. He’s pretty sure he’s talking to Bruce, not Batman. “Let go.”

And emotionally constipated Bruce Wayne hugs Jason just a bit tighter, lingers for just a moment longer, before begrudgingly letting go. He straightens, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m, uh… I’m glad you’re okay.”

Jason squints, returning to his position against the wall. “I… Thanks?”

Bruce clears his throat. “A… A lot’s happened.”

Stating the obvious. Just because Jason was off-world doesn’t mean he wasn’t inundated with chaos the second he landed back on Earth.

But rather than say this, Jason decides to deflect, deflect, deflect. Anything to avoid discussing feelings with this uncharacteristically-vulnerable version of Bruce. “Where is everyone?”

At this, Bruce lets out a comically exaggerated sigh. He tugs the cowl down and runs a hand through his hair. Finally visible, Bruce’s eyes are tired. Exhausted, even. “Robin’s on patrol.”

Avoiding Bruce, Jason translates.

“Alfred’s with Leslie. Some people still need medical care after… everything.”

Meaning the world is so fucked that Alfred actually left the cave.

“Oracle should be in bed, though I doubt it. Probably still running comms.”

So nothing’s changed with her, then.

“And Red Robin is with the Titans.” Then he falls silent. Like the question has been sufficiently answered.

As per usual, Bruce’s true meaning lies with the unspoken.

“... and Dick?” Jason ventures.

Bruce sighs again, finding a chair to sit in. He lowers himself down gingerly, like every muscle aches. But his mouth stays shut. Jason can’t even hear a noncommittal “hn.”

Jason’s hands tighten on his arms. He and the golden boy aren’t the best of friends, but they’re still brothers. They’re still family.

And god knows what this family will do for each other.

“Where’s Dick?” And then, after another too-long pause - “Where’s Dick, Bruce?” His tone is tough enough to pierce titanium, sharp enough to cut diamond.

Bruce looks away and then back at Jason. “Nightwing’s dead.”

The words are spoken with a cold finality. With all the loving kindness of a dull icepick - weakened in mechanism but brutal in delivery. There is no room for care. No room for questioning. It’s spoken as Batman conducts his detective work: factual and efficient.

Jason may have forgiven the tone if Bruce at least looked sorry. But he doesn’t. His eyes are hardened. They’re not sorry. Not devastated. Not even sad.

They’re as expressionless as they were when he wore the cowl.

Something in Jason snaps. Sweat breaks out on his palms, his forehead, his neck. His shoulders tense, and his stomach flips. Jason’s face burns, and his vision goes a sickly green.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he demands, patience paper-thin.

“Nightwing was kidnapped by the Crime Syndicate. They revealed his identity on television and wired a bomb to his heart.”

Jason feels nauseous, but Bruce isn’t done.

“The bomb was set to go off unless Nightwing died. Lex Luthor killed him.”

And there it is. That railroad spike of flippancy. That absolute carelessness. It’s becoming painfully clear that even with the cowl off, this is Batman. This is the man that trained Jason. Not the man that tried to be his father.

That tried to be Dick’s father too. But hadn’t tried hard enough.

“You…” Jason means to say something defensive. He means to say something demanding and intimidating and furious, because that’s what he is. He’s furious.

…so why does he feel so empty?

“It’s not…” But still, Jason can’t manage a sentence. He opens his mouth to speak, and words fail him. Because… because surely there’s something wrong. Surely, this is a lie.

And while Jason wrestles with this, Bruce studies his expression. Is no doubt waiting for an angry outburst or a pathetic wave of tears.

But he gets neither. Because Jason is just… confused.

“You’re… He’s dead?” he finally manages.

And Bruce nods, eyes still devoid of grief or ire. It makes Jason’s stomach knot.

“And you’re certain?” Because sure, he’s dead. They’ve all died. But it never quite sticks. Being assumed dead is very different from being face-to-face with a corpse. And even then, it isn’t always forever. Jason is living proof of that.

“I wouldn’t lie about this.”

“Did you see the body, Bruce?” Jason presses. “Can you confirm-?”

“Yes.” Bruce’s tone is cold, but his eyes are devoid of emotion. He sounds upset about being questioned. Not upset that his son is dead.

Jason tries to ignore that. “When?”

“Two months ago.”

The revelation is like a hammer to his gut.

For a long, long moment, Jason says nothing. He stares out past Bruce, eyes losing focus.

“Jason.” Bruce is cautious, voice concerned. “Jason, say something.”

“... where’s Luthor?”

And suddenly, Bruce is the quiet one.

“Bruce. Where’s Luthor?”

Bruce doesn’t respond. Just shakes his head before turning around, sweeping his cape, and pacing to the Batcomputer.

And then rage hits Jason like a bullet train. “Don’t you care??” he shouts.

Still no response. Just rapid typing on the keyboard.

Jason’s eye twitches. He forces a controlled stream of air from his lips, struggling to compose himself. “Where’s Luthor?” He stalks towards the computer himself, not stopping until he’s standing next to the console chair.

The typing pauses, fingers stilled over the keys. And then Bruce - Batman - shrugs, resuming his case report.

Jason’s vision is filtered by a deeper shade of green. The blatant lack of respect - of decency - makes Jason’s mouth taste bitter. It’s so, so painfully reminiscent. So similar, it’s practically identical. So like Jason’s death.

The Joker is out there somewhere. Living to swing crowbars another day. Living to kill kids another day. Batman hasn’t stopped him.

And here it is. Dick. Dead. And where is Luthor?

Batman certainly doesn’t know.

“Don’t do that,” he warns, sight narrowing in on Batman. “Tell me Luthor’s dead. Tell me he’s dead, Bruce!”

But Batman doesn’t say it. Bruce doesn’t say it either. Both are the picture of calm. Of someone who hasn’t just lost a son.

“Where is he?” Jason seethes. Even if Batman doesn’t care, Jason needs somewhere to go. Something to do.

This seems to snap Bruce forward and push Batman away. “Jason,” he begins softly, finally looking away from the computer and spinning in his chair to see Jason clearly. “There’s nothing we can do.”

Wrong thing to say.

“Isn’t there?” Jason fumes. “Is that what you said after Joker killed me??”

“Jason, I…” Bruce scowls. “I’m sorry that I don’t seem remorseful enough for you. The fact of the matter is that Nightwing is dead. The Crime Syndicate has done a lot of damage, and there are people we can help if we act now. But being upset about Nightwing isn’t going to fix anything.”

Wrong. Thing. To say.

“This is your fault,” Jason growls. “This - your whole holier-than-thou, no-killing bullshit - is why Dick is dead. If you would just get off your soapbox for five seconds, if you actually thought about what you were doing, if you hadn’t recruited a bunch of kids into your dumbass crusade, Dick wouldn’t be-!”

“Jason-”

But there’s that tone again. Not caring. Not sympathetic.

Bothered.

“Why did you drag him into this? Why did you drag us into this?” Pace, pace, pace. Jason pauses in front of Batman. Swivels to face him. Lowers his voice to a chilling whisper. “Did you lose a son? Or just another toy soldier?”

Batman rises abruptly. His silhouette is foreboding. Just as foreboding now, when Jason is taller than Batman, as when he was a kid. When he got saddled with Dick’s old job. At the time, it sounded fun. But at the time, he was also twelve and living on the streets

(Had Dick thought it was fun? It was his idea, as far as Jason is aware. But he was eight. Just how much resistance had Batman put up before he let Robin patrol with him?)

“Do not say that.” The words are terse, forced through gnashed teeth.

“What? That we’re all just pawns in your game of chess? That you caused this?”

Batman doesn’t back down. He maintains fierce eye contact. Balls his fists before hiding them in his cape. “You are my children,” he insists. “I did not force any of you to do this, and you know that. Nightwing knew that.”

Nightwing. Not Dick. Not Richard. Not even goddamn Grayson.

Nightwing.

“Dick,” Jason corrects, barely concealing a growl. “Dick knew that. Your son. At least have the decency to say his name.”

Batman levels Jason with a glare hot enough to melt steel before returning to his desk and continuing his report.

Because the truth of the matter is that Batman - that Bruce - is incapable of handling emotions like this. Whenever things get hard, he ducks his head and becomes engrossed in his work. He blocks out the world until the problems disappear.

But nothing can erase this.

Jason can’t take it anymore. He throws his helmet on the floor with a resounding crack. “Fuck you,” he hisses. Then he jumps onto his motorcycle and peels away. This is too much. It’s all just too much.

With an absent hand, Jason pulls out his phone and speed dials Dick’s cell.

“You’ve reached Dick Grayson. I’m not available right now, but please leave your-”

Jason hangs up. He’s not going to listen to that.

(He can’t listen to that.)

Instead, Jason flips his manual comm on, regretting the tiniest bit that he’d destroyed his helmet. “Hood to Oracle.”

The comm crackles and pops more than a toddler’s breakfast cereal. Jason really needs to replace his backup equipment. But through the hissing and static, he can make out a voice.

“Oracle.”

Ah. So Barbara had stayed up. Maybe to spite Bruce. Maybe because she just wanted to. Who’s to say?

“What’s Lex Luthor’s status?”

A long pause. Jason wonders if his comm has finally crapped out before Oracle replies, voice so loud it makes his ears ring. “Don’t bother, Hood.”

No explanation. No reassurances. Just one firm order.

But Jason is tired of taking orders.

“Look, I’m finding Luthor one way or another. The only question is if you help or if I need to consult a different source.”

Jason could swear he hears a huff over the receiver. “Can we talk?”

But Jason doesn’t want to talk. He wants to act. Now.

“No,” he says curtly. “Do you know where he is or not?”

A new voice invades the channel, dry and irritated. “Whatever you’re planning, Hood, I assure you it’s inadvisable.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Robin,” he growls. “Oracle, where is Luthor?”

A heavy pause. “Come to the tower.”

“Copy.”

Jason leaves his comm in - just in case someone decides to be helpful - but keeps driving south. If Barbara isn’t going to tell him where Luthor is, Jason will just find another way. Do some detective work, just like he’s been trained to do.

Because Dick deserves it. He deserves for someone to give a shit about him.

The thought makes Jason’s eyes burn. The Golden Boy, even in death, is taken for granted. And if Dick was still alive? He’d probably forgive Bruce for it too.

It makes Jason’s vision turn a deep emerald, and he has to focus on finding Luthor. It’s the only way to sate the fury in his veins.

Part 2 here

#whumptober2024 #no.12 alt #secrets revealed #batfamily #fic #strong language #grief #canon temporary character death #jason todd #bruce wayne #red hood #batman #post forever evil #cross posted on ao3

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jusst-you-race · 3 months ago

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omg LOVE your max x lewis one!!! how about sebmark, as an apology? I think it's 26? or 28. one of those two numbers

thank you!!! and thank you so much for giving me an excuse to finally write sebmark!!! this... may be something i eventually turn into a proper fic?? idk but i had so much fun with it! thank you to everyone for all the prompts!

a kiss as an apology

Both of them are doing their best to walk as casually as possible as they get further and further from the building. Mark is still in disbelief that they actually pulled it off. Stealing from one of the most powerful criminals in the area is not in Mark’s usual skill set, but when Lewis had proposed the job all those months ago, the promise of the payoff had been enough to convince him.

Ahead of him, Seb is barely stopping himself from skipping through the streets, and Mark rolls his eyes.

That was another thing, working with Seb had been Lewis’ idea as well. He claimed that their skill sets would be complementary. And he wasn’t wrong, they work well as a pair, considering the ridiculous thing they’d just pulled off without setting off so much as a single alarm. But their personalities… Mark still isn’t sure how they haven’t killed each other over the last few months.

It had been slightly more tolerable when they started having sex about all their disagreements, he muses.

Seb spins on his heel where he’s started to pull a few steps ahead of Mark.

“Hurry up old man!”

Mark rolls his eyes again. Seb is such a brat sometimes. They’re supposed to be walking discreetly, trying not to draw the attention of anyone around that could place them near the scene of the crime, but here this little shit is shouting at him from down the road.

Mark picks up the pace anyway.

They’re heading towards the docks, where Lewis has promised a boat is waiting for them, tucked away somewhere quiet and discreet. Mark is looking forward to a break from all of this honestly. The build up to this job had been more intense than he usually likes, partly because of who he was working with, and partly because of who they were stealing from.

Seb turns around to look at him again. Mark hesitates slightly as the look on his face. It’s not a look Mark can read easily, which isn’t necessarily surprising coming from Seb, but there was something in his eyes that unsettles Mark slightly. He tries to brush it off.

