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therabbitthatpostthings · 7 months ago

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I admittedly made Nanami a lot less mean than the original post intended. Idk, I just feel like he's better at hiding his emotions, the only person who truly riles him up is Gojo. I just can’t imagine him foaming at the mouth with jealousy in sorryyy

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ *:･ﾟ✧*

“You never get this dressed up for me.” Gojo dramatically sighed

“And yet, you look extra put together today.” You gestured to his half button silk shirt.

“No need to be jealous, not all of us can look this amazing.” He smirked

You swallowed your come back and turned back to checking your reflection in the passenger window. You took solace that at least Gojo’s ‘extraness’ offset your outfit. Then again, who could outshine Gojo Satoru?

“All this ‘cause your two boyfriends are showing up?” He chuckled

“Nanami finally agrees to come out with us! Can’t I be a little excited!”

“A little.” Gojo scoffed to himself.

Nanami wasn’t having much luck either. Punctual as ever, Nanami stood outside the bar in an off white shirt and slacks, his jacket hung over his arm. Like Gojo, he switched his regular eyewear for tinted glasses. He was already regretting spending his day off like this but couldn’t bring himself to not come. Even after Shoko and Utahime canceled, something pulled him to this outing. Being stuck with you flirting and Gojo non-drunk-drunk ramblings wasn’t exactly an ideal situation but, he couldn’t shake the idea of you being alone and possibly vulnerable with Hasegawa. Something still bothered him about it all. Everything fell too nicely into place. Yaga was very tight lipped about Hasegawa’s sudden inclusion, Nanami was beginning to think that he wasn’t told all the details either. All Yaga would say is that Hasegawa would be working in Tokyo until he had a “suitable” place in Kyoto. He never specified just what kind of work he would need to be so close to both schools but Nanami had a hunch.

He brushed the thoughts away as he heard a familiar voice call out to him. Hasegawa hurried over, “Big city life really isn’t for me.” He wore a black and brown button up over a white shirt. The short sleeves and black pants showed just how skinny he was compared to Nanami and Gojo. With his hair tied back he looked younger. Very different from the disheveled man he was imagining. “Am I late?”

“No, (L/N) and Gojo should be here soon.” Nanami answered plainly

“Fashionably late, that’s (Y/N) for you. They always like this- oh right, you don’t come drinking much do you?” He laughed awkwardly.

“I couldn’t find the time until today so, I wouldn’t know what (L/N) is like.” Nanami replied

“Oh, I guess you two aren’t that close.”

“We’ve drifted apart over the years but I considered them a friend back in highschool. They were my upperclassmen.”

“Ah! No way! That makes me older than you!” He smiled.

His ability to switch attitudes at the drop of a hat was impressive. Nanami was already at a bar he didn’t want to be at and was wasting his day off. The last thing he wanted to do was play mind games with this strange man.

(L/N), just what is your relationship with him?

You and Gojo, mercifully, arrived and stopped the conversation that quickly turned one-sided. You thanked Ijichi and hesitantly stepped out of the car. It was strange seeing you dressed up and outside your normal attire. Not even on the joint missions You and Nanami used to go on were you ever this casually dressed.

“Hope we didn’t keep you two waiting,” Gojo grinned, watching Nanami hold his gaze on you.

“No, I just got here.” Hasegawa replied. He stepped forward towards you, “(Y/N), you never fail to amaze me.”

“At least buy me something before you sweet talk me.” You jokingly rolled your eyes. You turned back to Nanami, “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“It was no problem.” Nanami stated. You two stood there for a moment before Gojo broke the silence and led everyone inside. Not even a single drink down and he already knew this would be an entertaining night.

* ✧ *

It was such a shame that Utahime and Shoko couldn’t make it. Gojo desperately needed someone to witness the minefield he was watching unfold. He could call Mei Mei but it would cost him more than anything she would order. Alas, he had to be entertained all alone. Nanami, suddenly very invested in the stories You and Hasegawa had to tell about the life you lived before coming back to Tokyo. Hasegawa, not at all subtly flirting with you and challenging Nanami. And You, unaware of it all.

Just when he thought this would be another night of complaining about work, he’s treated to a show.

“Excuse me,” You finished your drink and left for the restroom. With you gone, Hasegawa turned to the two men.

“What was (Y/N) like back then, weren’t they your senior?” He smiled nonchalantly.

“(Y/N) hasn’t changed much since then, they’re still the same.” Gojo replied.

“Ah, so still loud and fun.”

Gojo smiled, like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Yeah, they used to go around telling everyone they would marry Nanami one day.”

Nanami took a hard swallow of his drink glaring daggers at Gojo. Gojo returned the favor, peering over the rim of his glasses.

Hasegawa laughed, “That’s funny, (Y/N) barely mentioned you at all. It was so long ago though, you shouldn’t take it to heart.”

His fist clenched around the glass, “Funny. I could say the same for you.”

Before he could respond, Hasegawa got a phone call and excused himself outside.

Gojo whistled once he was out of earshot, “You really know how to welcome a guy to town.”

“Gojo, I wouldn’t advise you to be so casual around someone you just met.”

“Aww are you worried about me.” Gojo teased. “Or worried about, someone else?”

Though Nanami didn’t show it, Gojo knew he struck a nerve.

He continued, “You know, if a stranger is going to be around my students, I’d want to know about it.”

“And what do you know?”

“He was stationed in America a year out from graduating, that’s it.” Gojo said in a serious voice .

“That’s all you know?”

“That’s all I’ve heard.” It bothered Gojo that everyone seemed to know except him. Especially when it came to his student. Of course the higher ups wouldn’t make it so easy. They could risk it. Gojo can’t. For now though, Hasegawa wasn’t a threat to anyone. Well…

“I will worry about Yuuji, I’m his teacher. You should worry about your competition.”

“Competition?” Nanami scoffed.

Gojo smirked. “Isn’t that why you don’t like Hasegawa, Nanamin?”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“If you're worried about (Y/N) changing their mind,don’t be. They are still utterly in love with you!”

“Like that’s what I would care about right now.” He was annoyed but the blush on his face betrayed him.

“You deny it?” Gojo smirked.

“We have more pressing issues to worry about.” Nanami stated.

“Right, so Hasegawa can steal (Y/N) away and it won’t bother you? I guess that’s a way to get rid of him.”

Nanami rolled his eyes, “(L/N) can do whatever they want, it’s not my concern.”

“What’s not your concern?” You asked, appearing behind them. Nanami almost choked on his drink.

“About how you were so worried Nanami wouldn’t like your hair-”

“Gojo!” You whined.

“What? Nanamin already knows you love him! Why hide it?”

“I’m not hiding it. Not everyone needs to know.”

“Really? A couple years ago you would have been screaming it from the rooftop. Have your feelings changed so much?” Gojo jokingly gasped.

“My feelings never changed, I will always want Nanami but at least I’m less pushy about it now.” You huffed sitting down, “Nanami, I want you to think of me as a friend, okay?”

“Right..” that was all he could muster.

* ✧ *

The cool nighttime air hit your face as you and Nanami huddled out the bar first. You placed your phone back in your pocket after hanging up with Ijichi. You and Nanami had a higher tolerance but it still concerned you for him to drive home or ride the train alone. Nanami thanked you, of course.

“I sobered up because I knew Ryo would get hammered.” You assured him.

“You two must have gone out a lot.”

“Yeah, but that was years ago,” (Y/N) smiled. “I’m glad you came tonight Nanami. I hope we can still hang out like this.”

“Yeah. Of course.” For once Nanami didn’t know how to speak to you. The air around you had shifted and it felt like you two were on the same plane of existence, finally. The distance he was worried about before suddenly became shorter. He saw you differently. A part of him thought it was ridiculous, come Monday morning you’d be back to your aggressive flirting. Was that really a bad thing though?

Gojo and Hasegawa came hurdling out the door before he could think any further. “(Y/N)-chan!!!!” Hasegawa cheered. He wrapped his arms tightly around your shoulders, “Take me home with you!”

“You’re too old to be acting like this.” You laughed. “I should get him to bed. See you guys later.”

“Get home safe.” Nanami called out. For a moment he saw Hasegawa look back and smirk at him. He’s drunk…

Gojo cleared his throat, “Lighten up, like you’d lose to someone like him.”

“Gojo, please do not make assumptions about people.”

“Oh that is rich coming from you!”

#no beta we die like men #nanami kento #nanami kento x reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #kento nanami #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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harrygoeswest · 2 years ago

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Love Aged Like Fine Wine

Harry is drunk and lost not too far from home, and there's only one person he wants to call to rescue him.

A/N: Hello everyone 👋🏼 it has been a loooong time since I posted anything on Tumblr, and I was admittedly reluctant to do so. However, I reblogged the lovely Sarah's (@harry-on-broadway) fic challenge the other day and it inspired me, and I would be doing a disservice to write the whole thing and never look at it again, especially since I quite like it. SO, I give you my first one shot in over a year. Bear with me, I'm a bit rusty... Special mention as always to Miss Liz (@all-things-fic) for reading and validating me.

I'm using prompts 14 & 19.

Trigger Warnings: Absolutely nothing (apart from the odd f word)

