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silkenstarlight · 3 years

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body is a temple

Summary: Bucky and reader are training when she finds him staring at her ass. She tries to rile him up, but quickly learns that he doesn’t tolerate teasing.

Pairing: Personal trainer!Bucky x reader

Warning/s (18+ only, minors dni): enemies to lovers, dirty talk, degradation, spanking, multiple orgasms

Word count: 2.8k

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Author’s note: i wrote this while wine-drunk, so if it’s extra horny, you know why

“Fuck!”

You tumbled onto the mat, back slamming against cool polyethylene. The breath whooshed from your body in a dramatic, crushing exhale, your lungs desperately trying to pull in air but failing beyond shallow, raspy puffs. Bucky looked down at you, the fluorescent lights of the gym feathering behind his head in a blinding halo, smirking as he drank in the image of you sprawled on the mat below him, completely at his mercy. He let you lie there for one, two, three seconds, before holding out his hand for you to grab onto. It was a kind gesture, something that completely contrasted with his previous rough treatment. You squinted and firmly grasped his hand, feeling your back leave the mat as he propped you upright again.

“Is that the best that you can do, (Y/N)?” He stepped back, walking to the edge of the mat and retrieving your water bottle for you.

You huffed, raspy breathing slowly returning to normal. “Is this really necessary?”

He handed you your water bottle, frowning. “Of course it’s necessary.”

“I was told that you would be my personal trainer. Nowhere in the program description did it say that you were going to beat my ass all day,” you shook your head, slightly incredulous, and took a few grateful gulps from the water bottle. You felt more comfortable talking back to him because you were the last ones left in the gym today, with no one but him to overhear your complaining. You had expected some light cardio, maybe some weight training, when you had signed up for individual sessions with a personal trainer at your new gym. You didn’t think you would be paired right away with Bucky, who seemed to exclusively work with experienced heavy lifters, and you definitely didn’t think he would take it upon himself to teach you self-defense, a skill which he was surprisingly extremely well-versed in. Every day for the past week, you had ended up in a similar supine position on the mat, beaten and scrambling for air, accumulating a mottled collection of nasty bruises and scrapes on your knees and elbows. The most frustrating part was that he remained unscathed through it all. Every time, it was you on your ass, and him helping you up. It made you want to scream.

Well, that actually wasn’t the only thing about this whole situation that made you want to scream. He was incredibly good-looking, exactly your type, all brooding looks and dark eyes. You actually had to pick your jaw up off of the floor when he walked in to your first session last week. But, the worst part was, he was a cocky bastard. He had to know the effect he had on you, and yet, he chose to do nothing about it.

“Well, you’ll just have to do better if you want me to stop crushin’ you every time.” He dabbed at his forehead with the hem of his shirt, and even though he frustrated you to no end, it took everything you had in you not to let your eyes drift down to look at his toned stomach.

“Now I think you’re just trying to make me mad.” You huffed, walking to the edge of the mat and returning your water bottle to its perch, preparing for another round.

“Well, if I’m pissing you off, why don’t you use that anger? Beat me. Just once,” he smirked, as if firmly believing that you couldn’t, that you didn’t have it in you. But, you were just stubborn enough to take the challenge.

“Fine.” You cocked your head and gritted your teeth, digging your heels into the mat and crouching in a ready position.

“3… 2… 1… start.” The ghost of a smirk still graced his face, but he was concentrating on your movements now, eyes darting as you approached.

Jab, cross, jab. Knee, high kick, and--

“Damn you, Barnes.”

One quick sweep, and he had you pinned. You wanted to scream, to thrash in frustration, but his body pressing against your back limited any movement on your part. Wonder if he likes having me pinned like this. You tried not to let that thought develop further, lest the heat you had worked up from sparring travelled up your neck for him to see, or worse, somewhere farther south--

“Why are you still panting, (Y/N)?” You could feel a puff of hot breath against your ear as he chuckled.

Fuck. “My, uh… my asthma must be acting up again.”

“Didn’t think you had asthma.” He flipped off of you, arching a brow as you slowly stood.

“Forgot to tell you, then,” you fibbed, trying at all costs to avoid spilling the truth, that your panting was the effect of an illicit fantasy that you had thought about in bed, alone, on more than one occasion.

“Uh huh,” he said, unconvinced. You both got into a ready position again.

“3… 2… 1… start.”

This time, you took more of a defensive strategy, evaluating him before striking. Maybe, if you weren’t so focused on completing the flourishing movements, on hitting with perfect precision and strength, you could anticipate his attack instead. You circled around each other like sharks, his eyes glinting almost hungrily, but doing nothing to bely his next move. It was like trying to size up a brick wall.

Suddenly, he darted forward with a speed that no man his size should have, and he swept your legs from under you, flipping you with ease. You fell ungracefully in a prone position, cheek smacking the mat, eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment. You groaned, aching muscles begging for you to stop and rest instead of getting up and accepting his challenge. You pressed your forehead into the mat, weighing whether it was worth the hassle of asking him to cut your session short today, when you noticed that he was completely silent.

You furrowed your brows, eyes flying open. Every time he had defeated you in previous rounds, he had uttered some sarcastic, infuriating quip, trying to rub in his victory even more. But he hadn’t said anything yet.

You pushed your chest up off the mat, craning your neck to look back at him. He was obviously looking at your body, eyes transfixed on your lower half, but when he sensed your sudden movement, he broke out of his trance. He quickly got up from his kneeling position, clearing his throat and walking to the water jug on the far wall. A smile slowly grew on your face as you realized that he had been staring at your ass.

You stood up, slowly walking toward him, assessing him with a sly expression on your face. “Were-- were you doing what I think you were doing just then?”

His back was to you as he filled a little paper cup with water. “If you mean pummelling your sorry ass into the mat yet again, then yes.” His voice still carried its usual snarky tone, but it shook slightly, as if he were just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“Not exactly what I meant.” You stepped closer until a foot separated you, and he turned around to face you.

“Then what do you mean, doll?” He smiled smugly, but you noticed the pink blush that was creeping its way up his neck.

You hummed a laugh. “What I mean, Barnes,” you cocked your head, relishing how your sudden onset confidence wiped the smirk from his face, “is that you were enjoying the view back there. Isn’t that right?”

Now it was his turn to huff a laugh. “Well, what can I say? You’ve got a nice ass. Gotta get something out of these sparring sessions.”

You scoffed. “Fucking pervert.”

“Call me that again.” His tone was more serious, suddenly bereft of the saccharine sarcasm you were so used to.

You paused, weighing his tone against the risqué direction the conversation was heading, and you smirked, deciding to provoke him further. “You’re a fucking pervert. Beatin’ girls up, just so you have a chance to get a good, long look at their bodies. What the fuck is up with that? Can’t get some like a normal person, can you?”

He let that sink in, head dipped, eyebrows raised. But then, a thought seemed to cross his mind, and a wicked smile crept onto his face. He looked at you with hooded eyes, and your stomach flipped, unsure if you were extremely turned on by your sudden proximity to him, or if you were preparing to balk.

“You’re going to regret saying that.” His voice was low, rasping with something you’ve never heard from him. Your mind was telling you to back up, to leave this encounter before it got messy, but your feet stayed rooted in position as he bridged the gap between your bodies. He grabbed your shoulders and turned you around before pinning you roughly against the wall.

“You know,” he said, breath hot against your ear, “you really shouldn’t be calling me a perv, when I know exactly what goes on in that head of yours during our training.”

“Wh- what do you mean?” You decided to play dumb, hoping that he wasn’t astute enough to deduce your secret, licentious desires.

“Oh, you know. Whenever I pin you, you’re always blushing.” He laughed mockingly. “It’s cute. It’s like you secretly want to be dominated.”

You huffed a breath as his hands traveled down your waist, before settling gently on your hips. His lips dragged across the shell of your ear and down your neck, pressing against your pulse point. You arched your back, grinding against the hard bulge that was forming in his shorts.