They duck into an alley, and alarm bells start going off in Mark’s head. This isn’t the planned route.

“Seb?”

Seb slows to a stop ahead of him, and continues to just stare into the shadows of the alley ahead of him. Mark takes a cautious step towards him, tentatively reaching out to touch Seb’s shoulder.

“What’s going on?”

Seb turns around. Mark’s heart sinks as he realises what he had seen in Seb’s eyes. It’s tears.

“Mark… you have to know this isn’t personal.”

Panic starts rising in Mark’s throat and he tries desperately to swallow it down.

“Seb, tell me what’s going on. Let’s talk about this.”

Belatedly, he realises he let Seb carry the stolen goods. Mark is such an idiot. Seb sniffs, and cups Mark’s jaw with his hand.

“I did really enjoy working with you.”

Mark’s heart is pounding now. His danger senses are on high alert, and he’s about to run, yell, beg Seb to tell him what’s going on, anything — but Seb leans in to kiss him and once again Mark can do nothing but fall helplessly into his clutches yet again.

The kiss is messy, desperate, and slightly wet now that tears are rolling down Seb’s cheeks in a steady stream. Mark thinks it might be the best kiss they’ve ever shared. His heart clenches, and he resigns himself to his fate. The hand not cupping his jaw slides into Seb’s jacket, and Mark tries so hard to pretend this isn’t happening. Pretend that he hasn’t been a complete idiot, that he hasn’t let his guard drop because of a cheeky blond who radiates danger and excitement in a heady concoction. Seb steps back.

“Mark, I’m so sorry.”

Huh, Mark is crying too now. What a strange time to realise he might have actually fallen in love.

Seb raises his gun. His hand is wobbling. He’s been nothing but a steady shot since the moment Mark met him. There’s an ache somewhere deep in Mark’s chest.

“I won’t forgive you,” Mark says. He doesn’t want it to be true, but Seb would know it anyway. A sob wrenches itself out of Seb’s mouth.

“I know.”

He shoots Mark in the leg.

By the time Mark has blinked away the blinding pain, Seb has disappeared. Mark slumps against the wall of the alley, clutching the wound in his leg.

The wound in his heart hurts more.

#sebmark #martian #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #bug writes #sebmark heist au #bug's endless aus #bug answers

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unremarkablehouse · 6 months ago

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Domestic Partners: Together at Last

MSR | PG | WC 2075 | AO3 Summary: A look inside the workings of Mulder and Scully’s relationship once they become a romantic couple. This is Chapter 2 but stands on its on, Chapter 1 can be found here. Tagging: @today-in-fic

For Mulder their romantic relationship didn’t begin with their first kiss or even the first time they slept together; it was when Scully started casually holding his hand in public. They’d held hands in private countless times throughout their partnership but something about the way she so easily started transitioning to doing it in a public setting felt like a wall had come down. It was such an innocuous gesture that made Mulder smile every time she did it, and at some point Mulder would always take her hand and kiss it. So formal and old world, Mulder’s hand kisses were always incredibly endearing to Scully. For all the intimacy and domesticity they had shared up until this point; being able to show affection without restraint was the turning point that signaled their romantic relationship.

Of all the things they had imagined about their sex life, laughter was one element they both completely failed to predict. In fact, neither of them had ever laughed so much in bed as they did with each other. Their love making often held a sense of light heartedness and fun; so starkly different from the rest of their lives. Playful, experimental, magic, the two had a unique sexual chemistry that rounded out their relationship and was the embodiment of people who were truly compatible. Mulder’s stamina and diligence in the bedroom was admirable but Scully had to get him to pair down his routine to a solid 20 minutes on work nights. With a grumble he acquiesced, not wanting to lose sex privileges altogether, but the moment they were off the clock Mulder made up for it with long, languid love making sessions.

As a couple they formed new routines which slowly phased out the listless void that had been such a large component of Mulder’s life. Unlike previous relationships he’d experienced, they moved in tandem as a team, and his restlessness naturally faded. Scully, was wary of Mulder’s eagerness to throw himself into their relationship and be the partner he believed she wanted. So she spurred him on to keep up his independent interests; and he chased sightings of Bigfoot, looked into conspiracies with The Gunmen, and would disappear on vague trips with little explanations but big hugs. It took a little while for Mulder to understand that this wasn’t a rejection, but Scully’s insightful way of making sure their relationship was sustainable. ‘Two whole and independent people who chose to be together but are able to function apart’ she told him. From a psychological point of view he knew she was right, but he had been functioning on his own most of his life, he just preferred when she was near.

Discretion was important to them both, which meant no public displays of affection in D.C and their options for dates were pretty restricted. This gave Mulder an opportunity to get creative, adding extra travel days in between cases to take Scully to concerts, eat at nice restaurants and pretend to be normal for a while. Mulder talked of a life outside of The X Files and field work, but Scully was skeptical that he’d be able to give it up and certainly didn’t want him to resent her for this decision in the future. After an endless stream of cases Mulder finally revealed the truth into the darkness like a silent confession. He was tired of worrying about their lives always being in jeopardy, but his real motive was that he’d looked into being a Foster Carer, and he couldn’t bear the thought of making that commitment and letting a kid down because of their work. Scully sobbed at this admission and finally she understood that Mulder wasn’t running away from The X Files to appease her, he was just looking towards a future with her.

As people who intellectualized their feelings, communicating emotions wasn’t a strong suit, but on long drives or quiet nights one of them would summon the courage to speak of their hopes and dreams, or fears and anxieties. Each time it happened they found it easier to do, a ritual that only they shared and the knowledge of the fact that they were safe confiding in each other.

However, it was not their comfort with this new stream of dialogue that raised their profile in the FBI, but a display of their non-verbal communication in a meeting with other field Agents and department heads. While Scully was presenting her findings a fellow Agent made a joke at her expense, Mulder arched into action but with a look Scully commanded him to back down. Mulder gave a look of acquiescence and his gaze shifted over to the lectern where their papers were stored, after a nod from Scully, Mulder silently handed her a document. Scully continued to address the Agent who made the joke and showed him a report with the evidentiary findings that proved her point and ended by reminding him that regardless of his diminutive view point, human lives were saved as a result of their involvement. The air was sucked out of the room for a moment as the other attendees struggled to comprehend what they had just witnessed. Eventually Skinner wrapped things up but rumors of the pair developing telepathy became an ongoing joke. Skinner loved to recount stories of silent fights he’d witnessed the pair have in his office after a few drinks and he knew their connection was something to be envied.

For Maggie Scully, there was no official confirmation that Mulder and Scully were in a relationship. Mulder began attending Sunday dinners while their relationship was still technically plutonic, so their bickering and teasing didn’t count as genuine evidence because in that regard, they were still very much the same. Mulder was a welcomed addition to the Scully family dinners, always bringing a bottle or wine or a bunch of flowers as a host gift. The times he brought flowers he always got Scully a bunch too, which she put in water and tried to downplay her delight at his simple gesture.

After dinner it was quietly understood that Mulder and Scully would do the washing up. Their hushed conversations and stifled laughter made a pleasant hum throughout the house and Maggie loved to silently watch the pair in their own little world. Even Bill Jr begrudgingly got used to Mulder’s presence, unable to deny the happiness he brought his sister, the way he helped Maggie while he was away, and how his son adored him. As men often do, Bill Jr and Mulder had a silent agreement to stick to talking about sports and avoided any topics that could cause contention. Bill didn’t even tease Mulder for tearing up while watching Beauty and the Beast with Matty; although Scully mocked him mercilessly.

‘Scully, it’s just the lyrics to that one song! “Just a little change. Small, to say the least. Both a little scared, neither one prepared..” it’s us!’

‘I better not be the Beast, Mulder…’

With a kiss Mulder silenced her mocking but a few weeks later Scully discovered Mulder had bought the soundtrack to Beauty and the Beast and it was in his CD player.

The ease at which Mulder fit into her family functions surprised Scully, and he was quickly a favorite amongst her relatives and family friends. Much to her surprise, Mulder was quite comfortable manning the Grill and always willing to help prepare food for the guests.

Part way through their first Summer as a couple Scully had to ask him to stop accepting every invite to these cookouts and gatherings. Between Sunday dinners and these additional get-togethers, Scully was seeing more of her family than she had in a decade, and preferred to pick and choose which occasions she showed up too. So an agreement was made that all invitations would be run by Scully first to “check if they would be working out of town” and bypass Mulder’s inability to say ‘no’ to Maggie Scully.

Mulder’s diet, which had previously subsisted heavily on takeout and dry cereals, changed dramatically once dating Scully. Most nights in D.C they cooked together. Nothing overly complicated, grilled fish or chicken served with vegetables or a salad. Mulder wasn’t really one for cooking, but he enjoyed helping Scully prepare their meals and they made a pretty efficient team. Once every few weeks they’d go to the local farmers market and buy the fresh produce (as well as a large bag of kettle corn for Mulder). This was one of the many activities they did before they were a couple, but now the chances were much higher that the items purchased would be shared. Every time they went to the markets Scully would make sure to go to her favorite local honey vendor, Hank. A pharmacist by trade, Hank discovered beekeeping as a way to help control his seasonal allergies. Hank explained to Scully all about the studies on ingesting bee pollen or honey collected from local bees for allergies, which she found fascinating. Mulder’s dislike of Hank was juvenile and fueled purely by jealousy. Once they officially started dating, Mulder was no longer allowed to make snide remarks or roll his eyes while she chatted to Hank, so he would just stand next to her silently and watch the interaction with all the intense concentration of a trained guard dog. In a million years Mulder would never admit that he loved Hank’s honey and it actually helped him a lot during allergy season, but Scully noticed him slipping it into his tea every chance he got.

Since their first year as Partners Scully had accused Mulder of essentially being a bear who owned furniture with his ignorance of basic domestic care. Her judgmental looks and glares were originally enough to get him to clean his toilet and take out the trash semi-regularly, however he quickly realized if he wanted Scully to spend the night with him, he’d have to up his game. Fresh sheets, clean bathroom (with no empty shampoo bottles on the shower floor), and toilet paper placed on the holder became a regular feature at Mulder’s apartment and he was rewarded with Scully spending half her time in D.C at his apartment.

Like any couple, especially ones who had known each other for so long, they argued. But while they may have fought like all couples they did not fight like a normal couple. There was no yelling or throwing things, their disagreements were more of a heated debate with time allocated for both views to be presented as well as rebuttal. One of their first fights as a couple happened late one night at Mulder’s place. Not willing to concede defeat Mulder became sullen, sarcastic and petulant towards Scully. Rolling her eyes she muttered in frustration that he was being an ass, then she kicked him in the shins and walked into his bedroom to go to bed. From the other room she could hear Mulder give a bewildered laugh and the tension evaporated. With an exaggerated limp Mulder walked into the bedroom to make amends, and was happy to do so more than once that night.

Their other arguments didn’t always resolve as quickly and they both usually needed a day to reflect on the details. Mostly they got along very amicably though and their bickering reduced dramatically once their relationship became physical.

There was now a TV in Mulder’s bedroom and Scully found a bed frame with built-in bookshelves for him. While on the whole his insomnia had improved, Scully didn’t like waking up in the middle of the night to find him missing. So now he could watch tv on low or read without worrying about disturbing Scully. Mulder had mentioned cohabitation but it led to one of their awkward standoffs, so he was happy to compromise with sharing a bed with her almost every night.

The road that led them to this point was fraught with so much turmoil, sacrifice and pain. For Mulder, he couldn't remember a time when he had been happier. A part of him understood life would always turn on a dime so he tried to savor this time as much as possible. But for all his anxiety about the future he knew they would continue to fight together, comrades in arms, bracing themselves for the next roll of the dice.