Word Count: 6533

~~~

“What do you want, Harry?”

An offended scoff was his initial response. “Not a very nice way t’greet y’best friend.”

He was right, it wasn’t. “You’re not my best friend.”

“Ouch. Though’ we were besties ‘n now y’makin’ me feel sad.”

Harry was slurring more than he usually did. I feared if he tried to say obviously, ‘overshly’ would turn into a soft, deep single syllable alike to the word ‘shush’. It wasn’t particularly late to warrant his level of drunkenness. Especially on a Tuesday evening. Chewsday, if you will.

“Harsh truths are easier to take when you’re drunk.” I said, shrugging as if he could see the action.

“Why’re y’bein’ so ‘orrible?” He whined.

“Why are you calling me pissed as a fart at 8:45 on a Tuesday night and ruining my bath time?”

“‘S there some space lef’ in the bathtub?”

“Don’t make it weird.” I grimaced. “What’s going on?”

He produced an incoherent mumble. I heard the rain get heavier, both on the phone call and outside my house.

“What was that?”

“M’st…”

“Aye?” I asked, my face surely a bewildered picture.

“I’m lost.” He huffed, agitated.

I sat up in the bath, water and suds sloshing around me. “Lost?”

“Yes.”

“W-,” words failed me, and I barked out a sharp laugh. “How are you lost?”

“How does anyone else get lost?” He said, stroppy.

“Wow, you really are drunk.”

He hummed, but it was a defeated noise. “C’ya come ‘n get me?”

“How am I supposed to come and get you if you don’t know where you are?”

“Well I was only at The Holly Bush.”

I laughed twice as hard that time. Put in perspective, The Holly Bush is no more than a ten minute walk from Harry’s house. “How long have you been walking?”

“‘Bout ‘alf an hour.” He muttered.

Now I was really howling, like a hyena on laughing gas. “Jesus Christ, Harry!”

“‘S not funny!”

“On the contrary, years of comedy begs to differ.”

He practically cried my name down the phone. “‘M really tired ‘n cold ‘n… weh,” I think he meant wet, “please come get me.”

I took a deep breath and mourned my premature bath. “Fine. But do not move from wherever you are.”

“Won’t.”

I stood up and watched water and soap suds cascade down my body with a pout. “What can you see?”

“Er…” a pause followed, I assumed for his vacant thoughts. “‘S like a lot of trees.”

I rolled my eyes. “That could literally be any part of the Heath, mate. Say more words.”

“I can’t see shit! It’s dark and it’s pissing it down!”

“Don’t get arsey or you can stay there and drown in rain water.” I warned him. “Find a road sign. Or a street name.”

He grunted. After no more than fifteen seconds he produced, “Platt’s Lane.”

“Alright, I know where that is. I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Thank you.” He said. At least I think that’s what he said.

I murmured a little, “Sure,” and then hung up.

I dressed quickly in the easiest clothes I could find - a pair of tie-dye jogging bottoms, an old t-shirt and a crewneck over the top. I pulled on the first pair of trainers I could find and ran out to my car whilst fighting the rain. I also took a towel with me. My hair was still in the bun I’d put it up in for my bath.

It was really battering it down now - it was loud inside the car and the windows were steamed up. It was even louder when I turned the air conditioning on to defog the windows.

Once I could see outside the front and back windows I finally made my way to find Harry. I still mourned my bath as I drove - I missed how warm it was and how comfortable I had been. Now I was out in the cold and wet to rescue my drunken idiot friend.

It didn’t take me very long to find said drunken idiotic friend. He was sitting on a yellow grit box under some trees at the junction of Platt’s Lane and West Heath Road. He was soaking, shoulders slumped and looking at the floor. I pulled up as close to him as possible and leaned over to push the door open.

“Get in, you moron!” I called.

Harry looked up at the sound of my voice. He leapt to his feet almost immediately after, and staggered his way over to my little car. He nearly tripped over twice on his way, and he hit his head as he sat down.

“Fucking hell.” I muttered. “Look at the state of you.”

He grumbled, readjusting his sodden jacket, and then looked right at me. His hair was drenched, water dripping from his neck down his arms and chest, and his forehead down his nose and cheeks.

“Here,” I threw the towel at him. “You’re gonna make my car smell.”

“‘S tha’ the wors’ a’ya problems?” He asked, a snide tone laced in his mushy words.

“I wish it was.”

I pulled off again as Harry began to attempt to dry himself off, although I feared a towel would do very little to help him. Fortunately we were only a mere five minute drive from his house anyway. He probably could have walked home faster if he were sober.

It was a relatively quiet drive since Harry spent most of it rubbing my towel over every available inch of his body. He did however sing along to the one song he heard playing, but he didn’t quite have the same masterful tone as usual. He even seemed quite timid.

I parked as close as possible to his front door and shut the engine off.

“Where are your keys, H?”

He gave me a dopey blink and then looked down at himself, double chin appearing accompanied with a pouty lower lip. “Dunno. On me somewhere.”

I sighed and unclipped my seatbelt, then reached over to him to feel through each of his pockets for his house keys. Of course I found them in the hardest one to reach on the inside of his jacket. He giggled while I did, like a child being tickled. I smacked him on the arm before I got out of the car.

I ran up to the front door and unlocked it, opening it so that my paralytic companion could be jettisoned inside his home as quickly as possible without getting more wet.

“Come on, then,” I said as I opened the passenger door, my shoulders hunched because the rain felt weird on my neck.

Harry practically fell out of the car at my instruction, so I lifted him up and placed his arm around my shoulder so I could manage his weight better. I kicked the car door shut behind us and walked him to the door. I realised on our little walk how unfit I was.

“‘M sorry.” He mumbled.

“It’s fine.” I said, my voice tight. It was only strained because he was heavy and I was weak.

“Didn’t even think I drank tha’ much, was only few whiskeys.”

Only a few could range anything between 3 and 30. I didn’t chide him for that. “It’s alright, Harry. I’m sure you’d do the same for me.” I meant that genuinely and not as a threat I’d be getting that level of drunk in the future just to call him to rescue me.

“Would.” He insisted.

I awkwardly held onto him as we got inside, twisting at an awkward angle to close the door and keep any more rain from getting in. Harry felt like dead weight against me.

“Ready to get upstairs?”

His affirming nod was the surest action I’d seen from him this far.

“Alright,” I took a deep breath, “let’s go.”

I made sure we navigated the stairs one at a time, because I had visions of him tripping up and cracking his head open if he tried to do anything by himself. And now, in the warmth of his massive home and up this close to him, the boy reeked of stale beer and sweat. I didn’t want to ask what he’d been doing in The Holly Bush for him to get that bad. I hadn’t seen him that wasted in a very long time.

“Meant it, y’know.” He slurred.

We were only halfway up the stairs and all I could hear was my own panting. Admittedly I was surprised he hadn’t passed out yet.

“Meant what?” I heaved, and pushed him up the next step.

“I w’ do the same f’you.”

“I know you would.”

“Don’t even have t’ be drunk.”

“Right.”

We stopped for a minute, not at anyone’s request but Harry didn’t seem to want to move. I looked at him as he did me, and he produced this hazy-eyed, closed-lip smile.

His woolly but content expression made me laugh. “I think it’s bed time for you, mate.”

He groaned. “Don’t call me ‘mate’.”

I frowned. “Alright. Sorry.”

When we finally reached the top of the stairs, Harry collapsed on me by way of a hug. We were standing in the middle of the hallway, his entire body somehow wrapped around mine. I was suffocating in the smell of a brewery.

“Don’t leave me.” He begged.

“I’m not… Need to get you to bed somehow.”

He pulled his head back to look at me, eyes heavy. “You can take me to bed.”

“That’s what I just said.”

He nodded repeatedly like a bobble-head figure.

I made a face, perturbed, and nudged him in the direction of his bedroom. He nearly fell over as he turned around, and ended up palming the wall the rest of the way. I kept a hand on his back just in case.

As soon as he saw his bed he was climbing onto it, still fully clothed and in his muddy trainers.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered, reaching after him like he was a toddler, “Harry, take your shoes off.”

He laughed maniacally into his bed sheets, the muffled sound disturbing.

I huffed with a scowl and did it myself. His vans were dripping wet so I took them to the radiator and left them on top to dry. I made sure the radiator was turned on, too. The last thing Harry Styles needed was the flu again.

He was sitting up now, watching me with a warm expression. I ignored it.

“Need to take your clothes off or you’ll get a cold.”

“Yes, Miss.” He was beaming now.

The attempt at taking his t-shirt off was painful, and I ended up having to help him.

“Jeans too.”

I knew that would be more agonising to watch than the t-shirt, and I didn’t want to have to look at his bare chest for too long, so I went for a walk to the closest bathroom to get another towel. His jeans were still around his knees when I got back.

“Jesus Christ.” I said through gritted teeth, and freed his jeans from around his ankles. They were a heavy kind of damp and thudded when I put them on the floor.

“‘S cold.” He commented, staring up at me.

“I’ve just put the radiator on.” I told him, and handed him the towel. “I’ll find you some clean pants.”

I left him to dry his no doubt tacky chest and legs while I searched through his drawers for some clean underwear. I threw them at him once I’d located them.

“Where’s your laundry basket?”

“Wardrobe.” He said, voice getting gruff.

I collected his dirty clothes from off the floor again and wandered into the walk-in wardrobe attached to his bedroom. I stared at it for a while, not just because it was ginormous but also because I couldn’t believe the amount of crap in it. It was bulging with clothes - some I hadn’t seen him wear for years and others I hadn’t seen him wear at all. Ever.

I dropped the clothes in my hand onto the overflowing basket in one of the cupboards, hating to do so because it was just adding to more chores. And then I realised that this was not my house and I would not be responsible for washing any of his clothes.

“Harry, do you want something to wear in bed if you’re cold?”

He never answered.

I peered into the bedroom to see he’d already tucked himself into bed.

“I guess not.” I muttered.

I stood next to his bed and watched him for a minute. His eyes were closed and he was breathing regularly but I couldn’t work out if he was actually asleep or just pretending to be. His eyelids looked shiny and delicate and his cheeks were dusted pink - a combination of his inebriation and being outside in the cold for so long. I could hear the radiator chugging and it was definitely warmer than it had been when we arrived.

Without thinking, still staring at him while possibly passed out like a lunatic creep, I wrapped my index finger around one of his curls and moved it out of his face.

He giggled suddenly, catching my wrist. “That tickled.”

I smacked his hand away. “I thought you were asleep, you absolute git!”

“Not yet.”

I rolled my eyes and scowled at him. “I’m goin’ home. Seeing you in bed is making me want mine.”

“Can always share mine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scoffed, and made a move to leave. “I’ll check on you tomorrow.”

“Aye, wait!” He shouted at me.

“What?”

“I don’t want you t’ leave yet.”

“Well, I’m exhausted, and you’re about to pass out on me anyway.”

He said something that was complete and utter incoherent nonsense.

“I don’t know what you just said but I’m not changing my mind.”

He whined my name again and reached for my hand. “Please stay bit longer? Like havin’ y’here, havin’ y’around.”

“Well, that’s nice of you to say, but I still want my own bed.”

“Please?”

“No.” I stood my ground, but I took a step closer and pinched his cheek. “But I’ll come back tomorrow after work if that makes you feel better.”

“Feel better if y’stayed wi’ me now.”

“Well that’s not going to happen. Just call me if you need anything.”

“Need y’now. Need y’all the time.”

“Stop being daft.”

“‘M not bein’ daft - I mean it.”

“You are being daft. Just go to sleep - I’ll come back tomorrow. I promise.”

He stressed my name and sat up. “Y’not listenin’ to me. ‘M bein’ proper serious - I want ya t’ stay wi’ me. I need y’here.”

“No, what you need is sleep.”

He scowled at me.

“I’m going to go and get you a pint of water and a paracetamol and then I’m going home. And that’s the last we’re gonna say on this, end of.”

I left the room and found my way to the kitchen, though admittedly I did get lost on my way there since I’d only been here once before and it was a considerable amount of time ago. I did as promised and got him a pint of water and found some paracetamol in a drawer full of miscellaneous items close to the sink.

I couldn’t fathom why Harry was so needy, insobriety aside. We were friends, yes, and had been for some time, but we weren’t that close. Or perhaps we were and I just refused to admit it due to his increasing popularity and the fact that being perceived near him in the public eye terrified me. I was perfectly happy with my mundane job and my mundane life. I appreciated Harry for what he was - a friend -, and didn’t expect anything more or less from that level of our relationship. Nor had I ever, and it surprised me that he suddenly did.

Perhaps I was overthinking it all. That was likely.

I returned to Harry’s room to find him out of bed in just his pants.

“What are you doing?” I asked, putting the water and the tablets on his bedside table, trying to avoid looking at his chest.

“Need the loo.” He said without hesitation, and marched past me.

I sighed, watching after him until he was safely in the bathroom with the door closed, and then I perched on the edge of his bed with my head in my hands.

I was irritated, yes. I knew I shouldn’t be as irritated as I was, but I couldn’t help it. This was not the evening I had planned for myself. I was supposed to have an early night and go to work in the morning with a clear head and no bags under my eyes. Now I was going to look like the walking dead, and feel like it too.

I stood up again when Harry reappeared. I watched him stagger and sway across the corridor and it made me nervous. He tripped once and nearly smacked his face against the doorframe.

“Fucking hell, Harry.” I said, panicked, and reached forward to steady him.

He laughed, more a giggle of that from a small girl. “I’m so drunk.”

“I know you are. That’s why you need to get into bed.”

“I will, jus’ one more thing before I do,”

I thought he was going to start running riot around the house and I was going to have to chase after him, like a dog owner with a tyrannical pooch. But instead, he just wrapped his arms around my middle and shoved his face into the crook of my neck. His body was warm and it felt strange being this close to him when he had so little clothes on.

I let out a long breath, reciprocating it this time. “You’re a twat.”

He hummed when I stroked my hand over his damp hair. “Not very nice.”

“And yet still true.”

He grunted, but never moved a muscle. A moment of silence passed before he said anything else. “Thank you f’ comin’ to rescue me.”

“Sure, anytime.” I didn’t mean that. Or maybe I did, but I’d be bitter about it if it became a recurrence because I couldn’t stand to disappoint people who meant a lot to me.

He let me go, and I thought that was finally going to be the end of it. Instead, he took my face, quite harshly, between both of his hands until my cheeks squished. His gaze was dopey and warm again, but somehow different to last time. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

“Harry, that hurts.”

He ignored me. “I love you.” It sounded more like ‘ah luff you’ but that wasn’t relevant in the moment.

“Yeah, I love you too, now let go.” I was trying to pull his hands away but apparently he was still physically stronger than me even that drunk.

“No,” he shook his head at me and then brought what felt like my entire body against his chest. “I mean I really love you.”

I couldn’t see anything. I felt us begin to fall sideways, but with his strength I had absolutely no control over where we were going.

“Harry!” I screamed, still trying to fight him with no luck.

I think we hit the bed because the landing was softer than anticipated and Harry didn’t wince or flinch. That could also be attributed to the levels of alcohol in his body. He was probably majoritively quite numb.