“Is that right, (Y/N)? You want me to pin you down and fuck you dumb?” He mumbled against your neck.

A wanton moan tumbled from your lips in response, but it wasn’t good enough for him. His fingers dug harshly into your hips. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, p-please.” You hated how breathy your voice was, but you were too overtaken by desire to care whether he was just doing this to get a reaction from you.

“Please what?” You could feel his mouth curl into a smile as he reattached his lips to your neck, sucking lightly.

“Please, please, please, fuck me, Bucky.” Another moan slipped from your mouth.

“That’s better, baby.” His fingers relaxed against your hips, tracing upwards to the hem of your leggings. He tugged them down with your underwear so that they settled just below your ass, and he pulled back slightly to look at your bare backside.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice gravelly and low. He squeezed one cheek with his hand, kneading it slightly before letting it go and slapping it. “Been dreaming of this ass. It’s just as good as I imagined.”

You gasped, giggling. “So, I was right.”

“Right about what?” He asked, pulling down his shorts and freeing his cock before pressing it against your backside, hot length already dripping with precum.

“You’re a fucking perv, Bucky Barnes.” You smiled coquettishly.

He stilled behind you, and you could feel his glare burning a hole through the back of your neck. You kept smiling anyways-- this was the exact reaction you had hoped for.

He guided the tip of his member down to your slit, dragging it from your perineum to your clit and back again to gather your wetness, before completely sheathing himself inside of you in one motion. You moaned loudly in response to the harsh intrusion, body struggling to accommodate his size.

“Thought you learned not to call me that,” he said, voice level, unbothered by the fact that you were throbbing around him.

“Guess I n-never learn.” Your voice was barely a whisper as he began to move, slowly thrusting to allow your body a chance to adapt to the thrilling ache of being so completely full. It was a harsh sensation, but it felt good, each stroke dragging pleasantly against your tight walls.

“Oh, you’ll learn.” His left hand travelled up your body, drawing under your shirt and flipping the band of your sports bra up. Your breasts bounced free, full and heavy. “Let’s see those pretty little tits, huh?”

He pinched one nipple, rolling its rosy, peaked bud between his cool metal fingers and making you squeal in delight. You ground back against him, encouraging him to move faster inside of you.

“You like that?” He switched to the other nipple, kneading your breast gently in his hand, and you arched into the motion. “That feel good?”

You bit your lip and shook your head, trying to swallow your moans, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you fall apart so quickly and completely at his hands. “N-no.”

“You know,” he said, driving into you harder and harder with each thrust, but remaining frustratingly unperturbed and casual, “you don’t have to lie to me. I feel how drenched you are. You can admit how good it feels, baby.” His feigned affectionate tone, paired with the way that the tip of his cock was starting to brush against your g-spot, made you cry out. His permission to let go just made you want to disobey him even more, but the pleasure was slowly overtaking your body, overriding your sense of shame. You rocked on your heels, trying to take back some semblance of control, but when his left hand dragged from your breast to your neck, squeezing slightly, you were a goner. You shattered around him, your muscles fluttering around him and coaxing a gruff moan from his throat. But, he kept his focus, fucking you through your orgasm and watching your face as he did, your eyes scrunched shut and your lips dropped open in a soft “o.” He let go of your throat and you gasped.

As the waves of your orgasm subsided, he refused to slow down, his unrelenting pace repeatedly hitting your deepest point. You could feel him grinning stupidly at you, proud that he had already coaxed an orgasm out of you despite not cumming yet himself.

“B-Bucky,” you whined, your body limp against his. Though your first orgasm had abated, you quickly felt tension building again inside of you.

“Not so cocky now, are you, (Y/N)?” He said between heavy breaths. You knew he was close, just by the sound, but you also knew that he wouldn’t leave this room without teasing another orgasm from your body. “So docile once I put my dick in you.” He panted, laughing at the way you mewled and gasped around him.

His hand drifted down to where your bodies met, finding your clit in the slippery mess of your combined arousal. He pressed his fingers against it in erratic little circles, your body keening for him, completely at his mercy.

“Look at that, makin’ you gush around me again,” he said, almost to himself, reveling in your neediness. “Looks like I win at this, too.” And, with that, you were done for.

Your muscles squeezed around him in a sweet, warm vice, and he groaned at the sensation of you cumming around him a second time. You mewled pathetically, body spent with unabashed pleasure. He followed closely behind you, losing himself inside of you and spilling his arousal in hot, vulgar stripes. His head was thrown back, claiming your body as his in sweet, silent throes. Once his hips finally stilled, his body slumped against yours, completely and utterly spent. You stayed like that for a moment, leaning up against the wall, the battle between you clearly over. And then, he grasped your hips, his cock slipping out of you with a vulgar sucking sound.

You bent down, pulling up your pants, when you heard him clear his throat. You looked back, reaching underneath your shirt to pull your sports bra back down over your tits, when he chuckled. You arched a brow, but he just shook his head slightly. “That was… much more fun than beating you up.”

You frowned slightly, but when you saw his goofy smile and suddenly relaxed demeanor, you couldn’t help but mirror his expression. “Does that mean that we get to do that, instead of my training?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” he said sternly, crossing his arms but smiling slyly nonetheless. “But, we can do it outside of training. As long as I get to take you to dinner first,” he added quickly, his voice almost shy as he averted your gaze.

You smiled, laughing, and he looked up, expression nervous. Now, you shook your head. “Considering how good you just fucked me, I should be the one buying you dinner.”

He smirked, grabbing your water bottle and handing it to you, his fingers brushing against yours. “Now, that’s an offer that I can’t refuse.”

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfic #smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes one shot #marvel one shot #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes drabble

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0lympia · 4 years

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“why are you avoiding me?” izuku midoriya

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: izuku is a little out of character

summary: izuku midoriya carries the insecurity of his dad leaving around even still, and he’s terrified that you’ll leave too.

prompt: “why are you avoiding me?” “because i think i love you.”

When Izuku Midoriya was a little boy in preschool, and nobody had gotten their Quirks yet, he’d thought he was normal. He’d thought his whole life was normal. It was normal for dads to leave without saying goodbye, and it was normal for kids to only have one parent. Then, when Katsuki Bakugo was still been his friend, he’d been asked why he only had one parent, why didn't he have a dad?

He’d gone home that day with tears brimming in his big green eyes to ask his mom why he didn’t have a dad like everybody else at school. Inko told him that his dad was just away on a business trip, and he’d come home soon. But thirteen years had passed and his dad still hadn’t come home. Izuku had waited, for every birthday from the age of three to the age of fourteen for his dad to show even an inkling of interest in his son, and it never came.

Izuku met you when he was ten, and still hopeful that his dad would come home, and his emerald eyes would shine with adoration for a man he’d never met. Then, at some point, Izuku had convinced himself that his dad had left because he knew. He knew Izuku would be Quirkless, and that was why he wouldn’t come home.

So, in your first-year at UA together, when Izuku began to feel something that was different than being best friends, he was wholly and truly terrified. So much so, that he began to avoid you.

At first, you hadn’t thought much of your long-time friend and crush avoiding you. He’d begun worrying more about his schoolwork, and that was fine, finals were coming up, and his urgency to study spurred you on to study too.

Then, finals came and went, and Izuku found it harder to avoid you and you found it harder to be around him. Every time you’d ask to hangout, he’d find an excuse, and you began to wonder what you’d done wrong.

“Hey, Izuku,” You’d called to him after the final bell, moving swiftly around the desks to try and catch him before he could leave like he had the day before, the green-haired boy didn’t even turn to look at you, continuing on his way to the door. “Izuku!”

And today, just like the day before, he didn't even bother to spare you a second glance.

At this point, everybody knew. You and Izuku were almost always together, and when the two of you had first enrolled at UA, it wasn’t uncommon for people to ask if the two of you were dating.

“Hey, (L/N),” Kirishima called, jogging up from behind you when he’d seen Izuku ditch you for the nth time that week. “Wanna walk with me?”