#txf #the x files #msr #fox mulder #dana scully #txf fanfic

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fappellmoan · 2 years ago

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do you think little kit and jade played pretend as kids and argued over who got to be the knight and acted out big adventures and enlisted airk as their opponent/squire/horse and got pretend married at the end until they were a little older and the possibility of marrying someone else got a little too real and do you think kit ever tried to switch their duties because she didn’t want to be a princess until she followed jade one day to muck out the stables and not so casually backed out do you think tweenage kit ever got flowers from a boy and immediately ran to present them to jade on one knee (‘my lady’) cause her reaction was, like, way more exciting than the flowers anyway and do you think

some nights after madmartigan left kit would wake up needing a distraction and find jade and they’d stay up talking until they drifted off and this became a habit and maybe they kept falling asleep in the same bed until they were just a bit too big to fit right and as kit was expected to attend nice balls and such do you think that there were nights when kit asked jade to help her out of this stupid dress and as jade untied it there was a pause where she wondered if this was crossing a line but figured there was no way kit was thinking the same thing, until kit raged on about the guy she danced with that night and begged jade to go with her next time cause there’s no way she could do it alone again. do you think jade started to get scared about the future and tried to distance herself and focus on training and fulfilling at least one of her dreams but she’s holding onto these last moments with kit, letting her win in sparring to see her happy and arrogant and cause quite frankly she doesn’t know how to navigate the space between them without the pretense, and she’s desperately soaking in the time before kit would be married and she’d have to leave and everything would change forever and she’s desperately in love with her one real friend but she’s trying to let her go cause she’s the princess and it was a childish dream to think they ever had a chance and childhood is over and they both need to try to be happy but then kit kisses her and says she’s leaving and throws it all up in the air and jade just needs time to think and maybe know that she’ll be able to find her again somehow, and then airk is taken and these are awful circumstances but it’s also a break in time and space and they’re existing outside of what they thought possible and finding what it means to be in each other’s lives outside of the kingdom and everything they knew before. yeah

#hi. im feeling really normal enjoy my stream of consciousness #um. i kinda just went crazy thinking abt all this. will tag in case anyone wants to be a little silly with me #willow 2022 #willow series #kit tanthalos #jade claymore #tanthamore #i just have a lot of thoughts and perhaps feelings #a.og

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writingforfishes · 5 months ago

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Otto and Atticus Part 8: Roleplay

I had a plan to write another story, but this one occurred to me and I couldn't pass it up.

It's been a while since I posted a story so I'm excited to get back into it. (In fact, it's been over a month!)

It took me a few days to finish this, but I'm happy I did.

Very very fast hiccups (not all the way through).

They do pleasure each other near the end. Closest thing I've ever written to a sex scene, honestly.

Several mentions of arousal and physical reactions to arousal.

Arousal in public (but arousal that others around them do not notice).

Mentions of genitalia or implications of genitalia.

Mentions or implications of fingering.

Mentions or implications of a hand job.

Trans masc character and descriptions there-of

Adorable banter, sickeningly adorable banter. I hate them both really.

I've tried something new, here. I've separated the fic into four parts. "The Plan", "The Action" (which still has some arousal mentions), "The NSFW Action" (which you want to avoid for all the CW stuff I mentioned, if you're not into it), and "The Afterglow" (which should be safe from arousal and actions from arousal).

I wondered if this would help anyone navigate the story better if they could avoid something they didn't want or go to something they did want. Even though I ultimately write these stories for myself I'd like to make them easier to navigate for people who might be interested in some of the content but not all.

Without any further ado:

THE PLAN

“Are you sure?” Atticus asked in surprise to his quick agreement.

“Yeah! I think it sounds fun! I’ve never done anything like that before,” Otto said casually sipping his coffee in response to his partner’s agog expression. “It’s kinda like acting, right? I dabbled in highschool and college. But, like, with a very arousing component. And we’ll be in a bookstore which is, honestly, very sexy.”

Atticus was silent for a bit, face turning incredulous.

“I...can’t tell if you’re serious or not,” they said narrowing their eyes behind their dark-rimmed glasses.

Otto gave a chuckle, “I am! It’s kind of exciting. Hiccups are innocuous. No one is going to know anything is going on. It’s sort of like we’ll be carrying on this secret sexy improv and no one is going to suspect a thing. And we have to keep our arousal undercover, right? So it becomes this menagerie of subterfuge. One, we’re pretending we don’t know each other and two, we’re concealing our arousal from everyone there. I mean, that’s kind of hot. And there’ll be books. I am a big fan of books. I stan books.” He paused. “Did I use that right?”

“I’m...honestly not sure. But probably not,” Atty said. They found themselves getting pretty giddy at his excitement.

“I mean, obviously I can’t control when I get them. But…when I do…I say let’s go for it!” Otto said.

“Okay. Let’s discuss boundaries then…” Atticus said, having had been thinking about this for quite some time before shyly bringing the idea up.

The couple discussed a safe word that would indicate that they were uncomfortable in a bad way or that their arousal was at a point they felt they needed to leave the public area for fear of indecency.

This was not a bar they were talking about and, while children were pretty easy to avoid at the bookstore they planned to enact Atticus’ fantasy in, there was no need to test the limits of their bodies at hiding obvious signs of arousal, Otto specifically.

Atticus discussed what they’d like to see and wanted to make sure Otto didn’t feel pressured in doing anything he was uncomfortable with. Otto having hiccups in public, they learned, was something he’d expressed discomfort about.

Otto reassured his spouse that because of the setting he was more than happy to interact with others knowing that Atticus was getting some satisfaction from it. It was more of an annoyance than a discomfort, he’d explained. But he was excited to be watched by his partner. And he couldn’t pinpoint why.

After this intense conversation (that honestly got them both a little flustered) they went on with their normal lives until two weeks later when at around noon Otto appeared from his corner workshop in front of Atticus while they were doing some research on a novel they’d been working on for the past month.

Atticus looked up at the tall man immediately noticing a quick spasm in his midsection.

“Do you mk!-wanna g-go to the bookstore? Hup!” he asked, eyes wild and grinning widely.

THE ACTION

The bookstore was pretty abandoned chronically. It was a sign of the times, the writer thought sadly as they wandered the aisles. Then again, it was also in the middle of the week. There were no events on the calendar, no readings or new book releases. Summer had ended so no kids were roaming the small square of toys and books in the back of the store. It wasn’t quite fall, though, so no one was in the market for early Christmas gifts.

They were thankful for the quiet as they slowly made their way through the rows of poetry books. They weren’t even that interested in looking at specific collection. They were just biding their time, really. They were following a muffled, irregularly paced sound. It was like someone gulping sharply. Sometimes it was rhythmic but sometimes the sharp gulps game one after the other. A grunt or a sigh would follow those instances.

As they turned the corner they spied the source of the sounds and lingered to watch.

The man was tall. They could tell his height because there was an employee that had come beside him to shelve a cart of books and he was a good head taller than her even though his posture made him seem more diminutive.

He had his back to them at the next aisle over and so they tried to be inconspicuous when they picked up a book of poems to thumb through, glancing over every once and a while at the way those gulping noises the man was trying so hard to suppress tensed his neck. He wasn’t wearing a particularly tight button up shirt, but they would still tell from the light cotton fabric’s movement that the sides of his body expanded at each spasm.

“Sir, I’m so sorry. I need to shelf this right in front of you,” the employee said softly.

“Oh! Hmp! Sure. Sorry a-hmk!-about that! Mk!” he said, flustered from his reverie as he’d been intensely reading the inside flap of the book he’d pulled from the shelf.

He stepped aside and the onlooker shifted so that they were less obvious. From his profile they could see more movement from the sounds his body made. He put his hand on his chest as if to try to contain the movements, but to no avail except to emphasize them as his head snapped back in another cluster of diaphragmic activity. “You okay?” the employee said. She’d caught on to the sounds and movements but hadn’t realized what they were, yet.

“Hm?” he said, gulping down a couple more spasms.

The employee was looking directly at him now and the onlooker could see her eyes alight in recognition.

“Oh hiccups,” she said casually, as if the word didn’t cause an immediate intense emotional reaction. Perhaps when normal people said it, it didn’t, thought the onlooker.

The man chuckled, squelching another hiccup in the sound.

“Yeah I’ve hmp!-been trying to k-keep them quiet huck! Geeze, excuse m-hmk!-me,” he said, putting a fist over his mouth.

The sudden loudness of the hiccup made the onlooker jump a little but in the employee it only caused a soft smile. The writer felt a sudden rush of jealousy for the bookshop worker before scoffing and shaking their head.

“If it helps,” the employee said, “there’s probably not that many people here that you’d annoy. It’s pretty slow today. But if you need some water the cafe is open.”

His hand was back to his chest as she spoke. His other arm wrapped against his waist holding the book he was reading in the tips of his fingers. As he continued to hiccup the book bounced in his hand with the jostling of his stomach against his arm. When the onlooker saw what book he had chosen they rolled their eyes. Of course it was that book of poems. Pandering to the audience, but they’d let it pass for now.

“Oh man hup’k!-thanks. I himpk!-uh might take you hmk!-up on that!” he said, body jolting with another hiccup. His face strained to keep some of those hiccups in. It was driving his onlooker insane.

There was a plush chair beside the cafe area. At first they thought the tall man and his messy curls and trimmed beard was going to walk into the cafe itself to retrieve the suggested water. Instead he settled into the plush chair with the book he’d selected to browse. The chair was dark blue and faced in a way that it was possible to sit at a table at the edge cafe area and watch without being too obvious. The writer took their chance.

They ordered something warm and caffeinated, though they hardly needed the energy, and sat themselves where they thought they might not be seen or noticed right away as the man settled into the chair. His long-limbed body was fully visible as the chair had low arms and straight short back. The man’s torso, clad in that loose cotton shirt on this hot day, was more than accessible to sight as the onlooker sipped casually on the warm beverage and brought their phone out to feign interest in it as their eyes glanced to watch.

He really was trying to keep his hiccups quiet, if he were honest. There weren’t many patrons, but there were a few. He didn’t want to disrupt the silent energy that permeated the store, soft jazz music feeding through the sound system. The more he kept them in, though, the more he felt his body react. And, for the sake of comfort, he had to let some of them out a little.

“Hmk!hmk!hmk!mk!hup’k!” he felt thrum through his system and jerking his body around in a long cluster that signaled this case of hiccups’ determination to be heard. He puffed out air from his mouth, putting a hand over his diaphragm momentarily, before immediately jerking back in another less forceful hiccup.

He flipped a page of the book of poems casually, familiar with the works enough to know what he was looking for. It was one of his favorite authors, after all.

Normally a case this bad would cause him to cut his visit to a store short, but the draw to stay was too strong. He felt a ball of excitement in his chest that probably led to the hiccups being more forceful than they probably would’ve usually been if this were an actual casual outing and not what it was. Still, he was determined to stay in character even as he sensed a gaze on him that he normally wouldn’t have even noticed had it genuinely been a stranger.

“Huck!-mm. Hlmk!-mm. HUP’K! Jeez! Hmpk!” The last hiccup came sharply through his nose and hit the back of his throat like a slap. He felt his neck tense and his shoulder hit deeper into the chair. He went back to covering his mouth with his fist, as if that would help soften the sound like the mute for a trumpet.

The onlooker watched the scene with excitement. They watched as he tried to keep focus on the pages but his eyes blinked with each hiccup. His head jolted every time it came to rest at reading. The fluster that developed when his hiccups couldn’t be contained caused them to squirm in their seat.

“Hup’k!…hup’k!...hulp!-mm! Mmk!...mk!...mmmk! Oh, man. Mk!” Despite the internal fight the man worked hard to focus on the book. He let out a sudden laugh when he found the specific poem he was looking for and, “HUCK’M!”

The sharp hiccup cut through most of the store. The few patrons that were dutifully ignoring the stranger’s hiccup fit looked casually toward the sound. There was a small giggle from another aisle. He slapped his hand over his mouth in mortification. He looked around sheepishly, apologetically, and caught the face of a patron near him at the cafe.

They were short, curly hair flopped over their forehead accentuated by an undercut. Their hair was dark brown and highlighted in stripes of silver-grey and they wore dark framed glasses. They looked at him like deer caught in the headlights. The book on the table in front of them, which was being ignored for the phone, was a title he was more than familiar with.

“I’m s-so sorry,” he apologized to them. His head tucked with another hiccup, silent.

“No-no. It’s okay,” the onlooker said, flustered that they were noticed. “Um, sounds like you’ve got them pretty bad…”

The man looked a little tired as he nodded.

“Yeah. I d-don’t get them hup!-too often bu-hmk!-but when I do-uck!-uh, they’re pretty st-uck!-stubborn. Hmp! Even if I c-can get rid of them hmpk!-they-hmk!-they-hmk!-ke-mk!-keep com-coming mk!-back. Scuse me!” he said, putting his fist over his mouth again and rode out a few more of the cluster of hiccups before patting his chest.

“Sounds frustrating,” they said. Did that sound casual? They hoped so. They pressed their legs together and took a measured breath. If the man noticed he didn’t mention it.