“Y’like, my favourite person.” He said, voice much quieter now, and I could feel his nose in my hair. My face was pushed into his chest. “Want y’around all time. Rubbish a’ showin’ it but I miss y’when ‘m nor’ at home. ‘N I don’t mean everyone, I mean jus’ you.”

I was listening to him with baited breath. I’d never really been on the receiving end of ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’ - I was usually the one talking and making a fool of myself. Once I told my sister’s boyfriend (at the time) what I really thought of him in front of our entire family after keeping my mouth shut for so long. They broke up the next day and she came to live with me for a month. I felt almost paralysed now listening to Harry.

“Mus’ think ‘m nuts ‘cause I’ve never said anythin’ before, bur’m scared. You’re a scary woman.”

I tried not to take offence to that, even though it was likely true. I had tried for the longest time to give off a very ambiguous aura. I didn’t want anyone to know me, least not the real me. I liked the illusion of being dead inside even if I was far from it.

“Loved y’ for so long now I can’ ‘ide it anymore.” He was really slurring now and words were about to fail him. Somehow, he was still holding onto me. “‘M like tha’ 1975 song.” I wanted to ask which one, but I didn’t have to. He proceeded to sing the words, “I’m in love with you.”

Just once he sang them, maybe slightly off pitch but it still sounded good. Not sure it would hold up to any of his previous performances, but I’d take it.

I didn’t know what to say. I was in a state of shock to be honest and the thought of moving terrified me. But then his grip around me loosened, and he let out a singular loud snore.

I pulled back, horrified, to see his sleeping face - mouth wide open. Another snore was released. “You are fucking joking.”

I sat up, his limp body falling away from me. I smacked his arm in the hopes of waking him, but he never flinched. “Harry,” I said, hitting him again.

Still no movement.

“Oi.” Smack.

Nothing.

I didn’t know what to do. Who does that? Who makes an admission like that and then falls asleep? And why did it have to be this boy? I was speechless, and when I finally managed to clamber off the bed I was also useless.

I stared at him with a look of bewilderment, as he lay there passed out on his unmade bed, mouth agape and naked besides his white y-fronts. It was then that the reality of what he’d said hit me, and I started to cry.

I wasn’t angry or upset - I was overwhelmed. Drunkenly, Harry had just told me he loved me. Then immediately passed out. Now I was left with my own feelings and his and no one to talk to about it. What was I supposed to do?

I desperately wanted to leave and get some sleep, but I also couldn’t help but think that would be morally inappropriate. Leaving a friend alone while dangerously intoxicated was how 50% of all murder documentaries started. Not that Harry was likely to get killed by an intruder in his mansion complete with security fortress. But he might accidentally fall down the stairs or choke on his own vomit.

And yet, the idea of staying in this massive and unfamiliar house to process all those thoughts made me even more hysterical. The idea alone provoked a loud sob, and I quickly covered my mouth because it was such a horrendous sound.

I made my decision that instant. I put Harry properly into bed with all of my remaining strength, covered him with his duvet, and then I fled from his house like a bat out of hell. On my way out, I took his spare keys with me.

I barely slept that night. My head was swimming and even though I couldn’t keep my eyes open, my brain was in overdrive. That, and the cat was sleeping on my chest and purring right in my face. His whiskers tickled my nose.

I found myself thinking about the early stages of mine and Harry’s association.

I couldn’t have called him a friend when we first met because I hated him. I don’t think that feeling was ever reciprocated on his part but I couldn’t ever stand to be in the same room as him. Why? Because I felt the need to constantly contradict societal comments and beliefs. The world - at least people in my world - deemed him a golden boy who never did any wrong. I was convinced it wasn’t the case. My downfall was my lack of determination to prove it.

We met through mutual friends, as these things always seemed to happen. I couldn’t even remember which friend it was - neither me nor Harry talked to them anymore. But one day he was just there, and periodically from then onward he continued to show up. I couldn’t even remember when it was, but it was before he cut all his hair off. One Direction’s last few remaining days, perhaps? Anyway, he was suddenly omnipresent and came with an abundance of attention and it infuriated me.

I remember once, Harry confronted me on my obvious dislike for him. That was our first encounter collectively with ‘drunk words, sober thoughts’. I can’t remember exactly what I said but I wasn’t very nice and I remember the Bambi look in his eyes when I walked away from him. After that he was notably absent for some time. If I asked him about it now I’m not sure how honest he’d be about it. He was lucky enough to be able to claim work absences for long periods of time - I imagined he’d use that excuse. How truthful that would be, I didn’t know.

Our reconciliation came after that. He saw me alone in the nearby shop and asked me to join him for a coffee. I couldn’t really say no - it was a Sunday afternoon and I was only going back home to vegetate for the rest of the day. I think it was spring - I probably would’ve just read a book and gone to bed early. We spent the next 3 hours in Ginger & White, and after we got kicked out of there we went up to The Holly Bush, ironically.

I saw a different side to Harry that night, and I always put it down to having him to myself. There was no one else there with us apart from the locals in the pub who wouldn’t bat an eyelid. It was just us, and he was unapologetically himself, as was I. We suddenly had an entirely new perception of one another - a higher level of understanding. On that random Sunday evening alone, I came to appreciate Harry for just being Harry. I saw who he really was, and I liked him.

From then on, I enjoyed his company. It became a regular thing - an afternoon doing something random together, just the two of us. And it ranged from simple coffee shop talks to entire day trips out of London. I realised then that what we’d basically been doing was dating for about 5 years with no physical contact.

I laughed out loud, disturbing the cat. He ran off and left me alone.

We’d had our own intimate relationships with other people outside of our friendship, which I guess is why I’d never thought about it that way before. He also seemed to do that with multiple other people - I wasn’t the only one. Was I?

I never had to apologise for the night I was rude to him. I always wondered why, and I always berated myself for not saying I was sorry. I’d admitted I was wrong about him a long time ago, but only to myself. It seemed a bit too late to do it now, but I assumed he’d forgiven me. I could’ve been wrong.

I think I finally fell asleep around 4am. My alarm for work went off just 3 hours later and I burst into tears as soon as I realised the situation I was in. I called into work sick and went straight back to sleep.

How much more sleep I had was uncertain. It felt like only 2 hours, but it could’ve been more. Since I wasn’t working, I decided to get a McDonald’s after showering. Mostly for Harry rather than me, although I’m sure he’d make a comment about it.

I used the key I’d stolen last night to let myself in and went straight up to his bedroom with the McDonald’s in my right hand. Except I didn’t make it to his bedroom, because I found him on the bathroom floor next to the toilet, on his front with his cheek pressed to the tile floor.

“Harry…?”

He moaned, limply raising his hand and dropping it again immediately.

I moved into the room, leaving the McDonald’s in the hall because the smell would not go well with the pre-existing one in the room. It seemed Harry had vomited since I left. I sat on my knees beside him and stroked a finger through his curls, similar to how I had done last night.

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.” He said, voice whiny.

“No, I’m not surprised. I brought you some breakfast.”

He managed to lift his head and look towards me. I pointed at the hallway and he followed where my finger suggested.

“What is it?”

“McDonald’s.”

He screwed his face up. “You know I don’t eat meat.”

“Yes, that’s why I got you a Fillet-O-Fish. And mozzarella sticks.”

“Not very healthy.”

“Well, boiled eggs and avocado doesn’t make for very exciting hangover food if you ask me.”

He blew a breath out so that his lips wobbled. “True.”

“You gonna sit up and eat it?”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

“Come on, then,”

I took his arm and helped pull him to a sitting position. He sat against the bathtub and rolled his head back, mouth open and breathing heavy. I left his food in his lap and sat opposite him with my back against the wall.

“This is probably one of the worst hangovers I’ve had in a long time.” He said, grimacing into the paper bag. At least he could form complete words this morning.

“How much do you remember?”

He laughed once. “Not much. I remember calling you, and waiting for you to come get me. I remember when you turned up, but that’s about it. I don’t remember getting home.”

I swallowed thickly. That meant he probably didn’t remember telling me he was in love with me. Or rather, singing it.

“Next thing I’ve woke up in my pants about to vomit.”

“I think you were the most drunk I’ve ever seen you.”

He paused before he took a bite out of his fillet burger. “Really?”

“Hands down. You fell over nearly three times. And you wouldn’t let me go home.”

“Oh, I’m not surprised by that. I’m a very clingy drunk.”

“I was aware of that before last night.” I muttered. “Who were you with?”

“Tom and Tyler.”

“Ah, one of those evenings, was it?

“Yeah, didn’t expect it to be quite that bad, though. Was only going for one.”

“That’s how they all start.”

“Mm, I should know better.”

“Yes you should.”

He laughed around his mouthful and then swallowed it. “This was a good call, thank you.”

“No problem. Although I have to say I did not expect to watch you eat it on the bathroom floor.”

“I know. Feel like a uni student.”

“I don’t think uni students have bathrooms this big.”

He smiled, but didn’t say anything while his mouth was full. “Think I’m gonna have a shower, if you don’t mind?”

I shrugged. “Your house.”

“Right.” He rolled his eyes in jest. “Will you hang around a bit while I do?”

“Sure. I’ll put some coffee on.”

“Cool.” He grinned.

He shoved the empty box into the paper bag and screwed it up. I took the rubbish off him once we were standing again and left him alone to shower.

I did as I said I would and made him a coffee, and then helped myself to a glass of water and an apple out of the fruit bowl on his counter. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen now. He seemed to be behaving normally, so I was certain he’d forgotten his admission, but that worried me because I was now going to have to admit that I knew. And I still wasn’t entirely sure how I felt.

When Harry did reappear he was fully clothed and looked a lot fresher than he had done before. His hair was damp but beginning to curl and his complexion had a bit more life to it.

“Feel better?”

“Loads better, thank you.”

“That’s good.” I said with a pressed smile. I pushed his coffee towards him.

“Cheers. Where’s yours?” He asked with a subtle frown as he took a sip out of his mug. He made an approving sound. “That’s good.”

“You know, I don’t actually like coffee.”

His frown deepened. “You have coffee all the time.”

“No, I have a mocha.”

“That’s still got coffee in it.”

“Yes, but the hot chocolate kind of makes it a fake coffee. A coffee for people who don’t like coffee.”

“Right.” He chuckled. “I had a thought upstairs just now… why aren’t you at work?”

“Because I barely slept.”

He looked concerned. “You better not have stayed really late because of me. Should’ve kicked me in the crotch and told me to get over myself.”

“Oh believe me, I tried to leave you here to go to bed, H. But I actually got back at an acceptable hour, that wasn’t the problem.”

“Just a bad night?”

I hummed. “No, I still blame you.”

“Why?” He asked, leaning his hip against the counter side.

I looked at the kitchen top and pursed my lips. “You… you told me something that gave me a lot to think about.”

“I didn’t give you some rubbish music samples, did I?”

I snorted. “I wish. Might’ve helped me sleep.”

“What then? I can’t remember anything.”

After a charged silence, I let out a long sigh. “You told me you love me. You said you love me, and then gave this little speech about missing me. And not just as friends - you said like The 1975’s song, I’m in love with you. But you sang that part, and then immediately fell asleep.”

When I met Harry’s gaze again he was staring at me, and biting his cheek. Neither of us said anything for a while. I was hoping he’d say something. Or perhaps me repeating what he said last night meant he felt like he didn’t need to say anymore.

I cocked my head. “Did you mean it?”

He stood taller, inhaling as his gaze became glassy. “Yeah. Yeah of course I did. Well, I didn’t mean to fall asleep, obviously. But I meant it, although I didn’t mean to tell you in that way… you know, while utterly shit faced.”

“You were completely shit faced.”

“Yeah… no, that’s not how I planned on telling you.”

“Was there a different plan?”

“Maybe…” He turned his nose up and scratched the back of his head. “If I told you what it was you’d hate it-,”

“You don’t know that.” I retorted.

He raised a judgemental brow at me. “Er, yes I do.”

I laughed and put my head on the table. “Whatever.”

“Anyway,” he huffed, but it had a lightheartedness to it, “of course I fucking meant it. Been living with it for ages - it’s all had time to brew. Aged like a fine wine.”

I started laughing, and then I felt his arms wrap around my chest. I was pulled up by him to stand straighter, and he rested his chin on my shoulder. His back was against my front and it felt quite nice. I don’t think we’d ever stood like that before.

“Your love has aged like a fine wine?”

“Sounds right cheap when you say it like that.”

“You said it. That is literally what you said.” I was still laughing.

“I know.” He whimpered.

I twisted my head to look at him, but he’d hidden his face. “You’re gonna have to bear with me.”

“In what way?”

“Well, this is a lot for me. I’m still… processing it, and I don’t know how I feel. You’re my friend and I love you, of course I do. Just…”

“Not in love with me yet.” He concluded.

“Yet.” I sniggered.

“I’ll remain optimistic, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

He giggled, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. “Take your time. Preferably not forever though, ‘cause… the biological clock is ticking.”

I snorted again. “Reel it in.”

“Sorry.” He hummed and squeezed my shoulders tightly. “I am going to have a movie day on the sofa. Do you want to stay?”

“For that I do, fuck yeah.”

“Sweet… go and make yourself comfy. I’ll get the snacks.”

He bumped my hip with his when I passed him so I kicked him back. He gave a childish laugh, and I shook my head at him, but I found as I wandered into his overcompensating living room that I had this giddy feeling in my stomach I’d never felt with him before.

What was I, the most stubborn woman on Earth, going to do?

“What d’you want, H?”

“Not a very charming greeting.” He groused.

I pouted. “You’re interrupting my bath time.”

“Is there some space left in the bathtub?”

I smirked and sank lower into the water. “For you? Never.”

“Hey!”

“Always,” I laughed around my correction, “I meant always.”

“That’s more like it.” He chuckled. “I was calling because I think it might be my turn to get dinner. So what do you fancy?”

“Well, you, obviously.”

“Obviously.” His matter-of-fact tone matched mine. I could imagine him nodding his head. “How about a chippy?”

“Oh, fuck yeah. My usual please.”

“Curry sauce too?”

“Wouldn’t be my usual without it.”

“Just checking. So, I will be knocking on your door within the next hour. Make the most of that bath ‘cause I’m coming.”

“Cool. See you in a bit.”

“Bye-bye.”

“Love you!” I shouted before he could put the phone down.

He was quiet for a minute. “Blimey. Don’t need to shout it, darlin’.”

I threw my head back and laughed. “Just in case you forgot.”

“I could never. But I love you more. See you shortly.”

“Okay, bye-bye. Love you most.”

“No!” He shouted, but I cut him off before he could refute it more.

I felt smug. I let out a satisfied sigh and laid my head back against the edge of the tub.

I had taken my time in coming around to Harry’s admission, but he was incredibly patient with me and I was always grateful for that. It had been little over a year since his little bender, and I felt really good about everything. We felt really good about everything.

Our relationship seemed to only be moving up at a pace we were both happy with, and I couldn’t ask for anything more. All we had to do was keep it that way, and I had every confidence we could.