You smiled up at him, grateful for the company, “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

The shark-toothed redhead offers to take your bag for you, and the two of you walk down the busy path back to the dorms. Kirishima keeps the conversation light, letting you guide the conversation until you begin to tell a story of a time when your best friend and crush didn’t ignore you.

“Hey, Kiri,” Your steps falter ten meters away from the front steps of the dorms and Kirishima stays at your side, and you can see Izuku chatting with Shoto on the concrete deck of the building, “Do you think I did something wrong? I-” You watch as Izuku and Shoto retreat into the dorms when the green-haired boy caught sight of you before you let your eyes turn down to the pavement beneath your sneakers. “I don’t want him to ignore me, y’know? He’s my best friend.”

Kirishima looked at you in shock, “So, you guys didn’t get into some big fight?”

You laughed, a dry chuckle escaping your throat as you gently shook your head, “No, he...” You begin to walk again, but Kirishima pulls you back, “He what?”

“He just started ignoring me.”

“Oh,” Kirishima manages through his surprise, “Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

You shake your head, another bitter chuckle escaping your lips as the two of you continue toward the dorms again, “I’ve been trying to talk to him, but well... you know.”

And that’s when genius hits Kirishima in the mental form of Katsuki Bakugo, “Why don’t you just corner him and make him talk?”

With no other options, you agree, which is how you end up sneaking into Izuku’s room through the balcony door you know he always leaves open after dinner.

Izuku says he’s not sure why it scares him so much, but the fluttering in his belly and his heart jumping into his throat when he sees you is terrifying. He tells himself that he’s not sure why he’s avoiding you, but he knows. He knows he’s scared that one day you’ll finally see him as he sees himself and leave and never come back. He’s scared of giving you everything and getting nothing in return.

He knows why he ignores you, but he pretends he doesn’t when his friends ask him if the two of you had a fight and he tells them that, yes, the two of you were in a fight.

He pretends that his heart doesn’t ache when you try and catch his eye with a pleading gaze and his name on the tip of your tongue. He pretends that you don’t exist, and it works until you call out to him again.

He knows exactly why you’re there, and he’s still surprised when he finds you in his dorm after he’d come back from his shower.

“Izuku,” You say, and your eyes gleam with unshed tears when he finally looks at you, when he has to look at you, “We need to talk.”

Izuku pretends to be angry, “Yeah, we do,” and his voice takes on a tone you’ve only ever heard when he was really mad, “Why the hell are you in my dorm?”

He pretends to be angry, because it’s easier that way.

“Because you were ignoring me, Izu,” You say, and you can't even try to hide the wobble in your voice, “You’re my best friend and you were completely ignoring me.”

Izuku can’t pretend to be mad. Not with you. Not as tears begin to fall from your eyes and roll over the apples of your cheeks.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You ask, and your voice trembles and cracks in a way that he’d only heard on the days after his birthday’s when his dad wouldn’t show up and you’d cry because he was crying.

But back then, you’d been crying for him, with him. Now, you’re crying because of him. He always hated to see you cry, somebody like you should always be happy, you looked better when you were smiling anyway.

He could pretend all he wanted, but you could read him like an open book, and he loved it. You knew him better than he knew himself, and he could read you just as well if not better. Which was what made him such a piss poor liar when it came to you.

“I’m not ignoring you,” Izuku grit out, even if he knew you’d see right through him, “But I’m about to start if you don’t leave my dorm in the next minute.”

“You’re a liar,” You spit, even as tears roll over the apples of your cheeks, your eyes blazing brighter than the sun as you take three steps across the room towards him. “You’re a fat fucking liar, Izuku. So why... Why are you ignoring me?!”

Somehow, he ends up cornering you, the backs of your knees hitting the top of his bed. His emerald green eyes are expressive, and they tell you everything, even now. Even when he’s towering over you and making you feel weak and small, his eyes are tender and warm and entirely the person you knew and loved.

“Izuku,” You whisper, and you cradle the side of his face in your palm, “Please don’t lie to me. If you didn’t want to be friends anymo-”

“-No!” Izuku yelled, then he was pulling you into a hug that landed the both of you on top of his bed. That was the last thing he wanted. Quieter, he uttered, “No, that’s... that’s not it.”

His large hands were keeping your face pressed tightly to the crook of his neck, and he could feel your tears beginning to soak through the thin fabric of his favorite All Might shirt.

“Why are you avoiding me?” You ask again, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him, clutching at the back of his shirt as you press yourself closer to him as if that would make the whole thing okay again.

“Because,” Izuku sighs, rolling over onto his back so he can look at you, trying to gauge your reaction, “Because I think I love you.”

He’s ready now. Ready to stop pretending and ready to face the hurt. But he’s not at all ready for the quiet giggle that slips from between your lips as you hold yourself up by pressing your hands against his firm pecs. Even though your cheeks are flushed and your eyes red and puffy, Izuku thinks you look beautiful.

“Sorry, sorry,” You mutter, and you press yourself close again, “Why would that make you avoid me?”

Izuku’s begun to tear up now, “I was afraid you’d leave me. I know I’m not that great, and I don’t want you to see me the same way I do. I don’t want to love you and not be loved back.”

You smile into his shirt before you let your gaze drift up to his face again.

“I think I love you too,” You whisper to him, lips ghosting over the freckled skin of his collarbone, “I think I have since we were just kids.”

Izuku sits up so fast that you would have fallen onto the floor had he not grabbed your waist.

“You won’t leave me, will you?” Izuku asks, green eyes boring into your own.

“I could never.”

Izuku sighs then, and he laughs. He feels so stupid. You’d been with him for years, and not once had you failed to return to him. Tears have begun to fall from his own eyes, and you smile warmly at him as you wipe them away.

“You really love me?” Izuku asks, and you nod, pressing a warm kiss to his lips. “I really do.”

Izuku falls back into his bed, dragging you with him. “Will you lay with me for a while?”

You hum, burying yourself in his chest. “Just don't ever do that again, got me?”

Izuku laughs, “I could never.”

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lihikainanea · 3 years

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thinking about jealous bill a lot these days, lei, and how he’d fuck her so good after. one of those fucks where he’s just making her HIS, fucking her from behind and just making her forget any words. especially if she was already small and some guy hit on her at a bar that she already didn’t want to be at and bill just assures her the whole time home. but once they’re home? he knows what he’s gotta do and that’s making her mind blank.

Oooooooof I've been sitting on this for too long, but it has had me tingling for days. I've been itching to get my thoughts out on it, but idk sometimes this routine that I think I have nailed down with my little furry dude just goes to shit all of a sudden and there's really no reason to it. Last week I was rocking it, his nap times were on point, I was eating dinner by 7, we had walks, play time, then he conked out. This week I'm like DURRRR HOW DO I DOG PARENT? and I'm eating dinner at 10 and I feel like even Bongo is looking at me like he really needs me to get my shit together.

ANYWAY.

Let's get into this.

What I love about this here is the small but incredibly important detail that you mentioned that like...maybe tiger is already a little small. Maybe she's somewhere she doesn't want to be and Bill knows this, maybe she's not feeling too great about it and is getting worse, maybe she wants out or needs a reprieve and Bill knows it. And that right there flares up his protector side, the primal side of him that just wants to pick her up and carry her out, get her somewhere dark where she can sit on his lap and he can shove his thumb in her mouth and hold her there for as long as she needs. Tiger being a little overwhelmed, a little uncomfortable in a place she doesn't want to be in, tiger getting a little small in a place that's not safe for her to be small in and she knows it so she's spiralling a little...oof, Bill morphs into the alpha male that he keeps buried deep, and his own instincts are on fire to protect her, comfort her, provide for her. Throw in a little jealousy on Bill's side because tiger being small is....like, that's his you know? Only he gets to see that. And her mood is completely imperceptible to everybody else, but she may as well have a sign on her forehead that says "PUT ME ON MY KNEES" to Bill. It's so obvious to him, and his feathers are all ruffled because that's his. That's his look.