“It’s m-more that hup!-I don’t want to b-up!-bother anyone. I act-actually don’t mind hmp!-mind them. Ugh, but m-maybe I sh-hup!-should get that wa-uck!-water. Do you c-care if I s-hip!-sit with you? That’s kind of my f-hump!-favorite book,” he said sheepishly. He indicated to the tome that was Moby Dick sat next to them on the table.

They were almost too distracted by how his head got thrown back each time he hiccuped to answer at first. But they blinked with he indicated the book.

“Actually...this book was here when I sat down…” they said. It wasn’t a lie, actually. The coincidence was so stunning it almost convinced them that there might actually be a god.

His face fell. “Oh...hu-up!” He snapped his mouth shut.

“But...I wouldn’t mind the company,” they amended quickly.

“Even with th-the hiccups? Huck’m!” he said, and patted his chest again.

“I dunno. I think they’re kind of cute,” they replied, understating the hell out of the assessment.

He chuckled, “I’ll-huck!-I’ll be right back mk!”

They watched him go up to the café bar, book of poems still in hand. It wasn’t hard to overhear the conversation.

“Hey c-can I hmp!-get a cup of hmp!-cup of water? And mk!mk!mk!-excuse me. Can I p-pay for this here? HUP! Ugh. Sorry. Can’t s-seem to hmpk!-to shake these today. Hilp!” he said.

“No problem, man. I can get that book for you, too,” the young man said with a look of bemusement. “I get crazy hiccups, too. And if I get them once, I know I’m gonna get them at least 3 more times that day. Nothing works. Everyone tries to offer cures and I’m like...I just gotta let them do their thing, y’know?”

“That’s pre-herp!-pretty much how mk!-how mine are. Hup’k! Thanks,” he said taking the iced water and running his card to pay for the book.

“Good luck,” the barista said and then added softly, “I’m pretty sure that...person you talked to has had an eye on you since coming in, btw. Just a head’s up. If you’re interested.”

“I’ll k-hmpk!-keep that in mind hup!…” the taller man said with a smirk.

“I people watch when it’s slow,” the younger man explained. “There’s an old guy who I think is pocketing our novelty erasers from the impulse racks. I think he has, like, 20 of them in his pockets.”

“Like a b-himp!-barista C-Columbo. Mk!mk!” he replied, face straining a little as his head jerked back.

“...who?” the barista replied after a beat.

“Never huck!huck!-uh. Nevermind,” he said, rubbing his chest with the palm of his hand as the deepness of those hiccups.

Turning away from the reminder of his mortality, he took the newly bought book of poems and his water to the fascinating human he’d just met who’d apparently been following him throughout the store.

The writer watched the man return from their side. Most of the conversation they’d heard. The cultural reference missed was particularly amusing. But there was a section that was whispered that was driving them mad for having missed.

“You sh-hmp!-sure y-hmk!-you’re okay with me mk!-interrupting your hip!-your solace with m-huck’m!-my noisy diaphragm?” he asked. He noticed a couple of other people in the café area now and felt a little heat on his neck as he saw them turn his way when he hiccuped. Most seemed unconcerned, but the attention was a little uncomfortable.

“Yes,” they said with a laugh and grin pushing up their mustache.

The fine wrinkles around their eyes crinkled behind the lenses of their glasses. There was a youth even with the markers of age in the brightness of their brown irises. The squinting of their eyelids from the rise of their cheeks held a soft femininity even while their facial hair, stubble, and timbre of their voice expressed masculinity. There was an attractiveness in this person that the man couldn’t quite quantify but found utterly alluring.

“I think,” they continued, “we can let your diaphragm express its opinions if it needs.”

“It,” he paused as a silent hiccup rocked his body, “has a lot of opinions” another hard silent hiccup interrupted and his hand soothed his chest lower down toward the point of impact at his diaphragm, “trust me,” he finally finished.

The writer squirmed.

“I can tell!” they said, taking another sip of warm beverage.

“I’m Lou,” the man said, “by the hmp!-by the way.”

“Ryder,” they said. “What do you do, Lou?”

They winced at the unintentional rhyming scheme but could tell it amused Lou as he dipped his head with a grin.

In the U.S. people were often introduced by their occupation. Ryder had heard that other countries found this odd. Welcome to capitalism?

“I f-hmpk!-fix clocks. You? Humpk!-uh,” he said, swallowing after the airiness of that hiccup and softly releasing the air it trapped from his throat in a small belch that set off another cluster that he sat through as Ryder replied. He tried very desperately to ignore the way they kept shifting in their chair. The café chairs weren’t exactly comfortable, anyway. That could certainly be a reason for their squirming.

“I-um-I write. I’m an author,” Ryder replied, not at all flustered at all.

“You wr-hnk!-write and you haven’t re-read Moby Dick?!” Lou replied, incredulous.

“I swear, I didn’t even know it was on the table until you mentioned it!” they exclaimed.

“You didn’t notice hmp!-an over si-himp!-six hund—hundred page book next hup’k!-next to you?” he asked.

“I was distracted,” Ryder said with a shrug.

Lou closed the distance between them for a second, leaning over the table.

“So I-ump!-I hear,” he whispered.

And for a second Lou let his persona slip as his eyes playfully indicated the barista. And as recognition of what he meant dawned on Ryder, they let their persona slip, too, and their eyes widened comically. That twenty-something had been watching their clumsy efforts at stalking the man in front of them. They covered their eyes with their hand.

“Okay!” Lou said, suddenly back in the character of someone who had just met this intriguing person at a bookstore. “I hmp!-am going to re-read you the hmk!-first paragraph o—of this classic.”

Ryder watched his long fingers flip through the title page, chapter pages, to the first paragraph as his head snapped back with hiccups, excitement perhaps making them more enthusiastic.

“I’ve just met this strange man and he’s going to read to me? I feel like we’re skipping a couple of steps. I don’t know if I should move this fast...isn’t reading to someone, like, one of the later bases?” Ryder teased, happy to have gotten some sort of witticism in with how flustered they felt.

“This hmk!-isn’t anything m-hup!-more than two-mk!-two people sharing a t-HIMP!-table and a g-good book,” Lou insisted. He countered them with a mischievous look from under his prominent brow. “You r—ready to be hup!-wowed by hmngk!-uh one of the gr-hlp!-greatest first p-paragraphs to a novel to hmp!hmp!-ever hmp!-ever be written?”

“Enlighten me,” Ryder said, covering their mouth as he watched his neck suck in deeply with each of those hiccups. “If you can make it through…”

“Oh I w-will,” Lou assured his new companion stubbornly. He cleared his throat, hiccuping silently to the irritation, and began:

“Call hmp!-Call me Ishmael.Hmkngk!Some year-hup’k-Some years ago—hmk!hmk!never-hmk!-never mind how long pr-precisely—havi-huck!-having little or no mo-up!-money in my purse, hmpk!-and nothing particular to-hmk!-to interest me on shore, I—I thought I would sail about a little and-hulk!-see the watery part of the world,” Lou started and paused as he waited through a cluster of silent hiccups, little snorts rhythmically sucking into his nose.

Ryder watched Lou’s neck during his reading, close enough to his eyes to not draw attention. They knew the movements hiccups made and Lou’s were impressive. Instead of just the middle of where his clavicle met dipping in, the entire bottom part of his neck seemed to concave with each hiccup. They didn’t know if it was because he was suppressing them so much, if they were considerably deep hiccups, or if this was just the way his body reacted. Well...part of them knew that answer, but they were ignoring if to be in the moment as if this was an entirely new relationship and experience.

“Excuse me,” Lou said, interrupting the reading when his hiccups sped. He took a long breath and dove back in, ignoring the hiccups that interrupted that breath. He may have bitten off more than he could chew trying to make it through this paragraph, but with stubbornness he plowed on.

“It is-hup!-it is a way I h—have of drIVing off the sp-hup!-spleen and regu-regulating the circulation,” he continued. He sped up some words so that he could get more than a few words in before hiccuping. “Whenever I-ulp!-I find myself growing gri—im about the mouth;hmk!hmk!-whenever it is a damp,mpk!-drizzly November in my soul;hup’k!-whenever I find myself in-huck!-involuntarily pausing before coffin ware-hulp-warehouses, and bringing up the-hmp!hmp!-uh rear of every funeral I meet;mmk!-and-hmp!-and especially whenever my hypos get su—such an up—per hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle toHUP’K-ugh-prevent me from del-del-iberately steppi-hmp!-stepping into-into the street, a-hmk!-and meth-HIMP!-methodicALly knocking people's hats off-humpk!hmp!--then, I account it high t-time to get to s-mk!-sea as soOOn as I can.” Lou paused and shook his head.

“I d-don’t think I can hmk!-continue this,” he said, remorsefully. “I’m bu-hoop!-uh, butchering th-hip-these words.” His whole body jumped at a couple of silent hiccups that smacked him right in the diaphragm and he winced a little.

He’d had the hiccups for a good 15 minutes at this point and they’d only been getting stronger and deeper. While they weren’t painful, they were becoming way more intrusive and obvious to a slowly growing number of people both in the bookstore and café area.

When he looked to his new companion they had a dazed expression, head resting on their hand. They blinked at his comment though.

“Um, yeah. You know. But I was enraptured by the performance. So those words must...be some words to keep my attention, right?” The writer caught the neck of their shirt and fanned it a little. “Those things seem pretty uncomfortable. Maybe try that water? Some deep breaths? You must be sore they, um, look kind of violent.”

“Good id-HUP!” he said, not even bothering to complete the word.

“Th-these must be an-nk!-annoying. S-hmp!-sorry about that,” he continued. He brought the iced water to his lips and took a good gulp. He knew water never cured them but he was also hoping to relieve his throat of the tightness that often accompanied his hiccup fits.

“No, not annoying,” Ryder assured. “More for you, I’m sure.”

They watched his stubbly throat as he drank a couple of gulps of the ice water. It contracted with hiccups even while he was drinking. He must be used to it because it didn’t seem to slow him down. After he’d gotten half the glass down he set it aside and covered his mouth with a couple of crooked fingers, silent hiccups jostling his form rapidly. He looked a little befuddled for a moment as they kept wracking his body quickly.

“Ugh th-that w-was hup!-hup!-was co-cold! Hmp!-hmp!-hmp! I think that-hup!-ma-hup!-made-hup!-the-hmp!-them worse. I do-don’t hmp!hmp!-us-hup!-usually hup!-drink m-my hup!-water that-hup!-c-hmp!-cold! Humph!-hmph!-hmkph!-hmp!-hmp!...mk!-mk!”

Lou sat like that for a moment as his body bounced with every sound sucked in through his nose and caught by his throat which jolted his head and fluttered his eyes as he seemed to be waiting for them to slow down a little. When he looked up into Ryder’s eyes he was disarmed by the pure arousal mirrored back.

The jig was up…

“Let d-hmp!-Le-humph!-dow-hmp!” Lou tried to say. Shit! He couldn’t even get out the damn safe word as he felt blood rushing to the area he certainly didn’t want to be in public for the result of.

“Let down key,” Ryder supplied, breathlessly. “Yeah, me too.”

They took a deep breath to shake off the persona and it was Atticus who spoke next, quickly and desperately.

“Here, you take the keys and I’ll meet you at the car,” they said, thrusting the key chain in his hand. “I’m gonna buy this book.”

Lou, now Otto, eyed them with confusion.

“I-hmp!-have l-hmph!-like five-hmp!-copies-hmp!-of-humph!-of that-hmp!-at home!” he said with difficulty, standing carefully and relieved that nothing was visible yet along his waist-line. He still casually held the book of poems that held Atticus’ name on the cover in front of him just in case as he took the keys reluctantly.

“This one is special,” Atty stressed. “I’m actually going to read this one…”

Otto let out a HU-UP!-as he held his mouth open in amusement. He didn’t even care that everyone paid attention around them. He just shook his head and turned around for the car.

After the next customer cleared away the barista smiled in recognition to the person that had been sitting with the taller man. He’d lost the ability to hear their conversation with the afternoon rush, (aside from the poor man’s ever worsening attack of hiccups) so he leaned against the bar when Atticus arrived.

“Hey, so, how’d everything go between you and the hiccuping guy? You all were over there for a while,” he said, as he rung up the novel with some effort in lugging it into one of the plastic bags he had under the register.

Atticus looked down, face burning. Then they swung their head up and forced some fake bravado.