~~~

If you read this far, thank you <3

Come Talk To Me

#harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harryonbroadwayficchallenge #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles ff #harry styles angst #harry styles fluff #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles angst imagine #harry styles angst imagines #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff imagines #i forgot how much i fucking hate writing tags on the bottom of posts #this is endless

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vivalas-vega · 1 year ago

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Oooh my, your requests are freaking open???? I've got an idea in my head for a long time and now I give it a try and send it to you. I'm obsessed with Jake (and Bradley) x Roomie (fem reader or oc) trope, so apologies in advance for this one (also a sucker for hurt and comfort 😬). I try to keep it as short as possible: Rooster's and Hangman's new roomie has a sad past. She has sleeping issues and bad nightmares. They hear her whimpering and crying in her sleep. The guys are worried but she plays it down, feeling bad for waking them up with her shit. Maybe she starts to sleep walking and unfortunately hurts herself during this episode. The guys find her in the middle if the night hurt. And she opens up to them telling them about her dreams and her past.

ahhhh !!! I'm so glad to finally get this one posted, I'm so sorry it took so long ! I am such a sucker for the roommate trope, and I love writing stories that are strictly platonic, just focusing on lovely friendship vibes bc those are just as important as the romantic ones !!! I hope you enjoy!

(this doesn't have a title yet bc it's admittedly the thing I'm the worst at when it comes to writing fics)

word count: 2.4k

warnings: mentions of alcohol, some suggestive humor, language, brief and vague mentions of death, lmk if I missed any

“Are you going to eat these leftovers?” you asked Bradley, who was sitting at the kitchen island keeping you company as you cleaned out the fridge and he stared at the tupperware container for an infuriatingly long time, contemplating his options before you let out an exasperated sigh. “Bradshaw, it’s pasta. Yes or no?”

“No,” he finally answered. “You’re in a mood.”

“No mood, it would just be nice if you could be snappier in your responses while you just watch me clean the kitchen.”

“Yeah, definitely not in a mood,” he muttered under his breath but you heard it anyway. “Do you know where Hangman is?”

“You two share a bathroom and you still can’t call him by his name?” you asked with a chuckle. “He’s at the gym, should be back soon.”

“We only share a bathroom because you got the master,” he protested and you laughed again.

“I needed the bigger closet,” you shrugged. “I told you you’re welcome to use mine anytime.”

“After you reamed me for using your face wash? Thank you, but no thank you, I haven’t been yelled at like that since I borrowed my moms car to take Cindy Daniels on a date.”

“I only yelled because you used a forty dollar cleanser as body wash and somehow managed to use half the bottle. Besides, your mom was right to yell at you too, you stole her car and you were thirteen.”

“I was covered in grease! And my date with Cindy is none of your business.”

“Are we having the face wash fight again?” Jake asked as he came in through the garage, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he reached around you to grab a bottle of water, but you only pushed him away, muttering something about keeping his sweat away from you. “Take the blame, Chicken, you wasted half a bottle of Drunk Elephant, you’re lucky she didn’t put you on the porch for the night.”

“See, the craziest thing about this whole situation is you were just as outraged as she was.”

“Good skincare is not just for women, you might want to invest in a routine of your own.” he smirked before disappearing down the hallway and you heard the sound of the shower turning on.

“You working tomorrow?” Bradley asked, getting up to wash the containers you’d placed near the sink.

You shook your head, “a Friday and Saturday off, Penny was feeling extra generous.” You’d met the two of them, along with the rest of the team, when they’d first gotten to town for the infamous and secretive mission that almost claimed the life of the man currently donning cherry-printed cleaning gloves and scrubbing pasta sauce out of tupperware. You’d all become fast friends, they’d coax you out from behind the bar on your breaks or when your shift was over for darts or pool, and when your lease was up just as they received word of a permanent assignment it seemed to make sense for the three of you to find a place together. It was a godsend for you, it got you out of your cramped apartment with dismal lighting and into a beautiful craftsman only a few blocks away from the beach. Even with arguments with Bradley about face wash and a sweaty Jake, it was a no-brainer.

“Could we convince you into coming to your place of work on a night off? These new recruits are testing our patience, Phoenix wants a fun night out to blow off steam.”

“I could potentially be persuaded,” you replied, shutting the fridge after deeming it was as cleared out as it was going to get.

“Which translates to as long as I’m not mixing them, I’ll always show up for drinks,” Jake said, walking back into the kitchen with freshly washed hair. “Do I get any kind of welcome home now that I’m not sweaty?”

“No, because now you’re wet, did you even dry off?” you asked, snapping him with a dish towel before he rounded the island and wrapped his arms around you.

“Enough,” he answered, squeezing you tight as you pretended to hate it. Really, you loved living with these two. Being on your own before was starting to take its toll on you, and they reminded you of a different time in your life, one that felt like it was ancient history. “Not to dampen the mood, but… we did want to talk to you about something.”

“Sounds serious, should I break out the house meeting wine?” you asked, eyeing them skeptically as they shared a look with each other that you couldn’t quite decipher.

“We just wanted to… check in,” Bradley started and you raised your eyebrows. “The past few weeks we’ve heard certain sounds coming from your room and-”

“Okay, first of all,-” you started to cut him off, eyes wide at what you thought he was insinuating.

“Not like that, sweetheart,” Jake interjected. “But feel free to get louder when you do,” he half-joked and you hit him with the towel again. “What bird boy is trying to say is sometimes we hear what sounds like nightmares coming from your room and it’s happened enough that we just want to check in and see if everything is okay.” You suddenly felt nauseous.

“If there’s something going on, or you need someone to talk to, you know we’re here, right?” Bradley asked and you nodded softly.

“I know, everything is fine, I’m sorry if I woke you.” you said, trying to dismiss their concerns altogether as you occupied yourself with looking over the mail.

“It’s just… it doesn’t sound fine, if you don’t want to talk to us we can help you find someone else to talk to, we just want to make sure you’re okay.” Jake tried and you gave him a forced smile.

“And I am, but I’m glad the two of you finally found something to agree on.” You tossed some junk mail in the garbage before turning to face them again, “I have some errands I want to run early tomorrow morning… text me if you need anything from the store but I’m going to turn in. Goodnight,” you said with another forced smile before heading down the hall and letting out a sigh as your back pressed against your closed bedroom door. You thought that things had gotten better… that enough time had passed. They seemed to be happening less and less, but maybe that wasn’t as true as you once thought.

Your footsteps down the hallway were an unusual sound for this time of night… nightmares or not, once you went to bed you weren’t seen until the following morning and it was enough to stir Jake from his slumber. You on the other hand, were completely unaware of what was going on, still stuck in a dream, stuck in a fluorescent lit hallway with tears streaming down your face only you weren’t… you were in your living room, walking straight into the console table and falling onto the broken glass of the picture frames and vases you’d knocked over which was enough to jolt both of them out of bed.

“Hey, hey, are you okay?” Bradley asked, crouching down beside you as you came to.

“Mav- Maverick?” you asked, voice hoarse as you struggled to place where you were, the images from your dream still fresh in your mind. He looked at Jake confused who was on the other side of you and carefully pushing glass aside.

“No, it’s Bradley… Honey, what happened?” You blinked a few times, finally recognizing you were on the floor of your living room and the searing pain of broken glass in your palms and knees.

“I don’t- oh my god. I’m so sorry,” you winced as you tried to stand but Jake was quick to scoop you up, holding you tight as he walked to the kitchen and carefully placed you next to the sink while Bradley grabbed the first aid kit. “I- I didn’t mean to wake you, I’m okay, you can go back to bed.” He just frowned at you and when Bradley returned he started pulling the shards from your palms while Jake worked on your knees. Silent tears were still streaming down your face and they were both trying to figure out how to ask you what was wrong, but one thing they knew for certain was no one was going back to bed until they got to the bottom of what was going on with you.

“Sweetheart, do you want to tell us what’s going on?” Jake asked softly, looking up briefly to meet your eyes before gently running his thumb along your cuts, making sure there weren’t any pieces he missed.

You shook your head as you wiped your cheeks, “nothing, I just… I don’t know, I guess I was half-asleep? I’m really sorry I woke you,” you said and they both looked at you like they didn’t believe a word of it.

“Alright, I was willing to maybe let it go before but you could have been seriously hurt tonight. Something is going on with you,” Jake said, voice firm as he stopped what he was doing to wipe a few of your tears.

“Whatever it is, you can tell us. Why did you say Maverick’s name when you woke up?” Bradley asked and you closed your eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath before letting it all out.

“I uh… there’s something I never told you about me.” you started, taking a moment to breathe as you felt your throat tighten. They stayed quiet, both carefully dabbing at your cuts with a damp cloth or rubbing aquaphor over them before bandaging them. “I wasn’t a teacher before realizing I liked bartending more, I was a pilot.”

“Wait, what?” Bradley asked, shock evident in his tone and Jake elbowed him, eyes silently pleading for you to continue.

“My callsign is- or was Flash… like the superhero,” you chuckled but there wasn’t much humor in it and both of their eyes widened. “I was on a mission that went south really fast, we were outnumbered and outgunned, we ran out of resources quickly. I was hit, and I couldn’t… I couldn’t save it, I couldn’t save him.” you choked out.

“Who?” Bradley whispered, you were all cleaned up now and they were both focused solely on you. Jake was rubbing reassuring circles on your thigh as Bradley held one of your hands in his own.

“My wizzo, we called him Genie… we both got to our squad at the same time, and on our first night out his icebreaker was if you had three wishes, what would you wish for?” You laughed again, but this time it was genuine.

“I’ve heard of him,” Jake said, noticing your breathing quicken just at the mention of him. “Both of you, actually, from what I’ve heard you were a hell of a pilot.”

“He couldn’t eject, something went wrong with the handles… I’d already pulled mine when I heard him say they were stuck and the next thing I know the jet is crashing into a hillside below me. I thought the dreams were getting better, and that I was maybe starting to move past it… I don’t think I really registered that it was happening again, or maybe that it never stopped.”

“Honey, why didn’t you tell us this sooner?” Bradley asked, pushing a strand of hair behind your ear and you focused your gaze on your hands.

“I just… I didn’t want you to know that I failed my wizzo,” you choked out. “Or that the last time I was in a cockpit I nearly crashed again and Mav had to talk me through landing a plane I’ve landed thousands of times before because I panicked. I didn’t want you guys to censor yourselves when it came to work stuff out of pity for me being a failed pilot, and I guess… I just didn’t want you guys to look at me differently.”

“Hey, what happened wasn’t your fault,” Jake said, squeezing your thigh gently and prompting you to look up at him. “And we would never look at you differently for that, we understand.”

“I’m so sorry you went through that… and just know that we don’t think of you as a failure. We’ve both heard about that mission, there was nothing you could have done. Faulty equipment and being outgunned is not your burden to bear.” Bradley added, running a hand along your back.

“What is it that you say sometimes? It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot?” you asked, sadness seeping into your tone and he just pulled you into his side and pressed a kiss to your head.

“There’s not much the pilot can do if the plane fails them.”

“You went through a trauma, we would never fault you for not flying again after that.” Jake said and you smiled softly.

“Mav could… god, he tried so hard, he was really there for me after it happened, but… when I finally got back into a plane I just couldn’t shake it. It was like I could still hear him in my backseat even though he wasn’t there.”

“Just because Mav could, that doesn’t mean you’re a lesser pilot or a lesser person for not being able to, if anything I think it makes you stronger. You knew your limits, and instead of pushing through it when you couldn’t trust flying again you took a step back. I know a lot of people who wouldn’t make that same choice.” Bradley said, nudging Jake and you let out a laugh as you wiped your face again.

“Yeah, I thank my lucky stars I never crossed this one’s path when I was still flying,” you said and Jake’s face twisted up in shock.

“Hey, why are we ganging up on me now?” he asked and you laughed again.

“You make it so easy,” you teased and they both smiled, happy to see you coming back into yourself a little.

“We’re here for you, okay? So is everyone else,” Bradley said, pulling you into him again and you let yourself wrap your arms around him as you laid your head on his chest and Jake kept rubbing circles into your skin.

“No matter what, you can always come wake us up if you need someone.”

“I love you guys, you know that?”

You could hear the smirk in Jake’s voice as he said, “oh, we know.” He wrapped himself around the other side of you as the two of them squished you between them. “We love you too.”

taglist: @callsignspirit @thegodessc @failuretothrivestuff @olliepig @cruelmissdior @underaveragefangirl @grxcieluvr @amatswimming @camilaricci @nolita-fairytale @dempy @pinkpantheris @aviatorobsessed @tiredqueen73 @pono-pura-vida @binnieslove @nik2blog @waklman @abaker74 @halstead-severide-fan @percysaidnever @memeorydotcom @eli2447 @dumb-fawkin-bitch @djs8891 @Genius2050 @stargazer-88 @chloeforde @kmc1989 @casa-boiardi (if your name is struck through, it means I couldn't tag you - sorry!)

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strange-and-off-putting · 1 month ago

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Smegtober Prompt 12: Promise

I'm working on catching up, but I'm going out of order. These will all show up on AO3 eventually, but I don't want to upload out of order, so when I've caught up and fill in the gaps, they'll be there. It's still the 13th in my time zone, so I am, like, 1 and a half prompts behind, lol. This one took the prompt real loosely.

For the first week, he tried desperately to recreate the situation that landed him on Mimas in the first place; pub-hopping, getting blind drunk, and hoping for the best, thinking that maybe whatever landed “Emily Berkenstein” on Mimas would land David Lister safely back at his home in Liverpool. But after a week of waking up on the bathroom floor of a pub, under a bush by a bus stop, in hospital (twice), and in the drunk tank (no fewer than three times), Lister started thinking that maybe he needed to be a little more intentional with his plan.

So instead of leaving it to chance, he started simply sneaking aboard ships. Passengers vessels, though the most desirable, were far from the best option to sneak aboard; there was far too much gatekeeping, too many checkpoints, “where’s your ticket?,” “can I see your ID?,” and so on. So Lister considered the next best thing – postal ships. The postal ships that docked at Mimas had the benefit of being direct flights and regularly scheduled; a fleet of hundreds in a constant rotation, from Earth to the Saturnian moon.

And while the ships themselves were closely guarded, there were numerous post boxes throughout the city that no one gave a second thought to. So on the first night of his second week stranded on Mimas, instead of getting blackout drunk and hoping for the best, Lister got simply moderately pissed, picked a lock, and wedged himself into a post box.

It was only a few hours later, when the service courier came to retrieve the mail, that he opened the access door to the impressively contorted torso of Dave Lister.