So alright, maybe tiger is just having a fucking shit week. She's due to be riding the crimson wave in a few days so she's bloated and the tatas are sensitive , her clothes aren't fitting, she's been kind of nauseous all day with a dull ache in the base of her skull. Maybe it's 38754596660 fucking degrees in a heat wave and like, tiger doesn't do heat. Her commute to work is not air-conditioned, so by the time she gets home she's overheated and sweaty and even more puffy and just full of fucking bad feelings. She's physically uncomfortable for a million different reasons, she's tired, SHE'S SO DAMN HOT--it's just all bad.

But it's a friend's birthday and at the moment, tiger kind of thinks that friend is a fucking asshole for organizing something in the middle of the week--let alone the worst week of life--but she's going. They're going. They have to.

But Bill's not convinced.

"You know kid," he says gently as he leans against the doorframe, sipping a beer as tiger tries on the millionth dress. The rejects are in a heap on the bed, and she struggles with the zipper as she shoots him an annoyed look.

"We can sit this one out if you don't feel like going," he says. He doesn't move to help her with the zipper--not when she's in a mood like this. Instead, he just swigs his beer.

"No we can't Bill," she snaps, and with a frustrated huff the dress goes up and over her head and is tossed into the pile of rejects. "She'll be pissed if we miss this."

"Then she's pissed," he shrugs, "We can make it up to her."

Tiger yanks another dress out of the closet, pulls it on. She pokes at it, turns a few ways in the mirror.

"That one's cute," he says.

But then she unties the belt, flings it off so the dress billows loosely around her frame.

"Fuck it," she says, grabbing his beer on her way out of the room, "I'm fucking wearing this fucking potato sack to fucking dinner."

Bill watches as she downs the beer in two gulps.

"Ugh," she mutters lowly, "Fucking lite beer bullshit."

At this point, he really just has all the sympathy in the world for her. Her friends are important to her, and tiger always feels a sense of obligation to never let them down. He knows this is the last place she feels like going tonight, but she's forcing herself to.

And like the thing with tiger's bad moods is sometimes they make her full of piss and vinegar and ready to fight everyone, and sometimes they just make her small. Bill never knows which way it's going to go, but given the fact that she's a little hormonal and he knows she's close to shark week, he can take a guess at which way the dice will roll tonight.

And it basically starts in the car on the way there. She's fidgety, even with the A/C cranked on high. She's pulling at the hem of her dress, huffing, she's rubbing at her temples. At one point she takes the seatbelt, pulling it away from her body and Bill shoots her a quizzical look.

"If my tits could stop feeling like they're about to fucking burst, that'd be great," she mutters.

"I'll give you a massage later tonight," he kisses her knuckles.

"Fuck all of this."

"I know, kid."

And it just gets worse. When tiger is in this kind of mood, really the thing that makes it worse is to just....surround her with people. Surround her with people that she has to fake joy and happiness with. She doesn't have the patience or the fucking energy for it, and despite her best efforts, Bill can see the scowl permanently etched in her forced happy face. And he can see the shift start to happen--the way she fidgets a lot more, and can't get comfortable. The way her shoulders hunch over. The way she's flinching or jumping at loud noises, squinting or wrinkling her features at the bright lights. Her eyes are getting a bit of a spaced out look, she's not really engaging in conversations--everything is just too much. The environment is starting to get way too stimulating, way too overwhelming, and she's getting small on him. He gives her knee a hard squeeze, hard enough to ground her and catch her attention and she jolts.

"You good?" he murmurs lowly. And he knows she's not. SHE knows that he knows she's not. But she forces a fake smile, so wide that it's almost sarcastic.

"Peachy."

A few minutes pass, her knee bouncing, her eyes flitting everywhere, and she stands.

"I need some air," she says, "It's too fucking hot in here."

Bill stands immediately, but she puts a hand on his shoulder and pushes him back down.

"I'm fine," she says, "Really. Just give me a minute."

He doesn't like it, not one bit, but he lets her go. Alone.

A few minutes pass, and sure enough she comes back in. She motions her hand to the bar, but Bill holds up his full pint to let her know he doesn't need another round just yet. She nods, heading there anyway to get a refill for herself.

Bill has eyes on her. Bill always has eyes on her. And tiger doesn't see it, but Bill does--he sees the guy standing next to her give her a little once-over, sees a smirk tilt up the guy's lips, and Bill knows what's about to happen. He doesn't hear the conversation, but he doesn't need to. He sees the guy speak. He sees tiger tense up a little, a tight smile in politeness, and she turns her head to try and make eye contact with the bartender a little quicker.

The guy doesn't get the hint, and keeps talking. Bill stands up. His eyes are on her the whole time, and now she's ignoring the guy. Turning her body slightly away, leaning forward a bit in hopes of getting her order in with the bartender faster. Her shoulders are practically up by her ears, and the guy with the sleazy smirk is still talking. Bill is ready to fucking punch the guy into next week just for the reaction that he's eliciting from his girl--making her scared, making her uncomfortable, even fucking daring to talk to her when she's like this. Bill eats up the distance with quick strides.

He makes it in the nick of time, right as this guy had raised a hand and was poised to place it on tiger's back in a rather unwanted caress. Bill grabs his wrist, steps between him and tiger, and gets real into his space.

"Just try and touch her motherfucker," he growls, "I dare you."

And listen, if nothing else--Bill is tall and that's intimidating as fuck when it gets right up in your space real quickly. But Bill also came out of nowhere, he looks a little crazy, and this guy suddenly ain't so down to rumble.

"Bro, I didn't know--"

But Bill just stands even taller and tiger actually shrinks behind him, her hand gently on his back, and it's the only thing that's keeping him remotely calm. This isn't about his anger. This is about protecting her, especially when she's like this for him, and nothing else matters.

The guy just holds his hands up, and backs away into the crowd. When he's out of sight, Bill turns to her.

"We're leaving kid," he says, and god it's so gentle, "Go wait for me by the car okay?"

"No," she mumbles immediately, fisting at his shirt a little bit, "No, can I stay here with you?"

And he realizes that she's a little scared and just a whole lot overwhelmed, and Jesus he could fucking melt into a puddle for her right that second.

"Of course you can," he tugs on a lock of her hair gently, "Of course you can."

Bill gets the bartender's attention in no time--a giraffe at your bar will do that--and he pays for everyone's tab. They make a hasty exit but he takes the blame--it's par for the course when you're friends with Bill, he's often tiger's ride and he's always getting all kinds of urgent calls--and then they leave.

And listen, the second that they're in the car? Tiger can finally start to let her walls come down, which is just fucking igniting Bill's jealous side and his protector side.

"Are you okay?" he murmurs to her. She looks so fussy, so small for him.

"I want to go home," she whines.

"I know sweet girl, I'm taking you home."

"He was awful Bill," she says, "Ugh, he was so sleazy and so slimy and--and he tried--"

"He tried tiger," he says softly, "He can try all he wants. He'll never have what's mine."

"No he won't," she sniffles. Bill tucks her hair behind her ears, taps two fingers against her lips and she sucks at them.

"Are you mine?" he asks softly, "Is this mine?"

She nods, but he tuts her.

"Yes," she mumbles, "Yours."

"Good," he murmurs. He pulls his fingers from her mouth and she whines, but he drags his hand down and cups her mound softly. She moans and grabs onto his wrist.

"What about this?" he asks, "Is this mine too?"

"Yes," she chokes out, "Yes. God Bill get me home."

"I will sweet girl, I will."

And listen, when they get home? oof. There's no stopping Bill. He can't switch it off, he doesn't want to tame it, and tiger doesn't want him to either. She's his. He's possessive, he's rough, he's jealous--and all it does is make her smaller for him, make her even more soft and subby, which just makes him even more alpha. It's rough because he needs it, SHE needs it, needs the pain of it to feel grounded, needs the sting of a spanking so that she can feel his strength, so she can feel like she's his, so she can feel owned and possessed and protected. And Bill needs to mark her to feel like she's his, because goddamnit it came so close tonight to everyone seeing her only the way he gets to. Too many people almost saw what is only his to see.