“I think I might have a chance,” Atticus said, paying for the copy of Moby Dick.

“Well, hey, if I can find someone who can stand my hiccup attacks like you did his...I think I might find a perfect match,” he said, wryly. There might’ve been some jealousy tinged in the statement as well.

“You’d be surprised what people find bearable with the person is right,” Atticus said, cryptically.

“Well, good luck, friend. Wish you all the best,” the barista said.

“Yeah, you too,” they replied.

Their nethers were still vibrating a little as they walked to Otto’s car that he’d pulled up to the curb. Fortunately, the conversation with the barista had taken away the unbearable pressure at least.

“Well howdy, stranger,” Atticus said with a grin, slipping into the passenger seat.

Otto was still hiccuping rapidly in the driver’s seat. He’d unbuttoned his shirt so that his a-line shirt was visible, fabric tight against the middle of his stomach as it pooched out with every hiccup at varying degrees of force.

He smiled in their direction as he turned the key in the ignition. The hmph’s and hmp’s were still so fast that speaking, while not impossible, was more effort that he thought it worth for a response.

“You want me to drive?” Atticus asked, watching his body rock with every spasm.

He shook his head.

“No-hmp!-no I’m-mk-good. I know hmp!-how m-much you hmpk!-like to hip!hip!-to-hmp!-watch m-me from hmp!-from the s-side. I’ll be hip!-be less distr-hmp!hmp!-act-ip-ed!” he said with difficulty and a little frustrated huff and started driving to the main street, taking some deep breaths in an attempt to slow the hiccups a little.

He was getting very aroused and he could tell Atticus was, too. Fortunately home wasn’t too far off. Though he had doubts of ever being able to enter that book store again.

“Wow. Um. You don’t have to suppress those as much now. I know that’s gotta feel uncomfortable,” Atticus said. Watching how deeply Otto’s body was reacting to each hiccup was both extremely hot and also a little concerning.

Otto realized that keeping the hiccups in had become instinctual and so at Atty’s cue he took as much of a breath out as he could and set his mouth open a little to let the hiccups be more free and relax his muscles from how much they were constricted in trapping the spasm’s noises from escaped.

“Right,” he confirmed, before, “hup!...hu-up...hup!hup!hu-uck!...herk!-hip!-hip!-hiup!-HOCK!hu-UCK!” he sighed out a groan and continued. “hu-uck!hu-uck!hulp!...hock!-humph!-unk!”

Even though it didn’t sound like it, letting his diaphragm relax into the spasms instead of holding it in felt much better. It certainly eased the pain that had just started in the middle of his chest.

He kept hiccuping at speed, Atticus noticed, their breath quickening at the exhibition. Ottos neck tightened and jerked in another hiccup as he moved his head to take the final turn onto their street throwing his head back before he readjusted.

Atticus could tell how much focus he was putting in driving and completely ignoring his partner’s reaction. That was good because if he had seen how absolutely turned on Atticus was and how hard it was not to rub themselves then he would’ve definitely wrecked.

Death by arousal. Not a terrible way to go, though…

THE NSFW ACTION

When the car parked there was an unsaid agreement that they both get into the house as quickly as possible. Otto’s erection was finally starting to become more obvious and the last thing he wanted was a neighbor to see.

Also quickly and in unison, they both bee-lined to the bedroom. Atticus fished for lube and condoms as Otto undressed and flopped himself on the bed, desperation in his face as he kicked his pants off to the obvious excitement that couldn’t be hidden anymore.

“Oh gawd, they’re still so fast,” Atticus whined. “Are you okay?”

They always checked with Otto. They never wanted their desire to overpower his well-being.

Without his shirt on and from above, Atticus could witness the power and quickness of his hiccups. They watched the indent of his ribs expanding to his diaphragm’s spasms over and over and over again.

“Huck!-huck!-h’muck!-uck!-ulp!...mk!-hu-uck-huuck!-‘UCK!...h’mick!-hnk!-nk!-nk!hic!hnk!...nnk!-ilp!-huckah!-hngk!...”

It was hypnotic. Their breath hitched as their member, engorged in arousal, buzzed causing their inner-most muscles to undulate desperately.

Otto nodded to Atticus’ question. His hiccups were fast but they let up at intervals allowing him to get a gasp of breath in before speeding up again. They came in waves, like Otto watched Atticus’ arousal do as they rubbed against his thigh, mouth open and eyes fixated on him. He throbbed, his hiccups seeming more of a background sensation to his arousal.

Wordlessly his hand asked to be let into their pants, lube covering his fingers.

“Shit, yes!” Atticus exclaimed as they let his fingers touch them.

For a moment nothing mattered except the sensations on each others’ bodies. Them both pleasuring each other lead to a moment of convulsion, a shivering and gasp of breath, a screaming groan and a lower more guttural groan harmonizing, followed by a panting collapse of smaller person on top of larger.

As they came back into their body, limbs heavy and tingling slightly, Atticus turned on Otto’s chest to look up at him only to find his eyes already on them. His lips were red and smiling faintly.

Atticus’ glasses were askew on their face. There were smudges all across the lenses. They’d take them off except then they wouldn’t be able to see Otto at all. They smiled up at him as Otto adjusted their glasses tenderly.

They felt his fingers slide from between their legs and they shivered again, curling into him. Their head dipped on his chest as he hiccuped. He still had them.

Otto clumsily wiped the lube from his fingers on the boxers he never fully removed, but lowered for quick access. He rested that hand on his chest as he surrounded Atticus’ shoulders with his other arm, the hand he’d adjusted their glasses with. He felt another hiccup convulse in his chest. The sound he made was hoarse. His hiccups had weakened after their orgasms. He could tell they were trailing off. He took a deep refreshing breath before the next “hurk!”.

THE AFTERGLOW

“They’re stubborn,” Atticus muttered into Otto’s chest. They felt a jostle as he huffed out a laugh.

“Yeah,” he said tiredly, “but they’re merk!-uh trailing off, I think.”

“Do you want me to rub your stomach?” Atticus asked.

“Mmmhm,” Otto said, nodding with a smile and soft eyes.

It had become almost ritualistic that after a particularly raucous hiccup fit Atticus would give a little massage to Otto’s overworked belly. The muscles there appreciated the soft circular motions Atticus’ palm and fingers provided and it helped him relax. Atticus enjoyed the feeling of the last spasms of a case of hiccups through Otto’s stomach. It was a win/win. A lot of their relationship ended up in the mutual appreciation of one another’s pleasures. It was very symbiotic in that way.

“So...role playing went well…” Atticus mused softly as their hand made its course around the softness of Otto’s belly. He spasmed again and Atty felt the sensation like a small bump against their palm.

“I’d say so,” Otto said, his voice as hoarse as his hiccups. “Still can’t believe you-erk!-you bought that book.”

“You should talk. Buying one of my books of poems? Pretty sure I have a copy of that around here somewhere too, my dear,” they said.

“True…” Otto conceded. “Mem-merk!-uh. Mementos?”

Atticus watched Otto’s neck cave in with the hiccup and sighed happily.

“Yup. $50 memento,” Atty said sheepishly.

“Fifty? You paid fifty do-erk!-dollars for that?!” His eyes widened in their direction and his eyebrows crawled up his defined brow bone in shock.

“You saw it! Hand bound! Illustrated! It was steal…” Atticus claimed.

“Firstly, not hand bound. Secondly, I have a-urk!-a first trade 1930’s edition that’s illustrated!” Otto argued.

“That you never let me read! Or touch! Or breathe on!”

“It’s...old…”Otto said, weakly.

“You’re old,” Atty parried. “Colombo? Really?”

“He’s a cultural icon…”

“Good lord, dude,” Atticus said, laughing in puffs of hot air on his chest. “I can’t believe that barista saw me watching…”

Otto chuckled, “He’s definitely got a story to tell, now.”

“We can’t go back there, can we?” they asked.

“Yeah, no, already decided that. Probably not in our best interests, no,” he confirmed. He turned his head and gave a little cough and a silent hiccup caused him to spasm again. He felt Atticus’ hand rub against his stomach again in kind. He sighed, though, as another hiccup didn’t come after. His body was definitely tired from all of that.

“So, iced water, huh?” Atticus asked.

“I know, right? I mean, I’ve had iced water without the hiccups and nothing. Guess it just...was too cold?” he said, confused.

“Temperature changes are one of the causes of hiccups. Makes sense that it might make them worse. Just wouldn’t have thought about it,” they replied.

“Hey, you didn’t stutter when you said hiccups!”

“I’m getting better at it,” Atticus said with a grin.

Otto’s hand crept up to Atticus’ head and started rubbing their scalp. Atticus practically purred, humming as they curled tighter into Otto’s body.

“Thanks for doing this,” Atticus muttered.

“I really liked it,” Otto admitted. “It was fun. Kind of exciting. A little embarrassing, but not bad. Just...knowing you were there and--”

“And you were amazing,”Atticus interrupted. “How you held your body. How you didn’t seem like you were aware of me at all but you did all those things you know I like. It was...really hot.”

“Yeah, it was!” he agreed.

“You’re the best old guy ever,” Atticus teased, hugging him close.

Otto rolled his eyes and stared at his partner.

“You do know,” he said, “that we’re only 5 years apart?”

“Shhh, you’re ruining the moment,” they cooed.

Otto snorted.

“Fifty dollars…” he whispered.

“Shhhhh…” Atticus said, putting their hand on his face without looking and targeting his mouth to cover.

Otto put one of their fingers in his mouth and nibbled lightly on it.

“Aaaah…” they whined. “Kiss it.”

Otto did, shaking his head.

“It’s wet now…” they grumbled and wiped it on his chest.

“I do have things to do today. And we should get food. And shower...definitely shower,” he said.

Atticus grumbled again, taking their glasses off and snuggling deeper into their husband’s chest in protest.

“Okay,” he whispered. “We’ll rest a little…”

And, to be honest, the clock maker needed the rest. Now that he came back to his body he could feel the slight soreness in his throat and chest, back and neck. All of the clenching he’d done, even in his jaw, to keep his hiccups suppressed had done a number on his body. And, before long, he found himself dozing with his partner.

#hiccup kink #minors dni #hiccups kink #hiccups #hic fic #hicfic #otto and atticus #roleplay

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depressedhouseplant · 9 months ago

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Just Fucking Write - Day 58

Prompt: A continuation of Day 56

A/N: Everyone pretend to be shocked it’s a Juyeon ship. I wanted to save this a little longer but I started a new medication a few days ago & have almost no energy right now.

“How’d it go with Y/N?” Juyeon asked when Eric got back to their hotel suite. He didn’t miss that Eric’s eyes were looking puffy.

“I told her I loved her and she said that she thought it was just a casual thing. She’s also apparently been hooking up with Miles since I came back from hiatus,” he replied.

“So you thought y’all were exclusive and she didn’t,” Kevin said.

“Pretty much,” Eric replied.

“Did you tell her that you wanted to be exclusive or more than just fuckbuddies?” Jacob asked.

“Why am I the one being interrogated here?” he glared at the other three.

“I mean, you can’t expect someone to just know that you want more,” Kevin said.

“I sent her flowers for her birthday. We would text for hours. She knew I couldn’t take her out on dates, but she seemed okay with it,” Eric said.

“But you never talked about any kind of exclusive relationship,” Jacob continued.

“How is this my fault?” Eric demanded.

“No one is saying it’s your fault. They’re just saying you can’t expect someone to know you want something without saying it. Right?” Juyeon looked at the other two.

“Exactly,” Kevin agreed.

“I’m gonna go lie down,” Eric told them. Juyeon followed him.

“Can I help you?” Eric asked when he realized the older man was behind him.

“I thought you’d want some company right now,” Juyeon replied. Eric looked like he was going to refuse then stepped back to let Juyeon in the room.

“Thanks,” Eric said quietly. He curled up on the bed and Juyeon nested himself behind Eric.

“I know it hurts. Kevin and Jacob weren’t trying to make you feel bad,” Juyeon said.

“They did,” Eric said curtly.

“Kind of ironic that the couple that knew they were in love without saying anything are telling someone that they need to communicate their feelings,” Juyeon hooked his chin over Eric’s shoulder. The younger man nested deeper into Juyeon’s chest.

“Maybe I didn’t really love her,” he said.

“Maybe. You’re the only one who will ever know that,” Juyeon told him.

“Has that ever happened to you?” Eric rolled over to look at Juyeon.

“I told someone they loved me and they didn’t say it back?” Juyeon asked.