He recoiled quickly, then took a moment to process what he was seeing. He gingerly pulled open the mail tray and peered inside. A pair of brown, bloodshot eyes looked out at him, sheepishly. “Hello,” the courier said, awkwardly, not really sure what sort of greeting was appropriate for the situation. “Hey.” “Um… are you okay?” The courier shuffled on his feet. He looked up, glancing left and right at the still bustling streets. He was trying to gauge if anyone else was seeing this, though admittedly, given where they were, what was transpiring in front of him didn’t even breach the top five most scandalous things currently occurring in the immediate vicinity. Lister's brow furrowed as he tried to shift his weight. “Uh, dunno?” he said, grunting against the tight confines of the post box. “Can’t feel much of anything below my belly button. Right foot’s gone all staticky and honestly, I’m not sure what’s going on with my left. I’m assuming it’s still there, since I ain’t gone nowhere. Could you check? I’d feel better if someone had eyes on it.” The courier blinks slowly, and kneels down. “It’s… yeah, it’s still there.” “Good,” Lister sighs relieved. The courier crooks his elbow and rests against the top of the box, watching Lister. “Mate,” he says conspiratorially, “I think you may be drunk.” “Oh, I’m absolutely drunk,” Lister confirms. He looks around the tight box and then down at his twisted body. “I am a little worried I may be stupid,” he admits. “Uh… can you help me out of here?” — “I should call the cops, you know,” the courier says, sitting cross-legged on the ground, back up against the post box, as Lister sits beside him, massaging the feeling back into his legs.

“Technically, what you did is a crime,” he continues. “Tampering with the mail and all that.” “I didn’t tamper with the mail,” Lister says, wincing at the pins-and-needles pricking painfully up and down his legs. “I tampered with the box, yeah, I’ll give you that, but I didn’t touch the mail.” The courier takes a quick look back in the still open post box and eyes several crushed and crumpled parcels. He sighs. “Look, what were you doing in there, eh?” He asks, He looked Lister up and down. “Young bloke like you. You get yourself in some trouble?” Lister snorts, pausing for a moment in his massaging. He stares out at the street, at the strings of lights canopying the darkened alleyways and illuminating the writhing and undulating figures taking refuge in the shadow and sighs. “Long story,” he says quietly, rubbing feeling back into his feet. “Short answer’s yes.” He sighs and pulls his knees to his chest, stomps his feet on the pavement, willing sensation back into them. “Stranded out here,” he says. “Home’s back on Earth. Liverpool. Promised myself I’d find my way back, find out what happened to my mates.” “Your mates?” “Yeah, my friends. Drinking buddies,” he explains. “Went out for my birthday, got bsolutely wasted. I wound up here, but I was alone. No idea where anyone else ended up. Could all be back home in Liverpool wondering where the smeg I am.” He shrugs. “Could be scattered all around the bloody solar system, wondering where each other is. Gotta find out, you know?” “That’s a lot of pressure to put on yourself,” the courier says. Lister shrugs. “Yeah, well, also promised them, didn’t I? We all swore to help each other out of any scrapes we got into.” “Yeah? You think they’re tying themselves in literal knots, like you, trying to find each other?” He shrugs. “Only promise I can keep is my own,” he says. He grabs the post box and starts to pull himself up. His ankles almost buckle, but he catches himself nd pulls himself to his feet. He stomps his feet against the pavement. He smiles at the courier in triumph, before it fades to something more like a grimace. “So, you gonna call the cops, or…?” The courier is already on his knees, loading mail into his satchel. He shakes his head, flattening out a letter with his hand.” “Nah,” he says. “Place is a cesspool. It’s a good night when no one’s pissed in one of these things.” He looks up at Lister. "Might as well just take off, “ he says. “Stay safe.” Lister laughs. “Not my strong suit.” “Aye, well,” he sighs. “Stay alive, then.” “Yeah, man,” he says, walking away, hands deep in his pockets. “Always do.”

#red dwarf #smegtober #smegtober2024

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nomorefstogive · 7 months ago

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Funfact, there us a yugioh archetype based on dark souls. Look up ashened. It would be amazing to see your reactions and analysis on it if you want to.

Hello, again I am sorry for the delay with this, I will be answering both this ask and your previous one regarding the Umbrella Academy Dance Off idea in this one reply.

First, let's start with the most humorous of the pair, that being the dance off, I am admittedly not that experienced with Umbrella Academy, but the image that post has painted in my mind left me chuckling for quite a while after reading it.

As for how such a thing would occur in a SAGAU setting...hmmm...I have two ideas for the matter, the first involves Venti's one true love and the other involves the one thing you can always expect to occur when such wildly devoted individuals over hear something and make an assumption.

The first one, as I stated, involves the one true love of the Tone-Deaf Bard; Booze. To be exact, it involves the acolytes getting drunk off their asses at a celebration and someone, perhaps even the reader themselves, inadvertently starting the dance off as a means of showing off for the reader who, along with the other sober participants, is watching with a mixture of amusement and embarrassment at the mess before them.

The second involves the acolytes being sober...well...oaky all of them but Venti who is rarely, if ever truly sober, with them misunderstanding something the reader says and trying to impress them at a ball or other such form of celebration, with the ensuing chaos being a game to try and court the readers favor...or make them die of embarrassment and laughter, they are not certain because while some of them can dance...others...well...the kindest descriptor is an epileptic chicken with a strobe light tied to its face running around with a sparkler shoved somewhere sensitive...in other words, a mess.

As for the Ashened, it does indeed remind me a great deal of the Soulsborne series, the naming schemes for the characters, along with the link to fire and a constant cycle of conflict, with their souls having been trapped within an unending cycle of battle for a nation and cause long swept under the ashes and dust of the past.

The character designs seem like they would be quite fitting in the gritty and grim setting of the Soulsborne verse as well, along with the mechanic the main boss of the deck seems to have involving consuming the souls of the fallen to enhance its own strength. which calls to mind the Lords of Cinder from DS3...a dragon Lord Of Cinders...oh that is a nightmare that will haunt me for some time.

Veidos...hmmm...why do I suddenly hear Dark Eater Midir's theme?

The idea of them being trapped in a cycle does make me wonder just how powerful each of them would be when they are taken out of their ashen city, as, assuming we are following the logic of the Souls genre, they would have been growing in power and skill with each life and death as they gained the souls of their fallen comrades to further fuel their struggle against extinction made flesh.

Which also asks just how powerful Veidos would be if he does indeed absorb all of the fallen inhabitants souls should he be pushed too far, with the surge of power likely placing him on par with, if not superior, to the Archons in terms of sheer destructive power, and that is assuming he does not also gain their memories and power to further enhance himself.

I am curious as to just what would happen should their cycle end, as it seems to be caging Veidos and preventing it from taking any actions against the rest of the world due to it appearing to be trapped with them, assuming I am reading this correctly, so I wonder if the cycles breaking would herald him being released on the world in full, or if they would have worn him down over the aeons spent battling him.

Regardless of that matter, the idea of them having been fighting for so long that not only has history forgotten their names, but it is likely their entire nation has long been swept from the maps, which would cause no small amount of chaos should it be discovered as the nations would likely try and search for whatever wealth and power is hidden in the ruins of the nation, only to be pulled into the cycle, likely being viewed as enemies by the people of Obsidim.

I feel that by the time they are able to bridge the language barrier or convince them that they are not on the side of Veidos, that iteration of the cycle would likely have reached its conclusion, with those dying being enveloped by the same power that seared the Ashened warriors souls into their city and thus joining in bein g trapped in the cycle until it is at last broken with Veidos' death.

Something that will not come easy.

That is all I have for now, sorry for the delay with this again, take care and stay safe.

#nomorefstogive answer #genshin sagau #genshin impact sagau #sagau #genshin impact #genshin #yugioh x genshin crossover #yugioh x genshin sagau crossover #genshin yugioh crossover #sagau cult au #genshin sagau cult au

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gabessquishytum · 1 year ago

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okay babe i just remembered that post from a bit ago where you mentioned you want more intox kink around here so! a thought!

this could work with a few diffenrt parts -- definitely including the corinthian -- but mallory's recent fic has me craving more of dream and destruction playing with hob so i'm going in that direction i think. so. hob being immortal means he doesn't have to worry about pesky little things like. you know. alcohol poisoning. so maybe sometimes his partner likes to play with that a little bit. hob's probably more of a "fun drunk" type by nature, but with a little coaxing? he'll turn teary and needy and absolutely desperate to please.

so! imagine! they're in the new inn after hours, hob's been closing up, and destruction is eager to play with his favourite little unbreakable plaything. so the moment hob's finished? he's pinned against the bar, helpless to do anything but brace his hands against the wood, as he feels something cold and hard press against his hole. it's not the first time destruction's fucked him with a wine bottle, though he admittedly... doesn't normally bother fucking hob with the neck? but hob figures it's probably just a warm up, and soon enough he'll find himself being stretched wide by the base of the bottle.

instead, destruction hauls him up onto the bar, chest down and ass up, with the bottle still in place. and hob realizes it... wasn't an empty bottle. was probably full, or close to, considering how much liquid hob can feel pouring into his guts. and all hob can do is lay there as destruction starts fucking the bottle deeper and deeper into him and hob's head starts to spin.

once he's good and drunk, destruction helps him down off the bar and sends him wobbling off to dream, who loves to coo over their sweet little pet when he's all flushed and dizzy and desperate to be a good boy. even when destruction's got him plugged with a full beer bottle, ready to spill more alcohol into his guts the second hob tips too far forward.

-🐈‍⬛

EEEE it's so sweet of you to send this!!! I am an absolute fiend for intox (and I am also VERY obsessed with mallory's fic which I will link here - everyone mind the tags, pls).

So yes!!!! I think we definitely need more of Hob being Destruction & Dream’s lil unbreakable sex toy. He likes it when things get weird and disgusting and a little dangerous.

He loves it particularly when Destruction manhandles him, gets him slung across the bar-top like he's no more than a ragdoll. Hob can squirm all he likes but he's going nowhere until Destruction lets him up.

The wine is cold inside his body, and he can feel it rushing into all kinds of places where it ought not to be. As it's made such a direct path into his guts in such a short space of time, he can feel the impact almost immediately. The wine sloshes around inside him and his head gets fuzzy as his eyes start to tear up. He goes from giggling and squeezing his hole around the bottle, to whimpering and begging for mercy as his limp body squirms and hiccups.

Poor Hob can barely walk back up to the flat but Destruction makes him do it - so he can stumble right into Dream’s arms and complain incoherently about what's been done to him. Of course Dream pretends to be sympathetic, rubbing his cold hands against Hob’s trembling stomach. Hob crawls into Dream’s lap and hiccups and whimpers and before long, he's rutting his half hard dick against Dream’s hip. Poor baby can't even manage to get completely hard because he's so full of alcohol.

Destruction makes sure he stays topped up and full - while Hob is squirming around in Dream’s lap, he's inevitably tipping more of the drink into his body. At this point he doesn't even notice - he's just incoherently mumbling about how hot he feels and how much he wants to be good.

And his lovers never want to deny him an opportunity to be a good boy. The bottle is quickly replaced with something much, much bigger, forcing its way into Hob’s trembling hole. As always Destruction's cock is just a little bit too big to be comfortable, but Hob is past the point of pain. He's just eagerly humping against Dream (and accepting the large mouthfuls of the wine that Dream presses to his lips... just to make sure he doesn't get too thirsty, or too sober).

His body is so loose and trembly he can barely keep himself sitting up, by the time Destruction is finished with him. A perfect little fucktoy, sloppy and drooling and barely conscious. He's absolutely everything that his lovers could possibly want (and of course, they nurse him through the killer hangover that follows).

#🐈‍⬛ anon #the sandman #dreamling #hoblethros #hobstruction #nsft #cw intox

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bright-and-burning · 10 months ago

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thank you for the tag @albonoooo <333

star sign: leo (attention whore signs 4 the win)

favourite holiday: my neighborhood does neighbor day every year and that’s a solid percentage of my favorite childhood memories. my neighborhood is very very close (very much so an “it takes a village” mentality) so i grew up with essentially twenty aunts and uncles. and also like ten dogs and thirteen vaguely cousin-esque figures on my block. anyways it’s like a massive potluck barbecue thing, it goes from like noon to whenever the last person heads in (which can be quite late). think like. potluck barbecue to casual day drinking to big bonfire w smores as the day goes by. as a kid i spent the whole day roaming the neighborhood and coming back every so often to grab food from the tables before heading off again. as an adult i got to get drunk on seltzers with a bunch of 50 somethings and it was incredible

last meal: omg it was my last ohio meal… i got it from this really special like local version of sonic’s (like a drive up food place). they make their burgers w a little bit of brown sugar and mashed banana (they’re the best burgers i’ve ever had). so i had a double hamburger w fries and a mint shake w brownie spindled in. if you’re ever driving through ohio PLEASE hit me up to get this place’s name it’s GLORIOUS. 1980s pricing (admittedly 80s portions too lol). neon signs everywhere. what i will miss the most

current favourite musician: i tend to just hit play on my liked songs so whatever i liked most recently gets played wayyyy more. a lot of the backseat lovers rn

last music listened to: mama’s gun by glass animals (BANGER OF A SONG!!!)

last movie watched: the muppet christmas carol i think . yeah according to letterboxd that lmfao

last tv show watched: i just binged monarch: legacy of monsters w my parents (amazing godzilla tv show but godzilla’s only in it for like. 10 minutes total lol. gay people <3) and then we started lockwood & co tonight on a whim

last book/fic finished: the invisible library by genevieve cogman !!! so good. librarian spy thieves…

last book/fic abandoned: oh gosh. i am such a completionist that i don’t think i ever leave books unfinished. technically i won’t be able to finish the masked city (the sequel to the invisible library) bc it belongs to the library and i am moving. but i will be picking it back up as soon as i have a library card in my new area so? does that even count? yeah i don’t really dnf things

currently reading: the masked city by genevieve cogman technically. lol. i’m trying to read at least a page a day in january. some days that means literally reading a page other days it’s reading 300. since i started the masked city like four days ago ive only made it through 30 pages bc moving is a nightmare so.

last thing researched for writing/art/hyperfixation: hm. technically for the last thing i like posted that would be the drug testing guidelines for f1 (tldr fun fact party drugs are fine out of competition). i read like. 60 pages of legalese. and a bunch of medical stuff and then several wikipedia pages and guides for athletes. the last wikipedia article i opened was for NATO and i have no idea why LOL

favourite online fandom memory: i have the memory of a goldfish… i’m also pretty sure f1 is the first time i’ve been involved w a fandom like. as it’s happening. i’m usually a latecomer . i did enjoy whatever the fuck went down w supernatural and putin that was fun second hand (literally thru a groupchat bc i was in my significantly less terminally online era aka i was in college)

favourite old fandom you wish would drag you back in/have a resurgence: newsies (1992) my beloved… i plotted out a fic that would stretch over like. 40 years. i went INSANE on historical accuracy research. and then i got depressed… someday my magnum opus (slice of life polyamory through turn of the century nyc) will come to fruition

favourite thing you enjoy that never had an active or big fandom, but you wish it did: i feel like there’s been a million times i’ve walked out of a movie (or finished a book, or a tv show) and gone to ao3 and then it has like. 4 works. the rivers of london series by ben aaronovitch only has like . 1k fics on ao3. and not a lot of ppl posting on tumblr. so maybe that?

tempting project you're trying to rein in/don't have time for: all of them tbh… runners au really (it’s spawned into like three different fics of plot lines Plus an epistolary type companion…). i literally constantly come up w ideas (usually hyper specific aus) all the time ask dees it’s a PROBLEM for me. bc i have no time for any of them…

no pressure tags if u wld like <3 @userkritaaay @leclercenjoyer @drivestraight @oscarpiastriwdc @eyes-likepilotlights (i have not paid a ton of attention to who has done this/been tagged sorry)

#tag game #wow i’m like so long winded lol. sorry!!!!!!!!! leo moment #or smthn .