For as much as he wants to wreck her, maybe tiger wants to be on her knees for him. Maybe she needs to be on her knees for him. And for however much he might need something else, nights like these are always about her, and what she needs comes first.

#sub tiger #bill skarsgard #bill skarsgard drabble #BFF!Bill #oof #it's been a hot minute since we got subby up in hurr #and it does a bitch some GOOOOOOOOOD

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zmediaoutlet · 3 years

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in support of Texas relief,@whiskeycherrypie donated $25, and requested Sam/Dean, very late seasons, switching. Thank you for donating!

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(read on AO3)

The second hunt, after, is when things start to feel real again.

First job was the shapeshifter and even after just a few weeks of post-almost-apocalypse vacation they were rusty, as much as they ever got rusty. Sam broke his damn finger, which Dean made fun of him for, and Dean limped around on a half-busted shin that Sam can just stop smirking about, any time now, but they felt—like what? Hard to pin down. Like they were stepping out into a strange world. Like they'd fire a gun and didn't know if it'd recoil the same way it always would, because the world was different. New. At least, Dean kept feeling that way, and he thinks he's known Sam long enough to guess Sam was feeling about the same. Every part of that job was—feeling for a step down in the dark, and then being surprised when it was there. Sam flicking through the local paper checking obits, cautious when he pointed out a possible connection, like he hadn't done the same thing a hundred, thousand, times before. Dean going through the trunk and pulling out their supplies and holding a fistful of silver bullets in his hand and thinking—is this it? Sam, getting the motel room after, when they'd been to the Urgent Care to check out Dean's stupid shin that it turns out, okay, wasn't broken after all, and the woman at the counter asking what kind of room, and Sam hesitating, and glancing back at where Dean was propped up in the office doorway.

But it was right, in the end. They did right. They saved most of a day and killed the bad thing and it turned out that after everything they were still the same guys they always were. After the world ended it was supposed to be maybe something else, but, shit, the world didn't quite end after all, and it turned out… Sam gave his stupid shin a few more days to rest up and kept his finger splinted and then after a week there was Sam, laptop open on the table when Dean came in for breakfast, and he said, "Hey, you want to work?" with every expectation that Dean would, and that—that was new, kind of, in the way that Sam wasn't trying to distract himself or Dean, and it wasn't to patch up some broken thing that couldn't be fixed, and it wasn't because they owed anything to anyone. It was because it turned out that after all this was who they were, and Dean looked at Sam over the island while he whipped up some eggs semi-capably (although he never used enough salt) and Sam glanced over his shoulder when the toaster popped and saw Dean looking, and raised his eyebrows like—what?—like this wasn't just the best hope of Dean's life being realized, finally, right here in a hole in the ground at eight in the morning, on the wrong side of forty. "What's the job?" was all Dean said, then, and then—that was it. That was that.

Second hunt's a success, too. Vetalas, in Wyoming. Dean hates Wyoming. Not for the people or the scenery or the weather, even, though the weather can be a bitch, but because you can't get anywhere with a damn mountain leaping up into the middle of the highway and having to drive three hours the wrong direction to get to where you're going. Sam has heard this argument, and rolls his eyes mostly, but this time, this second hunt, he laughs, and stretches out in the passenger seat with the window rolled down and his elbow hanging out, and it's summer and he's stripped out of his jacket and has his sleeves rolled up and he just looks—good. Dean recites his lines: "Lander to Pinedale should be, what, forty minutes, but no, we gotta drive a hundred miles out of the way to get around this stupid—" and Sam sighs and says his line, which is, "Don’t you like driving?" and Dean says, "Don't get facts in the way here, man, that is not the issue—" and it's… the same ruts, the same life, but Sam's face is all folded up in glad creases, his dimple carved in so deep it looks like it's going to set up residence there full-time, and Dean eases off the gas a little, stretches out the drive, even if it's around the same damn mountain they've circled three times, looking for the same damn vetalas. They find them, of course, and they kill them, and they find three men drained of life in the cellar at their cabin but there are two more that Sam and Dean save, and on the drive back to Kansas through the night Sam's not in that same sunshine mood but he's not anything but content, either. Dean had—he'd hoped, in some shriveled part of himself that hadn't really had much luck with hoping—and maybe the last few years he'd gotten some proof, that what he'd wanted was what Sam wanted, too—but to have the proof, right here, it's—he doesn't pray, really, but he says inside his head very clearly thank you, to whatever might be listening. It's all he's got. He hopes it's enough.

They stop for a booze restock, for stuff to make dinner, and back at the bunker Dean's slow, watching Sam unpack his half of the car. His finger's still splinted but it can probably come off, soon. He gets his backpack on his shoulder and his duffle over his arm and the twelve pack in the good hand, and glances at Dean, and says, "What?"

"Nothing," Dean says. Sam's eyes narrow in that tiny tiny way where he smooths it out so fast he must think Dean won't notice, but Dean's honest, here, and he smiles without meaning to, and Sam frowns at him but smiles back, confused. Dean claps him on the shoulder and Sam shakes his head, says, "Dude, what?" and Dean says, "Nothing, you deaf? C'mon, let's get the beer in the fridge before it gets any warmer," and Sam shakes his head again and says, "You're the weirdest person I know," and Dean looks over his shoulder and says, "Takes one, Sammy," and he's just—sure. Sure, all through his body, from gut to his heart to his stupid brain, always lurching, looking for the exits. What a thing.

Spaghetti and meatballs, for dinner. The sauce is from a jar but Dean takes his time with the meat. Half pork, half beef, the spices he likes, a bunch of garlic. Sam practically inhales it and gets sauce on his chin and Dean grins at him until Sam colors and says, "Shut up," and swipes it off with the heel of his hand, and then shrugs and licks his palm. They're on season two of Game of Thrones and they watch an episode, and Dean wants Joffrey to die and asks Sam to tell him it'll happen soon, and Sam just smiles and says, "Dude, I'm not giving you spoilers after how long I had to wait to read the books. Hold your horses." Dean mutters, "I'll hold your horses," and Sam raises his eyebrows, but Dean just waves a hand instead of getting into the bickering match they could.

They get fresh beers and Dean says, "Hey, let's—" and so they head upstairs to ground level, and Sam brought two spare bottles each, and they go around to the back side of the big abandoned power plant where there's an ugly concrete bench they hung out on, sometimes. Especially before, when the bunker was fuller than it is now. A place to be quiet, to breathe. To watch the moonrise, as they're doing now, and drink in quiet companionship, their knees touching because they both tend to sprawl, and they've never, ever minded each other's warmth. Even when they were pissed at each other, or when it hurt.

Dean holds his beer in both hands, leaning his head back against the stone wall. Sam's quiet at his side. A three-quarter moon, so it's bright enough to lay white-silver on the planes of Sam's face. His nose, a gleam of that goofy ski-slope swoop. His brow. A light shine on his hair, and brighter on the silver that's started to come out in it. Dean's always been a little entertained by that—Sam's four years and a handful of months younger than him, and it's Sam who's been going grey faster—but he never said anything about it because—well, it's just something, that's all. Sammy, with grey hair. He's so damn lucky to see it he can't really pull Sam's pigtails about it.

Everything else, though: fair game.

"Never have I ever?" Dean says, after who knows how long sitting in silence. They're on their second beers, anyway.

Sam huffs. "You're kidding," he says. He tips his head on his shoulder, looking sidelong at Dean in the dark. "Anyway, wouldn't you just get… trashed, at that game? You've done everything, right?"

"Very much underselling your weird kinky shit, brother mine," Dean says. Sam's eyebrows jump and Dean's stomach rushes hot, in a way he didn't expect, even if he's been halfway thinking, all day, about how they were going to get here. "Try this: never have I ever… ate out a chick during shark week."