“Yeah,” Eric nodded, rolling over to look at Juyeon.

“I did. It hurt pretty bad at the time. In retrospect I don’t think I actually loved him,” Juyeon replied, brushing a hair out of Eric’s eyes.

“Can I kiss you?” Eric asked, his brown eyes still slightly red from earlier.

“Are you asking because you want to kiss me or because you just had your heart broken?” Juyeon asked.

“I want to kiss you. I want to see what it’s like to kiss someone I know cares about me,” Eric replied.

“Y/N didn’t care about you?” Juyeon questioned.

“She did, but I know how you feel about me. Like Jacob and Kevin know how they feel about each other,” Eric answered. “I know you feel more for me than just a friend or band mate.”

“Was I that obvious?” Juyeon bit his lip.

“Showing up in my bed in just your underwear when you knew I was in the shower was my first clue,” Eric smiled.

“I do feel more for you than just friends, but I didn’t want to interfere,” Juyeon replied.

“Now there’s no one to interfere with. So kiss me?” Eric asked again. Juyeon pressed his lips against Eric’s, a vision that had haunted his dreams for years. Now it was real. He was kissing the boy he fell in love with almost as soon as they’d met. Through every hookup or short term fuck buddy, it had always been Eric. Juyeon swore he’d never say anything because he knew Eric was seeing someone else. He poured every ounce of love he felt for the younger man into the kiss.

“Wow,” Eric said when they finally parted.

“Wow?” Juyeon repeated.

“So that’s what it feels like to kiss someone who loves you,” Eric told him.

“I’ve loved you for longer than you’ll ever know, Eric Sohn,” Juyeon kissed him again.

“I think I love you too, Lee Juyeon,” Eric grinned.

#just fucking write 2k24 #the boyz fanfic #the boyz juric #juric

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feralsteddie · 2 years ago

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@eddiemunsonloveposting

*sighs* *cracks knuckles* y’all really didn’t need to give me more ideas for this

Argyle comes and visits for the summer. He visits every break he can considering his best friend can’t usually come to him (they’ve talked about Jon moving back out to Cali one day, but everyone’s still skittish from Vecna, so it’ll take him time).

It’s his second day in town when he and Steve see each other again. They’d been a little preoccupied with their own groups to really interact the last time, but, hey, turned out they got along extremely well.

The three boys are still almost constantly with Steve, so it just made sense that Argyle join the group. The mish mashed hang outs that anyone who went to Hawkins High and even vaguely knew of the three of them were still bawking at.

Eddie and Argyle actually get along really well too, to no one’s surprise. Argyle’s been around Will enough to understand some of his references and Eddie is just delighted at about everything that comes out of Argyle’s mouth.

Tommy clearly doesn’t like the guy, but Tommy doesn’t like anyone Steve hangs out with that isn’t him, so there’s no surprise there.

Since it’s summer that means the return of Nancy as well, back in town after her first year of college and there’s the weird energy between her and Jon that Eddie and Tommy are hoping means he’s dropping the race, going back to his girlfriend and finally freeing up very important Steve Time.

The last time they’d all hung out Steve’s head was in his lap and Eddie and Tommy almost considered teaming up just to get rid of him. Almost.

It’s… sort of what happens. Jon and Nancy are spending time together, they can see some complex feelings happening and there was no way they weren’t going to take advantage.

But that time slot was small, and they forgot to include the newest addition in their calculations.

Fucking Argyle. Because Argyle’s best friend was occasionally MIA which left him with some free time too.

See. Eddie knew Steve struggled a lot with the group. Even if every single one of them would probably die if something were to happen to him, he gets undervalued a lot, many rolled eyes and digs at his intelligence. Hey, turned out Argyle got the same. Everyone over looking him because they assumed he was just stoned and wouldn’t have anything to offer.

And Argyle was a really touchy guy. Had Steve almost in his lap, petting his stupid shiny long hair quicker than Tommy or Eddie had ever managed. He just had a laid-back quality that allowed for casual affection in a way that Tommy and Eddie’s intensity didn’t. Every touch with Steve Mattered and they weren’t able to pretend otherwise.

They weren’t stupid this time around. Not like they’d been with Jonathan at first and assuming there was no way. Because it was clear Steve liked all the weird burnouts Hawkins had to offer.

They started in on their diversion efforts quick, making more plans with Steve, squishing Steve between them on the couch during groups hangs, diverting Steve’s wandering hands when Argyle and his stupid shiny long hair got close, etc etc

But Argyle had game, and was smart. It was fucking annoying.

Because Steve wanted to go to a CC concert? Yeah Argyle could vibe with some metal. A baseball game? No worries dude he loved watching that shit. Steve’s hands were stopped from using him as a fidget toy? Oh man let me fix your collar real quick. No space on the couch? Well come here, Harrington I’ve got a free lap.

It was frustrating. Infuriating. Eddie was going to start biting soon and Tommy was hyperventilating in the bathroom.

Argyle brought Steve along to fucking forage in the woods. He got Steve eating pineapple on his pizza. They cooked dinner for the party together. They hung out in the back of his shitty van like that wasn’t EddieandSteve’s thing. Went on hikes like that wasn’t a TommyandSteve thing.

The last straw was actually a moment neither of them had been paying attention to, Eddie and Tommy glaring each other down over a plate of Steve’s murder-worthy cookies. All they really caught was Steve laughing and the tail end of a sentence that sounded something like -good boy, dude! And both of their heads both turned so quick their necks should’ve snapped. Argyle got Steve’s three-blink mouth parted look that Eddie’d been hoarding since the spring break from hell and it was decided.

Argyle had to go.

(Not in a murder way, because Eddie wasn’t going to cash in those murder allegations and Tommy was on thin ice with Steve as it was, but they were going to figure it out. Argyle was fucking dangerous there was no way they were going to lose Steve to a guy dressed like a bowling alley carpet. They just wouldn’t.)

OKAY BUT

Thinking about all the hilarity that would be if Tommy tried to “befriend” Steve again after everything.

Tommy and Eddie glaring at each other every time Steve looks away.

Fighting over Steve’s attention.

Each going to throw their arms around Steve just to end up slamming them together while Steve’s still walking

The “I can fix him” vs “I can make him worse”

The bitchy comments back and forth over who knows Steve better

Tommy will show up with a six pack just to find Steve and Eddie already high together

Eddie swinging by for an impromptu movie night and Tommy and Steve have a basketball game on

Tommy trying to have a conversation with the kids because he know they’re the key to winning Steve back, but Max snaps her teeth like she’s going to bite him once and Tommy screams so high pitch Steve started panicking because he thought it was Erica

Eddie trying to learn Steve’s sports to show he won’t just dismiss his interests, but he’s a chronic smoker whose hobbies are fairly sedentary so five minutes in he’s wheezing and somehow manages to almost break his nose with a basketball

It’s only funnier when they both pull up to Steve’s place, at the exact same time, with flowers in their hands. And Steve opens the door to them trying to kill each other on his front lawn.

#i already had so many stargyle (platonic or fwb) ideas and now this???#almost wanna add Jeff to the mix #uhhh #steddie #stargyle #stommy #pyreposting

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steddiesupportgroup · 2 years ago

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Steve with a praise kink drabble under the cut, because the hive mind has spoken.

NSFW ahead so minors please dni!

Steve of course never considered being any kind of submissive until he and Eddie got together. As a young man having sex with women, he’d always been taught that men should be more dominant and in control. He’s a sweet lover though, don’t get him wrong

He and Eddie hadn’t even gotten together yet when those thoughts started creeping in the back of his fantasies. They’d been on the phone like any other day, making plans to go bowling that evening with the group. Steve didn’t want to go that night cause he had to open in the morning, but Eddie wore him down.

“Good boy,” he murmured into the phone when Steve finally gave in, just flirting as usual. He had no idea that Steve’s heart skipped several beats and the sound dripped from his brain straight down into his pants. “C-cool,” he stammered, “See you there.” And abruptly hung up.

After that he tried to push it down and forget about it, but Eddie’s voice echoed in his mind during quiet hours. Good boy, the memory of those two stupid words surrounded him when his hand was wrapped around his cock, and he came imagining Eddie’s lips against his ear.

He’s a lost cause after that. He starts doing little favors for Eddie any chance he gets in the hopes that he’ll call him that again, offering to pay for gas, dropping off the kids and whatnot.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he says, “Very good, Stevie,” when Steve actually gets one of his nerdy references, and even though it’s no big deal to Eddie, Steve’s face positively lights up at the praise and he blushes. At first he thinks Steve could just be trying to impress him, which, as a literal monster slayer, is kind of redundant.

So he tries again to test his theory that he prays is true. He jaunts into Family Video, casual as ever, and asks Steve to show him where a certain movie is. Steve leads the way, happy to do whatever at this point, and when he hands Eddie the tape Eddie leans in and says, too low for anyone to overhear, “That’s my boy.”

The shift in Steve’s eyes is immediate and thrilling. His pupils dilate and he’s peachy pink, his lips parted. He nods quickly and stammers out, “Anything else I can do for you?”

Steve knows he’s been had and he’s a little humiliated, but the grin that spreads over Eddie’s face makes that exciting, too. He pockets the interaction for later, when he’s in the shower under the steam and can pretend it’s Eddie’s warmth.

It still takes them a while to get together officially, no matter how obvious it is that they want each other. When they do and they’ve had sex a few times, learned each other’s bodies and all the ways they like to be touched, Eddie brings up the subject of Steve’s praise kink. Steve doesn’t really know what that is, but once they’ve talked it out, he knows he wants whatever Eddie has to give him.

One of Steve’s favorite places to be is on his knees, looking up at Eddie from under his eyelashes with Eddie’s gorgeous cock in front of his face. “Be a good boy and open that pretty mouth for me,” and Steve obliges, sticking his tongue out and letting Eddie guide his length into his mouth.

“You look so good like this, baby,” Eddie says between moans and Steve’s skin is burning. “Take it all, you can do it,” and Steve wants to, loves how his eyes prick with tears when the head bumps the back of his throat.

Eddie dirty talks while he fingers him, getting him ready and listening to him keen. “Be a good boy and be patient, okay? I don’t wanna hurt you. You want it bad, huh?”

Steve nods, his hands making a mess in his hair, but Eddie likes to make him talk. “Use your words, baby. Lemme hear you.”

“I want it, Eds,” Steve pants, “Please.”

“What do you want, honey?”

Steve blushes furiously, it paints down his chest. “I want you to fuck me, Eddie,” he groans, “I want you inside me.”

“Good boy,” Eddie croons, loving it just as much. “I’ll give it to you soon.”

When he lines his dick up to Steve’s entrance, Steve positively trembling at this point, he teases him for good measure. “Who’s my good boy?”

Steve is alive, melting at the chance to be good for Eddie. It makes his mind swim to moan, “I am, I’m your good boy.”

Eddie can fuck him for ages, and he does so, Steve’s mind blissfully blank as Eddie lavishes him with praise. “You’re taking it so well, baby, so sweet for me.” His voice is gruff and deep in Steve’s ear. “Keep looking at me with those pretty eyes, tell me how much you love my cock.”

If only people knew how Steve Harrington comes after he babbles, sweaty and wrecked, “I love it Eddie, feels so fucking good, I wanna be good for you, please don’t stop,” it makes him feel so loved and wanted and safe.

Later when Eddie cleans him up with a warm rag, kissing every inch of skin he can reach, he lulls him with praise. “You’re amazing, angel, you make me feel so good. Took it so well, I’m proud of you.” And Steve won’t let go of him for hours, happy and relaxed.

#send me promos for whatever cause I have a million ideas and this is really fun #*prompts #I’m depraved for them and I’m so not sorry #steve x eddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie headcanons

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tootiredmotel · 3 years ago

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a different lover is not a sin

or: 5 times Dean didn't go to Pride + 1 time he did

Happy @starrynightdeancas gift exchange posting day!!! This one's for the wonderful and talented @andzia267 !!! Sending you all the hugs and good vibes, and I hope you enjoy it! And thank you Sophie for hosting all this, you're a rock star! <3

Read on ao3 or below / 5.5k words

CW: homophobia, queer used as a slur, john winchester being an asshole

1 - 1994

Dean was fifteen years old when he found out that being gay was something people could be proud of. It was early in the morning, they'd left their motel about 20 minutes before, and Sammy had fallen asleep in the backseat. The sun was just starting to completely show over the horizon, and they were driving through– or rather, struggling to get out of– Phoenix on their way to a possible poltergeist in Tucson. Every street they tried to take was blocked for the big event, and dozens of people already lined the sidewalks with colorful outfits and signs.