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senashenta · 3 months ago

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Horror High: Chapter Six

Title: Horror High

Pairing: Destiel

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Sex, Violence

Summary: John Winchester plants his eldest son at Caspar High in Jacksonville because weird things have been happening there: people disappearing. People reappearing only dead and drained of all their bodily fluids. Cocoons. It’s up to Dean to figure out what’s stalking Caspar’s halls and deal with it accordingly; but then he meets the New Kid—newer than him, even, the New-New Kid—Castiel Novak, and all his plans get severely derailed. Now Dean has to juggle the supernatural case—a really hungry jorogumo—and also the fact that he’s very quickly falling in love, something that is absolutely forbidden by his dad.

Meanwhile Castiel, shoved into the third new school in a year because his adoptive father—Chuck Shurley’s—job has them moving around a lot, struggles to fit in at Caspar High, not only because he’s the New Kid but because he’s the weird New Kid. Dean seems like a saving grace, a harbor in a storm, someone who doesn’t judge him—that is until Cas finds out about Dean’s night job. Cas’s life just got a whole lot stranger—but that doesn’t stop him from falling for Dean, regardless.

Notes: I am getting some feedback that Chuck is OOC and I am AWARE he is OOC, I was going for a Chuck that is somewhere between prophet!Chuck and initial nice!God!Chuck because Cas needed a father that wasn’t a) a hopeless mess of a drunk or b) a megalomaniacal child having a constant temper tantrum. :D

Pretty much just fluff and smut in this chapter, not much else. New chapter next Thursday or Friday, depending on my schedule! Can also be read over on AO3!

HORROR HIGH TUMBLR MASTER POST HERE.

HORROR HIGH Chapter Six By Senashenta

The next day after school, instead of Dean walking Cas home, Cas walked with him back to the motel. They needed to upload the cocoon photos they had taken the day before to Sam’s laptop, and this way they could spend a little more time together before Cas had to head home. He called his father to let him know he was at ‘Dean’s place’ and would be home in time for dinner.

He and Dean, admittedly, made out a little before Sam got home from school, but no one was surprised by that fact. This time the door was properly locked behind them, so Sam had to knock, which meant he at least didn’t walk in on them like last time. It could have been worse.

Once Sam was there (and Cas and Dean had fixed their clothes), they wasted no time in uploading the photos, and then all settled in for a research session while Sam went over the pictures with a fine-toothed comb.

Eventually, Sam was laying on one of the beds, going through a pile of old books, while Cas and Dean sat at the kitchenette table, Cas also going through books and Dean reading articles on Sam’s laptop. Cas had left his own laptop at home, mostly because he didn’t want to chance taking it to school with him and having it broken—or stolen.

An hour and a half in, Dean disappeared from the room and came back with his arms full of cans of soda, bags of chips and chocolate bars—he had raided the vending machines in the motel lobby. They all helped themselves and continued to work, munching away quietly.

When it got close to time for him to be leaving, though, Cas’s attention began to pull away from the book currently in front of him and toward Dean because—

“Hey, Dean?” His voice came out hesitant, but Dean didn’t notice, too focused on the article he was reading on Sam’s laptop.

“Yeah?”

“My Father is going to be out of town this weekend. He has a seminar in Maine. Do you want to come over after school tomorrow?”

“Oh, sure.” Still distracted.

Over on the bed Sam faceplanted into his book and muttered, “oh my God,” under his breath.

Cas tried again, this time reaching to take hold of Dean’s arm. When Dean finally looked up, he cleared his throat and offered, “do you want to come over for the night?”

This time Dean got it. Realization dawned in his eyes, and he coughed, looked down, then looked back up and adjusted himself in his seat. “Yeah, definitely.” He managed, voice just a touch strained.

“Gross.” Sam protested.

“Watch it, brat.” Dean warned, ignoring the flush of red that was tinting the tips of his ears.

Cas squeezed his arm with a little smile and then returned to his own research. “We can order pizza.”

“Yeah ‘cause pizza’s what I’m gonna be worried about.” Dean muttered, making both Cas and Sam snort.

It was only a short time later that Cas had to excuse himself. It was a long walk home and he had promised his father he would be there in time for dinner. So, he packed up his things and headed for the door—only for Dean to stop him on the threshold and pull him into a kiss.

Sam grumbled, but Cas smiled against Dean’s lips and angled his head for another one—longer and deeper—before stepping back and giving the older teen a smile. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dean.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.” There was just a touch of nervousness in Dean’s voice.

Cas found it downright adorable.

-- --

[Cherry, I think. Why?]

Cas was fully aware that Dean had a thing for pie, and that night, while sitting in his room working on his homework, he had texted Sam to ask what his brother’s favorite kind of pie was. Sam seemed baffled by the question. Cas just responded:

[I want to make a pie for him. For tomorrow night.]

There was a long pause before Sam replied to that, seeming to understand now:

[OH. I get it. In that case, definitely cherry, but with chili peppers.]

Cas made a little confused noise to himself: [Chili peppers?] He questioned. He didn’t know much about cooking or baking, but that sounded… odd. Still, he trusted Sam, so he just waited for the younger boy’s answer:

[Yeah, like the Red Hot Cherry Peppers? It’s a hot-and-sweet thing they do with desserts sometimes. Dean loves it.]

Cas supposed that made sense. He knew people put strange food combinations together all the time, even if he didn’t understand it himself:

[Okay. Thank you, Sam.]

Now, Cas was of course not particularly known for the culinary skills. He had told that to Dean before on more than one occasion, and it was true, that was why he packed the same sandwiches for them every day for lunch at school. But he really wanted to at least try to do this for his boyfriend, so he grabbed his wallet, shoved it in his pocket, and headed downstairs.

“Where are you going? It’s getting late.” Chuck called from the living room when he saw Cas pulling on his shoes.

“To the grocery store.” Cas replied, “I’m going to bake a pie.”

Chuck nearly spit his coffee. He winced visibly (Cas couldn’t blame him), but in the end didn’t protest, instead just offering, “okay, good luck with that!”

-- --

After he got back from the store, Cas spent a good portion of the night attempting to bake a pie with minimal success (he set the smoke alarm off three times), and, after his final product was set to cool on the counter, locked up in his room doing research. The kind of research that he definitely didn’t want his father walking in on. The kind of research where he huddled in his bed with his laptop volume way down and his earphones in anyway, just in case.

Because. He had never done this before, and if things went the way he thought they were going to the next night, he wanted to know what he was in for. As much as he had tried to tell his father that he’d already learned everything from health class, that had been a blatant lie—because school health class only covered straight intercourse, and that was not what this was going to be. Like at all.

He had a general idea what was involved in sex between two men but didn’t know the details—or hadn’t. Now he did, and he understood why his father had shoved a tube of lubricant at him a couple days before. It made logical sense. It didn’t make it any less mortifying.

But even though all his research was, yes, mortifying, and at times confusing, it didn’t make him want it any less, especially since it would be with Dean. There was something about the thought of being that close with Dean—physically, emotionally—that made his stomach squirmy in a pleasant sort of way. Made him smile to himself, even though he was the only one in the room.

Assuming Dean wanted to, of course, which, judging from what had gone on between them so far, seemed a given, but he couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, could he? Cas would just have to wait and see.

Sufficed to say that he didn’t get much sleep that night, and stumbled through his morning routine when his alarm jerked him awake at seven. He had fallen asleep with his laptop in his bed, his earphones still in from his forbidden and embarrassing Internet searches.

At least with little sleep there had been little time for nightmares, though he had still dreamt something vague about absorbing utter darkness into himself and then melting away into nothingness in a river. It had actually been one of his less distressing dreams, all things considered.

When he managed to get showered and dressed and make it downstairs, his father took one look at him and shoved a cup of coffee in his direction. He didn’t comment on the ‘pie’ on the counter. Cas downed the coffee like he’d been lost in the desert, and it was the first liquid he’d seen in a month.

By the time he had to actually leave for school he was feeling mildly more awake, and Chuck wished him a good day of classes and said goodbye, told him to behave and asked him to please not burn the house down—he would be leaving town while Cas was still in class.

The walk to school was long and arduous, and when he arrived at Caspar, Cas still felt partly asleep, but managed to locate Dean where he was waiting for him outside the building, regardless. He all but collapsed into the older boy’s chest, his head coming down against Dean’s shoulder. He yawned hugely.

“You look rough.” Dean observed even as he wrapped Cas up in his arms and tilted his head to kiss by his temple lightly. “Long night?”

“So long.” Cas agreed, stifling another yawn into Dean’s shoulder. He pushed back enough to look up at Dean, “I’ll be fine, I just have to wake up.”

Dean hesitated, then, “you sure you want me to come over tonight?”

But Cas shook his head immediately. He leaned in for a kiss. “I’m sure. Definitely.” Especially after all his preparation the night before. Between that and his father being out of town, it would be a waste. “I just need some caffeine.” Then, after a pause, “some more caffeine. I already had coffee.”

“Mm, I can taste it.” Dean smiled at him and kissed him gently again. “As long as you’re sure, Cas.”

Cas hummed and just leaned back against Dean again. “I’m sure, Dean.”

“Okay. Good. Because I already gave Sammy the whole lecture on Motel Safety since he’s going to be on his own overnight.”

A soft chuckle. “I’m sure he loved that.”

“Loved is a strong word.”

Another quiet laugh. Cas brought one hand up to pat against Dean’s chest, amused. For the first time in days, he wasn’t hearing the whispers that were surely going on around them. “Sam will be fine. He’s capable.”

“He’s thirteen.”

“And he was raised by you and your Dad, right? So, he’ll be okay.”

“I guess.” Dean allowed.

It was hard for him to think of Sam as anything other than a little kid, because he had practically raised him himself. Their dad had been there, sure, off-and-on, but he had been absent as much as he had been around, Dean had been the constant in Sam’s life. But realistically, Cas was right: Sam was growing up. He wouldn’t die just from spending one night in the motel by himself. Dean just didn’t like to admit it.

“If he rats me out to Dad about all this, I swear I’ll kill him myself.”

Cas gave a little snort and brought one hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair, gentle reassurance even as he continued to rest his head on the older teen’s shoulder. “You will not.” He accused softly, breath warm at the crook of Dean’s neck, “you live for Sam.”

But Dean shook his head and tightened his arms around Cas slightly. “Not anymore.”

Cas’s fingers paused in Dean’s hair, then curled, tugging gently just once. He swallowed. “Dean, I—”

And then the first bell rang.

Cas jolted a little—and then sighed and pulled away from Dean, giving him a small smile. “You’re coming home with me straight after school?”

Dean reluctantly let him go, arms falling back to his sides, though he leaned close for one more kiss. “Yeah.”

Cas returned the kiss but didn’t deepen it, instead easing back to head inside. “See you at lunch, Dean.”

Then he ducked away and hurried into the building, leaving Dean to follow at a much more reluctant pace.

-- --

Lunch was spent quietly that day, the two of them just eating and sitting together, mostly in silence. Cas couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Dean was coming home with him—really coming home with him. And as much as he wanted it, there was a little ball of nervousness in his stomach, too. He wasn’t entirely sure why.

Dean seemed to be contemplating something himself, but whatever it was he didn’t share—and Cas didn’t ask. He never pushed Dean too hard. He knew Dean had his secrets, and sometimes it was better to let him keep them. Everyone was entitled to their own private thoughts, after all.

After school, Cas got out to the front of the building first, which was of course the typical way things went, and spent a few minutes fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt while he waited for Dean, perking when the other boy emerged from the school and headed over to where he was sitting.

“Up you come,” Dean reached down to take his hand and haul him to his feet, and Cas allowed it with a laugh. “How was your afternoon?”