Sam half-scoffs, weak. Dean raises his eyebrows back, and Sam says, "Seriously?"

Dean spreads a hand, expansive, and Sam says, quiet, "This is so stupid," but then, because Dean knows his brother very well indeed, Sam takes a drink, and Dean says "Ha!" out loud and shoves Sam's shoulder, and then says, after a second's thinking, "Dude, seriously?"

"It's just blood," he says, and it's not exactly defensive but there's a shard of it buried somewhere in there. Dean laughs, half-surprised and half-not. "Not like we don't deal with it every day. You should broaden your horizons."

"Oh, my horizons are plenty broad," Dean says. It's bubbling in his chest, now, ready to come out. This is stupid—"This is stupid," Sam says, out loud—and teenage, and dumb, but he feels… "Come on, your turn," he says, and Sam lets out this long exasperated sigh, but even in the moonlight Dean can see that he's smiling, and Sam says: "Okay, fine: never have I ever had a threesome."

Dean sits up straighter. "What, seriously?" he says, derailed, and Sam shrugs, and of course Dean has to take a drink because Sam knows that Dean—and then it's on, really.

Dancing on the edge. The things they know about each other, the things they might could guess. Dean kills his last beer on never have I ever had sex in a movie theater, and he tells Sam after that that he needs to live more, and Sam smiles at him kind of bitchy and then says, "Hang on, stay here," and Sam gets up and half-jogs away, disappears down the recessed hidden driveway that leads to the garage, and Dean sets his bottle down among the empties and rubs his palms over his thighs, letting the warm denim scratch him up, taking a deep breath. It feels too big to say. Even if he's sure. It's too big to even be true, if it's…

Sam comes back, quick, like he ran the whole way. He has two more beers and the bottle of bourbon they bought today tucked under his arm. "Okay, sucker," he says, handing Dean an open bottle and plumping back down on the bench. Their thighs are solid together. He clinks his bottle with Dean, setting the bourbon down at their feet. "Never have I ever…" He licks his lips, shine in the dark. "Slept with a demon."

Dean blinks. He takes a breath. "I don’t think that's how you're supposed to play," he says, and Sam bites his lips between his teeth and shrugs. Maybe he's a little tipsier than he seems, even if they're only three beers down. Sam takes a drink, quick, but his eyes are focused on Dean's face, the moon a little behind his shoulder, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek but drinks, too, and Sam lets out this quick short breath that—Dean doesn't know, what that means. He feels caught at something.

"Did you—" Sam starts, and cuts off. Quiet, for a second. Dean's cheeks feel hot. "I didn't mean… I meant on Earth, not in…" Awkward. The air goes out of Dean, realizing that Sam's trying to give him an out.

"Me too," he says, voice weird in this way he could be embarrassed by but—he isn't, and Sam's face turns away, and even with full moonlight Dean can't tell what that expression is.

He puts his beer down. "Never have I ever slept with a vampire," he says.

Sam's chin ducks down. Dean licks his lips and folds his hands between his knees. Sam puts his beer down, too, and braces on the edge of bench. There's barely enough room between them for his hand to fit; his knuckle presses against Dean's thigh and Dean licks his lips.

"Never have I…" Sam shakes his head, huffs. He looks up, out at the empty farmland spilling out from the back of the plant. His eyes shine, open, though Dean doesn't know what he's looking at. "I've never slept with a guy. On Earth, I haven't."

Dean bites the wet off his bottom lip, dragging, and then ducks down and gets the bourbon instead. Twist of the cap and a glug goes down—christ, hot. He coughs. "I hate the cask strength shit," he says, and Sam says, "Wuss," thin, and Dean could bicker back but it's here. Here. All this stuff he didn't know Sam was thinking about—things Dean kept secret, and things he didn't—and he didn't mean to dredge it all up at once but maybe it's better. Like this, in the dark. The night warm, smelling like grass and the weeds growing up among the fallow field, and Sam's knuckles still pressed up right there, where if Dean put his hand down he'd cover them.

"Do you remember that time in, uh," Dean starts. Swerving around the mountain, the long way through the dark. Sam's head turns towards his, a little. "Montana, I guess it was. Somewhere. You were… seventeen. That July. You got so wasted."

"Whose fault was that?" Sam says. Dean grins, makes sure it's wide and wicked, and Sam glances up at him and huffs again, more of a laugh this time than whatever the last one was. "That was when we invented beer bowling."

"Yeah, and you sucked," Dean says, and Sam shakes his head and leans back against the plant wall, tipping his head back to look at the stars. They did play, ten-pin with glass shattering because the only ball they had was a half-rounded rock. Then they sat out with Sam tipsy and Dean getting that way himself, only twenty-one and not quite as sure of what he was doing as he is now, and they just… talked. He can't even remember about what. They just sat and they were together and it was about the happiest Dean was that whole year. Like if he could just have that, forever, things would be okay. That was… god, twenty years ago.

"One more round," Dean says, now. Sam's eyes close. Dean leans the bottle on Sam's thigh so he can feel it. "Never have I ever kissed you."

Sam's eyes pop wide when Dean picks up the bottle, and takes a drink. He sits up straighter. Dean lets the burn of the swallow go all the way to his stomach, a bonfire there, and watches Sam's face as the thoughts flicker across it, limned in moonlight. Sam opens his mouth, and closes it, and he's not mad just like Dean knew he wouldn't be mad but it's still enough of a relief that Dean tips the bottle his way, says, "Technically, you did too, so—"

Sam takes it out of his hand but doesn't drink. "No, we didn't. When?"

Dean wipes his mouth, dragging his hand over his chin, and down. Sam's watching him. "After the second trial," he says, finally. Sam frowns. "Your fever was pretty bad. You kept talking about…" He shakes his head. All sorts of things Dean doesn't like remembering. About worth, and right, and being clean. Nonsense, as far as Dean was concerned, though he didn't know how to say it that way, then. With how it was. Instead he leans back against the wall and says, because it's true, and he can say it now: "I just wanted to… I guess, to prove something. How I didn't think of what you were saying the same way you did. How I didn't believe all that crap you were saying about yourself. It was bad and I didn't want you to believe it, either, and I didn't really know how else to… You didn't remember, though, so I guess it didn't do the trick. To be honest, thought I was a better kisser."

Sam doesn't smile. It was a pretty weak attempt. He stares at Dean, and Dean lifts a shoulder.

How it was, then. In the hotel, where Metatron was staying. When he found Sam on the floor and about had a heart attack. Sam's skin burning and ice-cold by turns. His body this huge out of control thing, being taken over by something Dean didn't understand. He woke up while Dean was trying to drag him to the bath, but he wasn't really conscious, hardly making sense. Babbling, half-frantic, trying to make Dean understand—how it was okay, how it was fine if he burned, if somehow the trials scoured the marrow out of his bones, because it was just right after all he'd done and all he hadn't, and it was a use for him, when he hadn't been worth anything in so long. Dean had told him no, over and over, and no again, and he'd slapped Sam at some point to get him to shut up, to try to shock him out of the awful monologue, but Sam didn't even register it, clinging to Dean's shirt while the tub filled, the sack of ice Dean had brought bobbing to the surface. It can mean something, Sam had said, nodding, tears in his eyes, trying to smile, and Dean wanted to throw a chair through the window but he grabbed Sam's face instead and he said it does and Sam shook his head, confused, and Dean leaned in against him, ready to cry too, and instead he…

"I thought," Sam starts, and immediately stops. His hands twist around the bourbon bottle. "I dreamed that."

Dean thinks of a joke to make, something about Snow White, but he keeps his mouth shut. He remembers it, clearly. Sam's mouth, hot and dry against his own. His hands clenched in Dean's shirt, and on the side of his neck. Weak and strong at once. If Sam dreamed it, what does he remember?