"Fuckin' queers," John grumbled in the seat next to him. "Never should'a thrown that damn brick."

Big banners overhead displayed "Stonewall 25: A Global Celebration of Pride". Dean made a mental note to hit up a library once they got to Tucson to look that up, "Stonewall". In the meantime, he was mesmerized staring out the window. Guys held hands, women kissed, everyone was practically vibrating with excitement. A black man in heels and a wig caught his gaze through the window and waved. Dean started to wave back, but his hand was harshly swatted back down.

"Do not," John said. "Don’t talk to them, don’t even look at ‘em. These people are sick in the head."

Dean focused his gaze on his lap until they were out of the city, and his mind wandered back to the gas station they stopped at the day before. He thought of the guy at the cash register that called him "cutie" and winked at him as he bought a candy bar for Sammy and beers for Dad with his fake ID. By Dad’s logic– which Dean trusted, of course–, that cashier, that queer, must've been sick in the head.

Then Dean remembered how his heart sped up, how his ears got hot, and how for a second he let himself think the cashier was kinda cute too. He realized he must also be sick in the head, and the thought was making him feel actually, physically sick. He felt like throwing up. Dad could never know.

Dean was fifteen years old when he learned that being gay actually wasn't something to be proud of.

---

2 - 2000

Dean was 21 years old when he learned the word “bisexual”. Dad had caught word of a ghoul case in lower Manhattan and sent Dean to take care of it. It was starting to get too hot and the streets were too crowded, but Dean was mostly glad to get a break from the constant fighting between Dad and Sammy.

Except it was June, and every time he turned a corner, there they were. The Pride parade flyers.

The second he spotted a rainbow he averted his gaze. He turned another corner and spotted another one. He avoided reading them at all costs. He heard Dad’s voice. Sick. Sick in the head.

For years now Dean had pretended he wasn’t sick. He pretended to not stare at Patrick Swayze too much whenever Dirty Dancing played on TV. He pretended like he didn't imagine what it would be like to kiss a guy, what stubble would feel like against his lips if he ever did.

He liked women. He could stick to women. He could live his whole life like that. And that meant he wasn’t totally sick, right? He wasn’t gay -gay if he liked girls.

But then what the hell was he? Would he even belong at one of these Pride things if he wanted to? He was probably a freak of nature. Even sicker than the rest of the bunch.

Curiosity got the best of him. He spared a glance at one of the flyers as he waited to cross the street.

Gays, lesbians, bisexuals, transexuals, ALL WELCOME

“Are you gonna go?” A voice next to him asked. ”It’s next weekend.” He was blond, pale, and a bit shorter than Dean.

“What? No! I don't swing that way,” Dean said, a bit too quickly and with too much bite.

The guy looked him up and down with a frown. “Geez, alright. Just askin’.”

He started to walk away, and Dean spoke up before he could stop himself.

“Hey man, wait.”

The guy stopped walking.

“Sorry, can I ask you something? Assuming you... know about this stuff?”

He seemed exasperated, but he turned anyway, willing to hear Dean out. Dean licked his lips, rubbed at the back of his neck, swallowed nervously. He couldn’t believe he was doing this, asking a stranger on the street about something so personal. At least the chances of meeting this person ever again were close to none.

“What’s bisexual?”

The guy’s features softened a bit. He seemed to understand something about Dean that so far Dean refused to acknowledge.

“It means you’re into more than one gender. And yes, you can do that,” the guy said. He flashed Dean a tight smile and then disappeared into the crowd.

Dean felt his hands go numb and balled them into fists, shoving them in his pockets. He took a deep breath through his nose. The guy said you. You are. You can.

The guy didn’t know what he was talking about. He knew nothing about Dean. He was wrong.

Or maybe he was right.

But he couldn’t be.

Dean couldn’t be… that.

Dean was 21 years old when he decided he wasn’t bisexual. He wasn’t anything. He was also 21 when he solved a case in record time (two days), just so he could book it out of New York before the next weekend arrived.

---

3 - 2004

By the time he was 25 years old, Dean knew he was bi. He hated it, he never spoke about it, and he ignored it as much as he could, but he was aware of it. And he knew he was bi because, at 25 years old, he’d already gone through two serious breakups, and they both equally sucked.

The first was Lee. He hunted with Dean and John for about a year, the second half of which Dean and Lee spent sneaking around and hooking up behind John’s back. It was fun, and hot, and exciting, and some of the best hookups he’d had up until that point in his life were with Lee.

But the thing is that it wasn’t just hooking up. They were close, and Dean liked him. A lot. They kissed for the first time after a particularly scary werewolf hunt in which Dean almost died, but John was more preoccupied with the mostly-unharmed victim than his own son. Dean and Lee rode in the backseat, bruised, bloody, and quiet. When John went to walk the victim up to her apartment, Lee reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s back, asking him if he was okay. Dean fell into Lee’s arms, and they kissed as they pulled away from the embrace, soft and comforting. It was Dean’s first kiss with a guy.

Lee was a lot of firsts for Dean over the next few months. But then John almost caught them once, drunk and making out in the Impala.

And then that case in Arizona went wrong, and Lee just couldn’t take it anymore. He packed up, swore off hunting, hugged Dean goodbye, and left him in the dust.

Dean needed to clear his head after that. He could barely look his dad in the eye after that close call, couldn't let him see the sorrow he was feeling. With every interaction, he imagined how John would yell at him, probably try to beat it out of him, if he noticed all he was feeling over Lee. Or worse, John could ignore him, practically disown him like he did Sam.

So he also packed up and left. Went hunting on his own for a while.

It was on one of those hunts that he met Cassie, and she was yet another handful of firsts for Dean over the course of a few months. She was amazing, and he fell hard and fast, but of course that went up in flames too.

Then again, he should've known better than to be honest. Honesty only ever got him in trouble.

He’d just left her back in Ohio and was working at a bar in Indianapolis for a few weeks to make some cash. He’d eventually meet back up with Dad. He just couldn’t right now. Not with Sam gone to college. Not after getting his heart broken twice over within a year.

He was hyper-aware of the end of June approaching. He knew it was coming, Indy had a pretty big celebration, and he made sure to be working all day that day so he wouldn't have to face it.

That was pointless, though. Toward the end of the day, a big group of about ten or twelve people who were clearly coming from the parade stumbled into the bar. One of them was apparently the owner’s little sister and they went there every year after the celebrations. They were loud, and obnoxious, and looked incredibly happy. Their happiness was contagious, and Dean loved serving them. He chatted them up, got to know them a bit, and heard all about the parade, all while staring down anyone at the bar who dared look their way with even the slightest stink eye.

But watching them that happy and comfortable, seeing not one, but two pairs of guys sloppily leaning against each other and sharing the occasional kiss while none of their friends seemed to bat an eye… something in Dean ached. Deeply.

Dean was 25 years old when he realized that a small part of him kind of, sort of, wanted to be part of this community. He couldn’t though. Not if he wanted to be on good terms with Dad. Not if he aimed to be the man Dad wanted him to be.

He left Indianapolis the next day.

---

4 - 2008

Dean was 29 years old and on his own personal highway to hell when he learned his brother went to a Pride parade before he ever did. They were driving through San José, the streets were lined with ads for Silicon Valley Pride, and Sam just casually decided to mention how fun it was the last time he went.

Thankfully they were at a red light, or else Dean probably would’ve slammed the breaks. He twisted to look at Sam head-on, his arm on the back of the seat.

“You what ?” he gawked.

Sam shrugged innocently. “What?”

“You went to one of these Pride things?”

“Yeah, dude.”

Dean’s brain was just trying and failing to load. “Why?” he finally asked.

“Jessica was in the GSA and some friends invited us. It was awesome.”

“She was in the what?”

“The G. S. A.,” Sam answered slowly. “Gay-Straight Alliance.”

“Oh.” Whatever that is, Dean thought. He kept eyeing the flyers. It was tomorrow.

“Green.”

“What?”

“Light’s green. Green means go.”

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

He kept driving and turned up the radio. Somebody To Love was playing, and as much as he liked Queen, he had to change the station. He tried to picture his little brother (his straight little brother) wearing rainbow face paint and having the time of his life at this thing. How come Sammy got to go when Dean could barely entertain the idea? Dean was the not-straight one. It wasn’t fair.

He channeled his jealousy into gripping the steering wheel.

“You okay, Dean?”

“Yeah.” No. “Yeah, m’fine.”

Dean was 29 years old when he died and went to hell without ever having gone to a Pride parade, knowing that his idiot ( straight! ) little brother already had.

---

5 - 2014

Dean was alive again and 35 years old (75, if you count hell) when he was formally invited to a Pride parade for the first time. It was a couple of days after that whole mess with Cas in Lucifer’s crypt, and he called Charlie. He just wanted to hear her voice, needed to know he was still on good terms with at least one of his best friends.

“So anyway,” Charlie said after a while of recounting what she’d been up to. "How single are you right now? My answer is: miserably."

Dean chuckled. Then he thought of Cas, and the smile disappeared. "Yeah, you and me both, sister."

“Would you mind coming with me to this thing next month? Going alone kinda sucks.”

Dean put the phone on speaker and placed it on the library table as he sat down with a beer. “What’s the thing?”

“Pride.”

Dean was glad no one was around to see him almost choke on his drink.

“You good?”

“Yeah, what was that?”

“Pride parade. Don’t have anyone to go with this year.”

“Why uh… Why? Why me?”

She knows.

“I dunno.”

She knows she knows she knows.

“You’re my friend, Dean. Thought maybe you might be interested. But never mind, I guess.”

And while all the alarms in Dean's head were blaring danger danger danger abort, he also hated to hear Charlie so disappointed.

“Hey, no, listen, Charlie, I… I would. Really. You know I support you, wholeheartedly." And that's obviously the only reason I would want to go. "But with Sam doing these trials, and Cas on the run with the angel tablet–”

“It’s okay Dean, I get it. Talk to you soon?”

“Yeah.”

And she hung up.

Dean knew, at this point, that there was nothing wrong with being queer. It wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, and it sure as hell didn’t mean you were wrong in the head or whatever.

But years of pretending to be a false version of yourself in an effort to please a man who was impossible to please wasn’t exactly an easy habit to break. As much as he wished it didn't, as much as he wished he could just exist, the thought of anyone finding out still made him sick to the stomach.

John’s voice still echoed in his ears. His words still drove Dean’s sense of self-worth and so many of his decisions. He tried to never stare at a good-looking guy for too long. He tried to not get too into it with Benny. He tried to keep his feelings for Cas at bay, tried to keep him at arm's length, tried to keep the fact that he was in love (deeply, stupidly in love) as close to his chest as he could.

Even that night at the crypt choking out the words to get through to Cas, he couldn’t bring himself to say what he meant. I love you, he’d wanted to say, because it was the truth. What came out, however, was I need you. And he did, he needed Cas more than air, but it wasn't quite everything.

It still got his heart split in two.

Was he so far gone over Cas that he couldn’t hide it? Had he been trying so hard and failing just as miserably this whole time? Was his attraction to dudes that obvious? Or did Charlie just have a sixth sense for this kinda thing?

It was probably the last one. He hoped it was.

Cas knew, for sure. Angels knew everything right? They could read minds, feel longing, or whatever. And if none of that ever tipped him off, well, Dean put it all on the line back in that crypt. He told Cas how he felt, told him he needed him, tried putting himself out there, and it got him left. Again. With Dean, it was always leave-or-get-left when it came to love. He was tired of it.

Dean was 35 years old, desperately in love with his best friend, and truly heartbroken for the third time in his life, when his other best friend– an out and proud lesbian– gave him a chance to go to Pride, to break through his shell, to finally embrace himself as he was; but because he was practically living in the closet, he couldn’t seem to find the handle after so many years of purposefully ignoring its existence, and he missed his chance. Besides, what was the point of going to a celebration of love without the love of his life by his side?

---

+1 - 2021

Dean is now 42 years old and the happiest he’s ever been. The love of his life? Cas? Turns out he’s felt the same way all along. They're kind of together now, and slowly but surely they’re working through a decade’s worth of shit.