“It was good. No cocoons in gym. Charlie says hi.”

“I don’t even know Charlie.”

“But she knows you.” Cas brushed off the back of his jeans with his free hand, his other hand still holding onto Dean’s. He picked up his backpack and slung it over one shoulder, then tugged at Dean’s hand gently. “Let’s go.”

“How are you feeling?” Dean asked as they stepped off school property and turned right. “You don’t look as rough as you did this morning.”

“Mm,” Cas agreed, adjusting his backpack, and then looking sideways at Dean, “I feel better. Just had trouble waking up this morning. Long night on the laptop.”

Dean smirked a little. “I never would have figured you as one for porn, Cas.”

Cas flushed red. “Dean!”

Dean laughed and squeezed his hand. “I’m kidding!” And then, “homework, right? Sam sometimes spends all night working on homework too. Then he drinks way too much coffee for a kid his age. What class?”

“Uh,” Cas was still bright red, but to his credit he shrugged and lied, “ancient civ. I had and essay due today and I’d, um, really procrastinated over it. I had to cram most of it in last night.”

“’Procrastinated’?”

“You are very distracting, Dean.”

A grin and Dean leaned over to kiss by his ear. “You’re still blushing. It’s adorable. I’m sorry.”

Cas grumbled under his breath but didn’t have anything to say in response to that. He just turned his eyes to the ground, watching his feet as he walked and willing the blushing to go away. That was embarrassing.

“You mad at me?”

“…no. Of course not. Just… embarrassed.”

“Don’t be. It’s cute.”

“Saying that will not make the blushing stop, Dean.”

“Sorry, sorry.”

When they got to Cas’s house, the door was predictably locked, and Cas dug his key out to let them in. Once inside with the door closed behind them, they paused in the entryway to take their shoes off—his father may not have been home, but No Shoes In The House was still the rule—and Cas set his backpack on the little bench by the door. He would take it upstairs later. Maybe.

Then he turned to look at Dean, hesitated, and finally informed him, “I made you a pie. For tonight. To go with the pizza.”

Dean started to perk—and then stopped. “Wait, you made a pie?”

Cas nodded.

This was worrying for a few reasons, but mostly because they had established early on that Cas could not cook. He had once said he could burn water. Dean hesitated, probably too long, and then finally said; “sure, let’s have a look at it!” With as much false hope and enthusiasm as a person could possibly convey. Cas didn’t buy it for a second, but also didn’t fault him for it, either.

So, they made their way to the kitchen, where… something, certainly not a pie, was waiting on the middle island, practically radiating malevolence. It was lopsided for sure, but one half was burnt black while the other half was somehow still practically raw. Frankly, Dean wondered if he should be Hunting it or something. He was pretty sure if you poked it, the thing would utter the word “eeeeevil.”

Cas just looked down on it and deadpanned, “nothing went according to plan, Dean. I suspect I am not good at baking pies.” Then he looked back up at Dean and added, “you don’t have to eat it. I just wanted you to know I tried.”

Oh good. Dean nodded and questioned with morbid curiosity, “what flavor is it?”

“Cherry,” Okay, a respectable flavor at leas— “with chili peppers.”

Dean balked. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“You know, like the Red Hot Cherry Peppers.” Cas explained, as if the words coming out of his mouth made perfect sense, “Sam said cherry was your favorite, and that cherry goes with spice like the Red Hot Cherry Peppers and—and you are looking at me like I’m saying something stupid. I’m saying something stupid, aren’t I?”

Sam. Of course. Dean palmed over his face and muttered “that little shit” before returning his attention to Cas, reaching to pull him closer and leaning in to kiss him gently. “Cas, my brother was screwing with you. And me. This is one hundred percent a prank. No one eats cherry pie with chilis. And it’s the Red Hot Chili Peppers, they’re a band. Like music, not like pie.”

Cas frowned. “Apparently Sam can also be a jerk sometimes.”

Dean actually laughed at that, grinning at his boyfriend before going in for another kiss. “That’s what brothers are for.”

Cas hummed against his lips and decided, “next time I’ll just buy a pie.”

Another grin. “That sounds like a good plan. Also, I’m going to make you an essential music playlist, your lack of music knowledge is just sad.”

“If you must.”

“Oh, I must.”

-- --

They ordered pizza for dinner (pepperoni, sausage, bacon and extra cheese—no vegetables for Dean, it seemed, but that was fine with Cas, he actually found it amusing) and took it to the living room, taking over the coffee table with the box and a couple of cans of soda, and then flicking through Netflix, discussing what to watch for several long minutes until Dean decided on a movie Cas probably had no interest in. The younger teen didn’t mind, though, he was more interested in Dean anyway.

So, they ate their pizza sitting side by side in front of the television, Dean explaining the movie to Cas along the way because the other boy was (predictably) lost right from the start.

Once they were done eating, they sprawled out over the rest of the couch, Cas leaning into one corner and Dean stretched out on his back, his head in Cas’s lap and a little, content smile on his face while Cas stroked his fingers through Dean’s hair, just toying with the soft strands gently.

Neither of them was really watching the movie anymore. Dean’s eyes were closed over and Cas was looking down at him, not at the TV, but the film continued to play in the background, regardless.

“Hey, Dean?” Cas asked finally, tugging gently at a strand of his hair.

Dean hummed out a happy noise. “Yeah?”

“You should be kissing me.”

“Oh, thank God,” Green eyes blinked open again and Dean began to sit up, “I was going crazy trying not to touch you over here!”

Over here was literally in his lap, but Cas got the idea anyway, especially when Dean made a point of immediately dragging him over and maneuvering Cas into his lap so that Cas was straddling him, then pulling him into a kiss.

The next while was spent continuing to ignore the movie entirely, making out heavily, hands wandering, hips grinding and little, nonsensical murmurs between kisses until Dean began trailing them down Cas’s jawline and neck, biting gently, and Cas muttered breathlessly, “my Father says I have to watch out for you. You’re just another horny teenage boy, essentially.”

Dean grinned against the crook of his neck. “And what do you think?”

“I think… I think we’re both teenage boys.” Cas swallowed and licked his lips, then sat back a little and lifted a hand to tug at Dean’s shirt lightly; “and I think we should go upstairs.”

Dean paused at that before leaning in to kiss Cas again, just gently this time. “You sure about that, Cas?”

Sliding his hand up to grip in Dean’s hair, Cas bit his lip and rocked his hips firmly into the older boy’s, making it more than obvious how hard he was, as if it hadn’t been already. He nodded, pressing their foreheads together. “I’m sure.”

“Oh shit—” Dean swore, his own hips bucking upward in response, and panted softly, drawing Cas into another series of kisses, hot, deep, and hungry, “you’re incredible, do you know that?”

Cas laughed breathlessly and teased, “you’re just saying that because you want to get in my pants. As they say.”

But Dean shook his head. He bumped their foreheads together again and gave him another kiss, this time just brief and warm. “No. You’re incredible.”

Surprise. A blink. Cas tilted his head curiously, “but why? I’m not…” Trailing off, he glanced down, eyes shifting back-and-forth as he considered his words; “…special. I’ve never been special.”

“You are special, though.” Dean sighed, tightening his arms around Cas to pull the other boy even closer, and tilted his head to press soft kisses along his jaw back to his ear; “so don’t be stupid, you know I adore you.”

“I—” Cas leaned into the kisses, blue eyes closing over. “Same. But about you.”

Dean smiled against his skin. “Mm, I know.” Nipping by his jaw lightly, he sat back to give Cas another proper kiss. “Still want to go upstairs?”

“Definitely.” No hesitation. Cas smiled and began disentangling himself from the other boy so he could climb out of his lap and stand, “I did research. I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Dean followed him up, brushing at his clothes once he was standing—but then stopped. “Wait, research?”

“Well yeah.” Cas shrugged, flushing just a little as he reached for Dean’s hand and then headed for the stairs, “it’s what I was actually doing last night, not homework. I’ve never done this before, so I thought I should know what I’m in for.”

“Oh.” Dean managed weakly. “So, you’ve really never…?”

A pause in Cas’s steps. He glanced back over his shoulder. “No.”

“Not even with girls?” He had known that he was Cas’s first boyfriend, but still.

“No… why? Does that matter?”

Dean’s face was getting progressively redder and redder. Cas just tugged at his hand to get him walking again. “Uh, what kind of research did you do?” He asked finally, voice just a touch higher than normal.

Another shrug as they climbed the stairs. “Just all kinds of things. Articles and videos and stuff. Most of it made sense. There was one video with a babysitter and a pizza man that was really… baffling, though.” (Most of the videos hadn’t been in any way logical, if he was being honest with himself.)

That made Dean laugh again, though. “I think I’ve seen that one.” He joked weakly—and then tugged Cas to a stop just outside his bedroom door. “Cas, I—” He swallowed thickly and shook his head. “Are you—I mean, I know you said you were sure, but are you sure-sure?I don’t—it’s just—shit, man, I want this so bad, but if you’ve never…” Green eyes met Cas’s searchingly, “I just really don’t want to screw this up, that’s all.”

Cas just looked at him, ignoring the faint redness in his own face. “Are you nervous because I’m a virgin?” Dean sputtered an affirmative, and Cas gave a little half-smile, “but you’ve never slept with another boy either, right?” Another somewhat squawked agreeing noise; “so aren’t we in the same boat?” He squeezed Dean’s hand gently and offered; “besides, you… you won’t mess it up. I don’t think you could. And even if you did, how would I know? Anyway… I want it to be you, for my first time. Okay?”

Dean looked at him in astonishment. “Why—why do you want it to be me?”

“Because I—” This time Cas hesitated, but only briefly before turning around to face Dean properly. He sighed and lifted both hands to rest against Dean’s chest, feeling how hard his heart was beating under his palms. “Because you care. Because you can be so gentle when you want to be. You always are with me, anyway.” Glancing down, he shrugged one shoulder and added, “because I’m very seriously falling in love with you.”

And oh. Dean’s eyes widened and he paused to gather his suddenly swirling thoughts, swallowing and licking his lips before wrapping his arms around Cas and pulling him closer, tilting his head to press a kiss against his forehead. “You know how I feel about you, Cas. You’re the most important person in my life, along with Dad and Sam, and I…” He trailed off then, ducking to nuzzle into Cas’s neck warmly. “Cas, I…”

Cas brought one hand up to run his fingers through Dean’s hair and smiled fondly. “I understand.” Then, a little worried that he might have pushed Dean too far already, he murmured, “do you not want to have sex tonight, Dean? We could just finish the movie and cuddle. Make out some more. That would be nice, too.”

But as much as Dean was worried about screwing things up, he still really did want to go through with this—he did suffer terribly from being a Teenage Boy, it was true—and he laughed against Cas’s neck at the very idea of waltzing back downstairs and just going back to the movie like nothing had happened.

“Not a chance.” He grinned and reached to open the door to Cas’s bedroom, bumping it open and backing into the room, tugging Cas with him. Cas went along willingly, closing the door behind them—and then Dean crowded him back into the closed door, pressing close and drawing him into a series of heated, wanting kisses.

Cas uttered a muffled pleased noise, hands coming up to hold at either side of Dean’s neck. He returned Dean’s kisses in kind, holding him close even as Dean’s hands rubbed at his hips before sliding up his sides, under his shirt and the older boy slid a knee between his legs to grind against him.

“Oh, God,” Cas broke off with a gasp to let his head fall back against the door and Dean dove in to trail messy kisses along the curve of his throat, his hands still under Cas’s shirt and rubbing hotly along his skin. “Dean…”

“Mmh.” Was Dean’s response. He slid his hands around to Cas’s back, still under his shirt, and pulled him away from the door and over toward the bed, kissing along his neck the entire time.

Once they were across the room they basically tumbled into the bed, Dean settling over Cas easily, comfortably, and Cas reaching up to pull the older boy down for more kisses even as Dean pulled at Cas’s shirt, pushing it up as far as he could without the younger teen’s cooperation. Then he just made a soft frustrated noise against Cas’s lips, almost pouting.

Cas laughed breathlessly and pushed Dean back a bit, then pulled his shirt off and tossed it away. That was followed by bringing his hands up to grab at the front of Dean’s shirt. “Yours, too.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, sitting back and pulling off the long-sleeved flannel shirt he was wearing, discarding it before grabbing at the back of his t-shirt and pulling it over his head. It was pitched somewhere on the floor, too.

Cas just looked up at his boyfriend for a moment, swallowing thickly. Dean was already reaching to undo Cas’s jeans, and suddenly this was very real. Cas took a shaky breath but lifted his hips up when Dean started tugging his jeans down, allowing them to be pulled away and discarded easily.

“Dean…”

Something in his voice made Dean freeze, halfway to having his own jeans undone. “Cas?” He let go of his zipper and carefully lowered himself down, this time next to Cas, pressed into his side, leaning to kiss him gently. “Is this still okay?”

“I—” It wasn’t that he was having second thoughts, he still wanted this, he just… “I think I just—realized. That this is actually happening.” Then a short pause and he looked sideways at Dean to tell him, “sorry, it’s kind of a lot.”

Dean gave a relieved sigh and relaxed, tipping his head to kiss by Cas’s jaw. “You still want to?”

“Mm.” Cas hummed at the kiss and closed his eyes for just a moment before opening them again, giving Dean a smile. “I really do.”

“You sure?”

“Dean.”

“Just checking.” Dean defended and then added softly, “I really don’t want to screw this up, Cas. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“And I appreciate that, but still.” Cas lifted a hand up to card his fingers through Dean’s hair, tugging gently, and ordered, “take your pants off, Dean.”