Sam looks down at the bottle for almost a minute, Dean counting it away with beats of his heart. A breeze picks up, light and warm. A cricket, somewhere, chirping and then going quiet. It could feel bad but it doesn't. It could be terrifying, but it's just—Sam, and him. Like always. Like it will be, always. He knows that, now. No matter what.

Sam smiles, eventually, for no reason Dean can tell. He wipes his thumb over the rim of the bottle and then takes a drink, two long swallows that are loud as they go down, and then he takes the bottle away from his mouth and puts his hand on Dean's jaw and leans in and kisses him. Brief, hot. Not dry. His mouth tastes like bourbon. It tastes just like Dean's.

Sam leans back. Dean takes a deep breath. Sam looks at him, very close, and Dean puts his hand on the side of Sam's neck, his fingers sliding into Sam's hair, and Sam's lips quirk and he nods and Dean leans in and kisses him, again, slower, pressing in soft with his lip plush against Sam's, tipping to make it good, and his jaw's cupped in both big mitts and Sam opens for him and it's…

He pulls away eventually. He must have been breathing, during, but he hardly sees how. Sam kisses the corner of his mouth, weirdly sweet, and his hands drag down to Dean's chest before he pushes back, blinking. "You better remember that one," Dean says, and Sam smiles briefly, but shakes his head, not letting them off the hook.

"I didn't…" What goes there? Dean could guess but he doesn't want to. Sam's thoughtful now, but his hand's on Dean's forearm, because Dean's hand is—oh, still locked there on the side of Sam's neck, holding on. Sam's still, doesn't seem to mind, and Dean lets his thumb brush over Sam's stubble. Familiar. The world new, and not-new.

Sam squeezes his arm. "Did you start the stupid game just to say that line?" Dean shrugs. Sam rolls his eyes, and detaches Dean's hand from his neck, and stands, but pulls Dean up at the same time, and this time when he kisses Dean it's—full, real, Sam holding him close and Dean lifting his face up for it and Sam getting an arm around his shoulders and Dean pressing his mouth open, just a little, licking Sam's top lip and getting a slow, deep inhale where Sam's close enough that he can feel it.

"Sammy," Dean says, and maybe there's more to say. More that should be said, if this is what—but Sam shakes his head, and says, "Come on," and scoops up the bourbon and his empty beers, and so Dean scoops his up, too, and follows Sam around the plant and down the stairs to the bunker and to the kitchen, where they drop the bottles in a rattle of glass into the recycle bin Sam insisted they get, and then Sam looks at him in the light, his hair a little rucked-up at the back from where Dean was messing with it and his mouth a little pink and his expression just… considering, open, honest, and Dean looks back, not trying to hide a thing. How can he? It's Sam.

In the morning, Dean wakes up slow, alone in his room. He has a shower, taking his time, and wraps up in his robe, and comes into the kitchen to find coffee made but no breakfast, and he pours a cup and thinks about eggs, or maybe waffles if he wants to wrestle that ancient cast-iron waffle pan down from the top of the shelf, and he's thinking mainly about the food but he's also thinking, of course, about Sam, and it's only about five minutes of him standing there with his hip against the kitchen island before the door creaks, distant, and then—Sam, in the doorway, shining with sweat.

Dean's stomach flips, very slightly. It's just Sam, soaked and gross after a run. It's every morning, like the last, except, of course—

Sam hesitates for just a second. His mouth turns up at one corner, a little rueful, and then he comes in and grabs his metal bottle from the fridge, and gulps water. Dean turns to watch him, coffee warm in both hands, and when Sam's done he leans against the fridge, breathing deep, and then says, "I don't know, it feels like it should be weirder," like he's continuing a conversation they were in the middle of without interruption.

"Nothing weird about being hot for my bod," Dean says, calm, and Sam snorts. He looks at Dean sidelong, and then turns and really looks at him. Looks, from Dean's mouth to his slippered feet, and it's not much of a view in the robe but Dean spreads his arms out, anyway, and Sam bites his bottom lip, half-smiling. Dean sets his coffee on the island, runs his thumb along the lipstick-red rim. "You know," he says. "It doesn't ever have to be more than this. Just… how we've got it. It's good, now."

"It is," Sam says, easy. He twists the cap back on to his bottle, sets it on the counter, and folds his arms over his chest, and he's still just looking but Dean feels, now, the difference in it. It's just Sam but it's also… maybe a new part, a Sam that Dean didn't really get before, and the consideration there, the curiosity, the attention, it's… He tilts his head back, looks at Sam right back. Sam smiles.

Last night they did nothing more than kiss. Dean stepped close in the kitchen and tipped his head up and Sam met him, one more time, and it was soft and a little strange and a little new, but it felt right, in a way that's been full in Dean's chest, from the first moment of Sam's hand on his face to—well, it hasn't gone away.

"I was thinking I'd make waffles," Dean says, still buoyed in it. "You want one or two?"

"Two," Sam says, and Dean nods, and Sam gets the pan down—showing off, tall bastard—and then goes off to shower, and Dean mixes up the batter and butters the pan and pours in the mix and watches for when the steam stops, eyes on the cast iron but his thoughts around the corner of two hallways and down a few doors, and when he's got four waffles stacked on two plates and he's wondering if he's gonna need to send in a rescue team, Sam comes back into the kitchen with wet hair and says, "I'm going to run a marathon," and Dean blinks at him, entirely derailed, and says, "What?"

A marathon. Apparently Sam's been thinking about it for a while. His runs, he says, in the morning, are usually five miles, but he's been running a little longer each time, and he's at seven now without much worrying about the extra distance. He wants to go the whole way. See if he can do it, he says.

Dean's busy smearing as much butter as he can feasibly fit into the squares of his waffle, but he gives Sam a look. "If I can, he says," Dean mutters, and maybe it's against usual policy to give Sam full credit but it gets a surprised blink and then Sam looking down at his own syrup-free plate with a soft curve to his mouth, so—worth it. Dean cuts a four-square bite and pauses, watching the melty puddles form on the plate. "So, what. Are you going to enter one of those city things? Am I gonna have to drive along the route with Gatorade and applaud from the sidelines? Are you dressing up as a moose for charity?"

Sam shakes his head. "I can donate to charity on my own time," he says, although to be honest Dean's now taken with the moose idea. Sam sees him thinking about it and rolls his eyes. "No. But—I can figure out a route with my phone. Just around here. Anyway, it can't hurt, for the job."

"Yeah, I'll let you chase down the next werewolf," Dean says, shaking his head. Marathons. His brother.

They finish eating about the same time. Sam sips at his coffee while Dean sucks maple from his thumb. "You want to find a job," Dean says, while Sam's piling their forks and plates together, "or do you want to go for another jog? Gotta get up to twenty-six miles somehow."

"Twenty-six point two," Sam says, standing up with the dishes in hand, and then he leans over and brushes Dean's thumb away from his mouth and kisses him, again, and Dean grips the edge of the table and Sam's shoulder, his mouth pushed open on Sam's tongue, sliding in easy like he's got the run of the place and doesn't expect an ounce of resistance. Fair enough. Dean tips his head back and tastes Sam, syrup-and-coffee, and when Sam pulls back his eyes are half-closed and he licks his lips, and his eyes drop to Dean's mouth.

"Weird?" Dean says.

"Should be," Sam says, quieter, but he stands up, and lets his thumb drag over Dean's jaw before he steps away, to the sink, and he doesn't say anything more when he puts the dishes in and stands there with hands braced on the edge for—ten seconds, twenty, thirty—before he turns the water on.

Dean could say something but there's nothing to say. It's weird. It's not. That it's not is weirder. He gets up, refreshes his coffee with the hot from the pot, says, "I'll look for a job," and goes to the library, and lets Sam think, with his hands in soapy water, and quiet to do it in.