They’ve been raising a kid together too, along with Sam and Eileen, and that kid is also God. After saving the world and whatnot, Jack decided to bring back some of their friends and family that died over the years: Mary, Kevin, Charlie. Yes, there are two Charlies now, but it’s not as confusing as you’d expect. (One is from another dimension, and the other one is Dean’s little sister. Simple.) Mary’s off hunting most of the time and Kevin’s applying to college.

They’ve got extended family now too, Jody and the girls. OG Charlie is staying with them for now, while she finds her footing. Most of that household is queer. Most of Dean's household is queer as well, actually. Turns out both Jack and Eileen are non-binary, Cas is gay in the broader sense of the word, and Dean…

Dean is bi. And everyone knows now.

Apparently, a lot of people had known for a long time. Sam has known since the siren back in ‘09 (even though Dean stands by the fact that it wasn’t like that, Sammy ), and everyone has slowly picked up on his and Cas’s thing over the years, so there’s that.

He still feels a bit weird about it. About calling Cas his boyfriend, about having the freedom to hold his hand in public, about the fact that they now have goddamn pride flags hung around the bunker. He feels even weirder about the fact that John’s voice in his head is now drowned out by the sounds of his home life, more lively and supportive than he ever expected to have.

He wasn’t expecting any of this, he didn’t think everything would change so fast. But when you spend the better part of your life pushing down such a huge part of you and then finally give yourself an out, a chance to show the people who love you who you really are, everything just... follows.

Love follows. Acceptance follows. Family follows. And he wasn’t really expecting any of it.

He certainly doesn’t expect it when Cas walks into the library after his weekly Thursday evening call with Claire and announces, matter-of-factly and with air quotes, “We’re going to "Pride" this weekend.”

Dean’s stomach drops. It’s the Sioux Falls Pride Parade and Festival, it’s in two days, and they’re leaving tomorrow to spend the night at Jody’s so they can all be there bright and early Saturday morning. Everyone immediately starts bustling about, packing and planning outfits and gathering flags to bring with them.

Dean just goes to his room– his and Cas’s now– to pack a small duffle.

Well, he means to. Instead, he takes out the duffle from the closet, puts it on the bed, and sits next to it for a while. An hour goes by. He thinks back to all those times he had brushes with one of these things and was just never in the right mindset. He’s not even sure he’s in the right mindset now, but he’s going. It’s happening.

“Jack’s all ready to go,” Cas says when he walks in. “We spent about half an hour putting together an outfit for Saturday. He wanted it to be as colorful as possible.”

Dean smiles, but it’s not all there. He looks at the empty duffle next to him.

“Yeah, I might need some help with that myself.”

Cas is in sweats and a hoodie. Yes it’s June, yes it’s hot, but he’s a quasi-angel, and the way he experiences the world Dean will never be able to wrap his head around. He walks over and stands in front of Dean, running a hand through his hair and down the side of his face until he’s cupping Dean’s jaw. Dean takes Cas’s hand and leaves a few kisses on the inside of his wrist, closing his eyes as he does.

Cas regards the empty bag and hums quietly, as if in thought, before walking over to their closet. Dean chases his hand, holding onto it until he’s completely out of reach. Cas starts searching, and Dean’s stomach knots more and more with each clang of the hangers. Cas finally pulls out a flannel from its hanger– purple with hints of blue and pink– and tosses it over. Dean can’t believe he didn’t think of it first.

They continue to pack in comfortable silence before changing and getting into bed. Dean doesn’t flop onto his stomach or cuddle into Cas’s side as he usually does; instead, he lies on his back and stares at the ceiling in a daze.

“Dean?” Cas’s voice snaps him out of it.

Dean turns his head and asks, automatically, “You okay?”

It’s a habit by now, asking each other that question. It’s part of the working-through-a-decade’s-worth-of-shit thing they’re doing. Turns out they share a whole lot of trauma. They share worries and insecurities. They share nightmares sometimes, mostly about the Empty.

“I’m okay,” Cas says, putting his hand on top of Dean’s heart for him to hold, and Dean can breathe a little easier.

“You nervous about this thing?” Dean asks, interlocking their fingers.

“The parade? No, not really.”

And then, because he's been working on communicating how he's feeling out loud or whatever, Dean looks back up at the ceiling and says, "I am. Kinda."

He feels Cas shifting and propping himself up on his elbow, and then he's in Dean's line of sight. Dean's gaze is drawn to him, like all of him has been since the moment they met, and Dean can't believe he just has this now. He has a boyfriend, and it's Cas, and he's looking down at Dean with stars in his eyes and a comforting smile that actually works because it's Cas.

And then Cas is leaning down and softly pressing their lips together, and that's also something Dean can’t believe he gets to do: kiss Cas good morning and good night and at any moment in between, kiss him I'm sorry, kiss him we're going to be okay, kiss him I love you.

"I love you too, Dean," Cas says once they've pulled away, and Dean didn't even realize he'd said it out loud, but it doesn't matter. "And you don't need to be nervous. I'll be there with you."

The thought should be a thousand times more nerve-wracking, not just going to Pride but going to Pride with Cas on his arm. It's not nerve-wracking at all, and he soon drifts off to sleep.

Friday goes by faster than it should. The six-hour drive to Sioux Falls, although packed in a car with five people, goes by in a blink. They stop for provisions before getting to Jody's, filling up on backpacks' worth of snacks.

They get to the house and are met with endless hugs and excitement to match. Patience, Alex, and Jody are already working on dinner for the bunch, while Charlie, Donna, and Kaia are running around prepping for the next day and dragging along a hesitant but nevertheless happy Claire. Dinner is chaotic and loud and there are way too many people at the table, and Dean has to step outside after a while.

He sits on the back porch steps. Claire joins him. She's holding a beer, he's not. He hasn't been drinking for a few months now. They don't talk, but she leans her head on his shoulder and they stay there a while, looking at the stars.

When they go back inside, Claire sits back down in her spot at Cas's left, across the table from Dean, and leans on his shoulder for a while too. It's her way of saying she cares, of saying I missed you without really saying it. Jack sits at Cas's right, talking excitedly with Patience about some tv show or other, and the image fills Dean with such fondness that he reaches over with his foot, presses it to Cas's ankle, and keeps it there for the rest of the night.

Dean, Cas, Jack, Sam, and Eileen spend the night spread out around in the living area while the girls sleep in their respective rooms, and Dean is only slightly less nervous as he falls asleep holding Cas’s hand.

---

The nerves all come flooding back as he’s parking the Impala the next morning.

They’re not able to get even remotely close to Phillips Avenue since the streets are so full. They park the three cars that all twelve of them came in as close as they can and then have to walk for another twenty minutes. From blocks and blocks away, people walk and holler and greet them excitedly, many of them trying to circle this swarm of flanneled individuals that are taking up a whole sidewalk. Granted, Dean and Claire are the only ones in their usual kind of outfit. The rest of the bunch is wearing as many colors as they could compile from their closets, half of them are wearing face paint, and the other half are carrying an assortment of pride flags.

They fit right in.

The walk toward the main avenue of the parade is kind of a blur for Dean. He knows he waved at a few people, some friends of Alex from high school joined the group at some point, and Jack already grabbed a snack from his backpack.

The actual parade is also kind of hazy. Getting out of the house that morning had been probably even more chaotic than the night before, so they’re a bit late and the parade has already been going for a good half hour. On top of that, they accidentally merge into it not quite at the starting point but a bit further down the road, in between a decked-out pickup truck and a group of people with dogs. Music is blaring, the dogs are all barking, a big float rides a few yards in front of them, and hundreds stand on the sidewalks recording on their phones and cheering them along.

Dean’s not sure they’re even supposed to be in the actual parade. Maybe they’re supposed to be on the sidewalks? Is this right? What is happening, what is he even doing here?

He doesn’t notice how heavy he’s breathing until Cas is squeezing his hand and beckoning him to meet his eyes. He does, and the blue in them, as imposing as the Atlantic, drowns out everything else around them. “You’re okay, my love,” Cas says. It’s a fact. As long as Dean is with him, he’s okay.

On his other side, Dean feels someone link their arm around his. It’s Charlie, and she’s beaming at them, her cheeks almost as red as her hair. It brings Dean back to reality, grounds him, but he’s okay now. He’s not alone, and he’s meant to be here.

He’s proud to be here.

The parade leads up to a sloping park, and at the lowest point of it, there’s a stage where Dean assumes someone will MC for the afternoon, or maybe perform. It’s grandiose in its simplicity, kind of like a Greek theater, with everyone settling down on the grass around it, expectantly.

“We’ll be right back,” Dean hears Sam say, and he turns to find they’re all set to spend the afternoon, towels laid and backpacks off (save for his). “Jack wants to go meet the drag queens,” Sam says with just a bit too much glee before he and Jack take off.

“It’s not just Jack,” Eileen smiles and follows.

Cas is already sitting, eating one of the PB&Js he packed as lunches for everyone. Jody and Donna are settling down as well and Charlie’s taking a dozen pictures, but the rest of the girls are all standing. “We’re gonna go check out the vendors,” Claire announces, and they start to take off as well.

“Be careful, please!” Dean calls after them, but they pay him no mind. He turns to Charlie. “Hey, your majesty, keep an eye on them will you?”

She smiles, bows gracefully, and heads in the same direction.

Jody stands and grabs Dean by the arm, beckoning him to talk in private for a second.

“What’s up?”

If Dean knows Jody at all, and he does, they’re on the brink of a mom talk.

“Look around, Dean.”

“What for?”

“Just look,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Please?”

So, at her request, Dean starts taking in the environment. Now that everyone is gathered, he can actually see all the people that came out (heh) for the event. There are church groups, pet shelters, skateboarders, and rollerskaters. Drag queens are already taking pictures by the stage, and at least two people are wearing unicorn heads. A few vendors’ tents and food trucks surround the park, and rainbows completely dominate the scenery. There are elders, and kids, and all kinds of families and couples, and everyone looks… happy. Free.

And Dean is here with them. He is one of them.

There’s no danger, no monsters of any kind. No one to judge him, hurt him, call him sick in the head.

He finds Claire’s blonde head amongst the sea of shoppers at the edge of the park. She’s holding hands with Kaia and has one of the biggest smiles Dean has ever seen on her face. There’s no shame in it, and she’s not in any danger either. Things are different now, and she has the freedom to be herself that he never had at her age.

He has it now too. He can be himself.

Dean doesn’t realize he’s about to cry until Jody pulls him down into a hug.

“Dean, I am so proud of you.”

And then he cries.

---

They spend the afternoon laying on the grass, eating, drinking, and enjoying the festivities. The girls come back from the vendors’ tents after a full hour, and most of the bags on their arms are Charlie’s. She gets Cas a mug that says bee yourself in rainbow colors with an image of a cartoon bee, and she gets Dean a button pin that says AC/DC in pink and blue. There’s a meaning behind that apparently, and Dean decides he’ll look it up later.

Jack memorizes all the drag queen’s names. Donna takes a million pictures. They trade numbers with a few people.

There’s a big fireworks show just after sundown. It starts to get windy and a bit chilly, so Dean grabs the nearest pride flag and wraps it around himself. Cas, the perpetual freak who just doesn’t feel temperature apparently, is wearing a t-shirt and shorts and smiling at him unabashedly.

“What?”

“That’s the bisexual flag.”

So it is. “Shut up,” Dean says, but he’s smiling too. “You want in on this?”

He doesn’t wait for Cas to respond before he wraps it around his shoulders as well. The fireworks continue.

“You know,” Cas says after a beat. “As beautiful as they are, pyrotechnics are extremely damaging to the environment.”

Dean can’t help but laugh because of course, Cas would say something like that in a moment like this. He laughs and laughs and regrets being the only one to have heard that; then again, he’s the only one who could’ve found that funny.

He laughs a bit more, wipes a tear, and sees that Cas is still just solemnly watching the show.

“Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” He replies and then turns his head.

Dean wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him so bad. Then he remembers where he is, physically and in his life right now, realizes whom he’s surrounded by at this very second, and decides that he can.

So he does. It’s not unlike the way he kissed Cas when they rescued him from the Empty. Granted, there’s less sweat, blood, adrenaline. But just like that day, they’re both on the ground, and the gesture catches Cas by surprise. Just like that day, Dean pulls Cas in gently by the back of his neck and there’s no hesitance or fear. Just like that day, he just does it, presses their lips firmly together, and relishes in the taste of Castiel, in the feeling of the person he loves most in this world kissing him back.

The one big difference is this: that day marked the beginning of the rest of his life. Today? Today is just Dean’s first Pride.

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