A grin from the older boy. “I can do that.”

Dean climbed out of the bed long enough to shuck out of his jeans and boxers before clambering back onto the mattress, easing up against Cas’s side again. Cas swallowed a little again—and leaned in for a kiss, even as he reached with one hand to palm at Dean’s cock. Dean groaned against his mouth, muffled against his lips, and rocked his hips into Cas’s hand lightly.

But that wasn’t what the goal was, here, no matter how much they both enjoyed it. And it seemed unfair that Dean was stripped completely bare while Cas was still wearing his boxers… so Cas let go of Dean’s dick, placated him with another little kiss, then quickly stripped his own boxers off and pitched them out of the way.

Dean propped himself up on one arm to lean over Cas and ducked in for another kiss. “God, you’re gorgeous.” His free hand was wandering now, sliding hotly across Cas’s skin, along his chest and down to his abdomen—then lower.

Cas just whined at the compliment and arched into Dean’s touches, bringing one hand up to grab at the side of Dean’s neck and pull him closer again. “Dean.”

“I’m allowed to think you’re beautiful,” He was told firmly, Dean ducking to kiss down his neck to his chest, nipping there lightly, licking over one nipple. His hand closed around Cas’s cock and Cas bucked into it with a gasp. “Do you have condoms, Cas? Please tell me you have condoms.”

Blue eyes opened and he looked at Dean, gave him a little smile. “Yes.” Batting Dean’s hand away from his cock gently, he scooted over to reach into the bedside table drawer, pulling out the box of condoms and the tube of lubricant that his father had given him earlier. Then he returned to his place, tugging Dean down on top of himself again and holding the box of condoms up. “My… Father.” He explained embarrassedly, “insisted on giving them to me.”

Dean blinked, taking the box from Cas’s hand—then just grinned down at him. “What, really? I bet that was embarrassing.”

“You have no idea. He tried to give me the Sex Talk. Or at least the Cliff Notes version. When he told me he was going to be away for the weekend. He… assumed. This would happen.” One of Cas’s hands rubbed up and down Dean’s side restlessly. He shrugged. “I guess he was right. He also gave me this,” He held the lube for Dean to see. “Which we are definitely going to need.”

Another blink from Dean and he looked at the lubricant almost blankly. “Uh.”

“It’s different with guys, Dean.” Cas muttered, “you can’t just—I won’t get naturally wet, I—you have to prepare me, or you actually could hurt me.”

“Define ‘prepare’.” Dean said it as a statement, but it was actually a question.

Cas made a soft sound, half frustration and half embarrassment. His eyes skittered away to focus on the stars on the ceiling. “You won’t, um, fit. Unless you stretch me out first. That’s what the lubricant is for. If you don’t do that I—I mean. It’d hurt. A lot. I’d probably bleed. And that’s obviously not what I want from this…” Trailing off a little, he looked back at Dean again. “I’m sorry, we should have had this conversation earlier. It’s probably a turn-off.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, then dropped the box of condoms down on the bed beside them and took the lube from Cas’s hand, adding that to the little pile. “Cas,” He said firmly, “first of all, we’ve already established that the last thing I want to do is hurt you in any way. So, this little talk is necessary. And second?” He grinned and leaned down for a kiss; “we’re currently naked in bed together for the first—and hopefully not last—time. There’s very little that could be a turn-off right now.”

Blue eyes blinked up at Dean in surprise. “Really?”

Another kiss. “Really.” And then a grin and, “you weren’t kidding when you said you did research.”

“No, I wasn’t.” Cas agreed. One hand reached to grab the lube again and he inspected it for a breath before he held it up for Dean to take. “So…?”

Dean chuckled and plucked the lubricant from his fingers. He kissed Cas again—then once more for good measure—before easing back and sitting up. He shuffled his way down the bed a little, then patted at one of Cas’s legs. “I think… if you have your knees up and apart, it’ll work the best.” He let Cas adjust himself accordingly before asking, “how many fingers?”

Cas bit his lip, feeling more than a little exposed at the moment. “Um, start with one. Obviously.” He said, hips shifting awkwardly and only half-hard now, “but the general consensus seems to be at least three. But. In stages.”

“Three.” Dean’s eyes flickered from his hand to between Cas’s legs and he swallowed slightly. “Okay.”

“Just… go slow and use lots of lube. I think.”

“Right.”

It started out awkward, with Dean using probably too much lube and then oh so carefully easing one finger into Cas’s body, slow and steady, then starting to carefully push it in and out of him. Cas swallowed thickly and flung an arm over his eyes, mostly to hide the flaming blush that had overtaken his entire face. Dean kept asking if he was okay and he kept assuring the other boy that he was, of course, it just felt weird.

Adding the second finger changed things. Suddenly there was a stretch and a burn—but a pleasant stretch and burn, one that flared up his spine and made his cock twitch and start to fill out properly again. Cas bit his lip to stifle a little groan—and Dean caught on that immediately, a pleased smirk stretching across his face. He started moving his fingers a little faster and a little deeper.

And then he accidentally brushed against Cas’s prostate for the first time, just slightly.

Cas jolted, and yelped out a shocked cry, his arm flying away from his face and down to grab at the bedcovers.

Dean looked up, eyebrows lifting, and grinned.

“Shut up.” Cas gasped out, even though Dean hadn’t actually said anything. “Don’t stop.”

Of course Dean kept going. Over the course of the next few minutes, he managed to work up to three fingers and reduce Cas to a panting, writhing mess and it was so. Goddamn. Satisfying. He was hard again, now, too, just from watching Cas, his own cock throbbing against his stomach. And he had a pretty good idea of where that spot was inside the other boy, now, he could reliably hit it most times he tried, even if he wasn’t completely sure what it was called.

Finally, Cas arched his back and waved one hand down toward Dean, pulling at the blankets with the other. “D-Dean—that’s enough—oh, God—you’ve got to stop or I’ll—please—!”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Dean pulled his hand back and hurriedly grabbed for the box of condoms, pulling one out and ripping it open, rolling it over his aching dick. Then he settled himself between Cas’s legs—and paused, leaning down to bump their foreheads together. “Last chance to back out.”

But Cas just shook his head and tipped his chin to kiss Dean almost desperately. “No way.”

Dean gave a breathless laugh—and then pushed himself into Cas’s now-pliant body.

Both of them just kind of… stopped, once Dean was fully seated, each taking a deep, shuddering breath because—oh God, it felt so damned good. Then they were moving again, Cas to wrap his legs around Dean’s hips and Dean to start thrusting into the younger boy, hard and deep.

Dean buried his face in the crook of Cas’s neck, panting, and Cas did much the same, pressing messy kisses along Dean’s shoulder in between gasps and moans, his arms around his boyfriend, fingers digging little furrows into the back of Dean’s shoulders.

And Dean was good at this, Cas decided distantly as pleasure thrummed through him, flared up his spine and tingled in his limbs, made his vision go starry—meanwhile Dean was thinking much the same; Cas was fantastic, felt perfect against him, around him, with him.

It didn’t really last long, though, especially with Dean’s pace and Cas’s inexperience. Soon enough, Cas was grabbing harder at Dean’s back, throwing his head back against the pillows and crying out loudly as he came—and Dean followed soon after, his hips jerking out of rhythm a few times before he shoved deep and tensed, coming hard with a low grunt.

Then Dean slumped down over him, and Cas lowered his legs back to the mattress, loosening his grip on the older boy with a breathless little laugh.

“We’re laughing?” Dean asked, just as breathless, muffled into Cas’s shoulder.

“We’re laughing.” Cas confirmed and slid one hand up to thread his fingers through Dean’s sweat damp hair. “I just… wow. That’s all.”

Dean grinned against Cas’s skin and tipped his head to kiss at the crook of his neck. “Yeah.” He agreed, “that sums it up nicely.”

-- --

In the morning, Dean woke up to the sun streaming through the window, soft sheets, a comfortable pillow and the smell of perking coffee. Good perking coffee. Not the shitty motel stuff. It was like waking up in Heaven.

Then came the gentle touches against his back, fingers tracing the edges of his muscles and scars, a palm sliding warmly against his skin. A smile tugged at Dean’s lips, and he murmured something unintelligible before cracking his eyes open finally and rolling over onto his other side to face Cas, Cas’s hand dragging the entire way.

The other boy had his other arm tucked under the pillow, his head resting there, and his eyes were the bluest of blue in the early sunlight. Cas smiled at him with just the faintest edge of shyness—but when Dean leaned forward for a kiss, he returned it unabashedly.

“Cas, you…” The words were whispered like a secret between them, even though there was no one else in the room—or even in the house; “last night was incredible, I’ve never… I mean. I’ve been with people before. Girls. But you were… you are…” Shaking his head, Dean glanced down, almost embarrassed, “you’re amazing.”

“So are you.” Cas’s lips quirked and he admitted, “I saw stars.”

Dean laughed at that, “were you looking at the ceiling?” He teased.

But Cas shook his head, even as Dean was angling for another kiss. “No, it was all you. And before you ask? I don’t regret a thing.”

“You really are beautiful, you know.” Dean murmured against his lips, making Cas laugh softly and kiss him again. “What? I’m serious.”

“I know you are.” Cas brought his wandering hand up to cup Dean’s jaw. “But look who’s talking.”

Dean hummed and turned his head to kiss against Cas’s palm. “I guess you can have your opinions.”

“And you yours.” Cas agreed, then smiled again, this time almost shy once more; “I didn’t have nightmares last night, with you here. I…” Glancing down, he murmured softly, “you’re my dreamcatcher, I guess.”

Dean regarded him fondly and tipped his head to kiss against Cas’s forehead. “I’m glad.”

“Stay over every night?” Cas asked, only half-joking.

“I wish.” Dean leaned back and stretched until his back popped, making a satisfied noise afterward. “I haven’t slept that good in ages, either.”

Cas’s little smile widened, and he watched Dean quietly for a moment before reaching out to touch one of Dean’s scars, a small one by his clavicle. “What’s this from?” He asked softly.

“Got shot.” Dean shrugged, “about a year ago. It doesn’t hurt anymore or anything.”

“Who shot you?”

“Someone bad. Doesn’t really matter. I survived, that’s the important thing.”

Cas considered that for a moment before deciding to just accept it for what it was. Dean obviously didn’t really want to talk about it. So, he just changed the topic: “I woke up before you, so I made coffee. Do you want some?”

Dean perked considerably at that. “Oooooh yes, black as a moonless night!”

Cas snorted a laugh and shoved at Dean’s shoulder but climbed out of bed regardless. He was already dressed-ish from his foray down to the kitchen to get the coffee going, just a pair of boxers and—

“Hey, is that my shirt?” Dean pushed up on his elbows, regarding Cas with surprise.

The younger boy shrugged with one shoulder. He looked down at the AC/DC shirt he was wearing blandly. “I couldn’t find mine in the mess we made last night, so I borrowed it. You can have it back later. Why is your shirt about batteries, anyway?”

“Batteries?!” Dean sputtered, but before he could get any farther than that, Cas had already disappeared out the door, heading downstairs for coffee. He padded around barefoot, pouring two mugs of the stuff (an expensive brand his Father insisted on keeping in the house) and then doctoring his own with cream and sugar, though he left Dean’s black as requested.

Then he turned the coffee pot off and carefully made his way back up to the bedroom, where Dean had finished having his fit over the shirt, and bumped the door closed with his hip when he entered, crossing over and handing Dean his mug before gingerly climbing back into the bed with his own.

Dean obviously thoroughly enjoyed his first sip, which made Cas smile around the lip of his mug. “I’m glad you like it.”

“You have no idea the kind of crap I’m forced to drink on the road, Cas. No idea.” The older boy took another drink, humming out a happy noise, then paused, green eyes flicking up to Cas again, “so. You did the… research, right?” He asked, “that… spot. Inside you. That made you… jerk and moan the way you did…”

“My prostate,” Cas murmured around the lip of his mug, “or at least I’m pretty sure, anyway.”

“What does it… feel like?”

Oh, God, how was he even supposed to explain this? Cas swallowed slightly and busied himself taking another couple drinks from his coffee, hedging for time. “It feels…” He trailed off before trying again; “it’s like electric pleasure, shooting up my spine. Like you’re touching some livewire inside me and—God, Dean, it feels—” Breaking off, he shook his head and managed, “it’s so hard to explain. I’ve never felt anything like it. It feels so good. So good it almost hurts.”

Dean was watching him, obviously fascinated, but a little surprised as well. “That good? Really?”

“Yes, I…” Cas nodded, eyes on his coffee now, “when I was looking things up online, it all said it would feel good, but I was not prepared for... I mean. Just. Wow. And you are really good at finding it.”

Dean gave him a little, self-satisfied smirk. “Natural talent?” He suggested.

Cas laughed softly, sipping at his coffee for another moment before asking, “hey, Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

He hummed softly and lifted his gaze to look at Dean intently. “I think we should have sex again.” He informed his boyfriend, before continuing; “for science. To make sure it’s still as good as it was last night.”

Dean nearly choked on his coffee, sputtering a little. “Yeah,” He croaked finally, “we could do that, definitely.”

Cas muffled another small laugh and offered, “I think it turns out I’m ‘just another horny teenage boy’, too, especially now that I know what it’s like. I feel like my Father would be disappointed in me.”

But Dean was already setting his half-empty mug of coffee on the side table and reaching to take Cas’s cup from his hands to set it out of the way as well. “Pretty sure he’s aware you’re a teenage boy,” He informed Cas. “Now, c’mere.”

Dean didn’t get back to Sam and the motel until after dinner time. Sam would probably never let him live it down.

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