There are odd stories—news of the weird never fails to deliver—but nothing so pressing as to drag them across the country on an urgent mission. Dean doesn't feel the need to fake anything, either, to yank out of the bunker on a long drive of not talking through the night and too-loud music and burying their thoughts into means/motive/monstrous opportunity. He sends some links to Sam's email and goes and finds clothes instead, finally, and figures—well, today's a day off. He changes the Impala's oil, washes her. Goes through the trunk, sitting on a stool dragged over from the garage's weird little office, and makes notes of what they're out of, what needs replaced. More salt. More holy oil. Or—not more holy oil, since they haven't seen hide or nor hair of angel or demon in weeks and weeks and maybe never again, and he sits, then, with the empty flask turning over and over in his hands, looking into the trunk, thinking about—how the world is, now. How there's downtime. How, incredibly, there are marathons to run.

In the library, later, Sam's reading on his laptop. "That thing in Pierre might be something," he says, without preamble, and Dean nods—it could be—but then Sam says, "I sent it to Jody, to see if she and the girls want to take a look."

Dean sets the empty flask on the table. Sam's eyes barely flick to it. "What are we gonna do, then?" he says, and Sam sits back in his chair, laptop lid half-closed. He half-smiles, looking down at nothing, and then he looks up at Dean again.

They sleep together that night. Nothing complicated. Dean's room, and the lamps all off but the one over on the table by the door, so Sam's half-haloed in amber light this time, instead of the white moon. Dean's shirt comes off but Sam's stays on, and they're still in their socks, and Sam leans over Dean on one elbow, touching his chest, curious. It's not romantic, or urgent, but Dean keeps smiling, and Sam finally catches him at it and whispers, "Shut up," and kisses him when he opens his mouth to protest that he wasn't saying anything. While they're necking Dean gets Sam's jeans open, and slides his hand inside, and Sam bites his lip but he's half-hard, and gets harder while Dean learns the shape of him. Sam rocks a warm palm over where Dean's swelling up and Dean rips at his own belt, unzips, and then rolls them over so Sam's on his back, and Sam grips his hips, looking up, his hair loose on the pillow and his face just…

After, Dean wipes his hand on Sam's shirt. "Dick," Sam says, and Dean says, "Hey, it was already a disaster, I just added to the general—" and Sam rolls his eyes and nudges Dean off, and pulls the shirt over his head, tugging it off careful from the back. Dean rolls onto his side, looking. Sam's shoulders, and his back. Muscle and, miraculously, no scars. His skin that same all-over bronze, like he's immune somehow to farmer tan. Sam tosses the shirt in the same vague direction that Dean's went and then looks over his shoulder, finds Dean looking. Half-smiles. He lays back, his head on the pillow, and tucks a hand underneath it, looking up at the ceiling. Dean just keeps looking at Sam.

"It should be weird," Sam says, after a second.

"It's a little weird," Dean says. Sam snorts, one corner of his mouth turning up. "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Sam's head tips, on the pillow. He looks into Dean's eyes, then at his lips. He reaches over and presses his thumb against Dean's bottom lip, and Dean lets Sam dent it, pulling, and then he flicks his tongue against Sam's skin. Faint salt, faint bitter. Sam drags his thumb down, wet trail over Dean's chin, and then settles his hand on Dean's chest.

This. This is weird. Sam looking at him, quiet. Sweat's still drying in the middle of Dean's back and he has the sense of what it feels like to have his brother's hand on his dick full in his head. The body part, though, that—matters, of course it matters, but it feels secondary to Sam just... fully present. That they're both in the same weird, weird boat, and that it could go on like this forever, and it wouldn't change a thing.

"I don't want to wonder about it anymore," Dean says. He gets his hand on Sam's wrist, squeezes. "There's—I don't know, man. There's a bunch of crap we should probably be talking about, freaking about. But it's…"

"Beside the point?" Sam offers, and Dean nods. That's it. Sam nods, too, and closes his eyes, and maybe that makes it easier.

Dean closes his, too, and it's just the amber-colored haze of dark, and the kinda-too-warm of the bed, and his hand sticky and needing to be washed, and vaguely wanting a shower. And he's an adult, and he's fucked before, and so it's also that one article about that disappearance in Winston-Salem that he's been half-thinking about all day, wondering if there's more—and then remembering that they're out of milk—and then, when Sam's thumb drags over his pec, under his nipple, the vague jolt of: Sam, and maybe that should be all that fills his head but Sam suffuses every other thought. Dean can't make any more room in himself than he already has.

"Did that woman in North Carolina disappear at night?" Sam says, after another minute.

Dean's eyes fly open. "Shit," he says, to Sam's frown, and they sit up at the same time, and then—it's them, and the job, and nothing's really, in the end, that different.

Sam keeps running. He tracks his step count with an app, figures out mile by mile how far he can push it, how fast he can go. Dean goes into Lebanon by himself one day, hitting the post office and the market and just getting some air, and then he rolls to a stop at the single stop sign and checks his odometer, and then drives—a square, basically, twenty-six miles around the farm-fields both worked and fallow, and he imagines what it would be like to run the whole way. He's run for his life, and he's run for the lives of others, but just to do it for himself—no. He gets Sam, most every way, but this one is gonna stay a mystery, he thinks.

"What took so long?" Sam says, when he gets home.

The milk's still mostly-cold. "Estelle wouldn't stop hitting on me, man," Dean says, hauling in his half of the load, and Sam rolls his eyes, and Dean slots the barely-frozen pizza into the freezer and stocks the eggs into their holder and then, when Sam's done putting the cans onto their spot on the shelf, tugs at Sam's belt-loop and gets Sam surprised and then leans up and kisses him, pressing him against the dry goods, and Sam kisses back good and pleased and open and then, when Dean sets back down on his heels, touches the back of Dean's ear and murmurs, soft, "If I knew angry old ladies got you hot I would have tried something different, last night," and gets Dean laughing, unexpected, tucked into the corner of their kitchen.

They've been slow with each other. Dean has more experience but he didn't realize how much more. Sam's not uncertain, not nervous—incredible, how not-nervous Sam is, and Dean got finger-shaped bruises on his triceps one day when Sam just held him down and kissed and kissed and kissed him, body-confident and knowing, smiling pleased and half-smug when he pulled back and Dean was nearly dazed with wanting him. Little shit. Still: Sam's not a virgin, not by half, but he was being honest when he said he'd never screwed a guy—on Earth, that is, and Dean knows exactly what he meant by that qualification, and it was a very very brief conversation afterward ("It doesn't count," Sam had said, firm and honest there too, and Dean had nodded because, after everything, he trusts Sam to be honest), and they left it at that.

It's Sam who brings up more. Dean's content to follow. It's Sam who gets Dean's jeans open one night, petting at the base of his dick and sliding down to cup his balls, long fingers and big broad palm, and it's good but it's Sam who hmms, and then says, "Mind if I—" and crawls backwards down the bed—Sam's bed, the mattress tipping with Sam's weight—and Sam who bolsters Dean's dick up out of the split of his fly and breathes there, eyes flicking up the length of Dean's body where he's propped on his elbows, briefly dazed. "Go ahead," Dean says, voice coming from somewhere approximately at the center of the earth, and Sam snorts, and fists Dean capably from root to tip, and then leans in and licks, flat and deliberate up the spine of it, a wet warmth that shocks in Dean's thighs and between his shoulders and sparking in his hands, making him fist into the blanket. Sam's eyes are closed, like he's concentrating. Dean tips his knee out wide and touches Sam's cheek, and Sam's mouth tips up at the corners, and he shifts forward and takes the head in his mouth and—oh, that. He doesn't quite know how to get his mouth around it at first but he figures it out quick, and he sucks the tip and licks under the crown and fists the rest and when Dean's close, clenching, Dean says, "Come up here," and Sam opens his eyes after who knows how long and they're black, practically, and he crawls up over Dean's body still jerking and Dean kisses him, licks the taste of himself out, and Sam breathes hot into his mouth and groans when Dean comes, looking down at the spill over his fist, and he says, "Fuck, that's good," rough and true. Dean pants through it for a few selfish seconds before he squirms down to return the favor, and Sam's mostly-hard just from sucking Dean, and he's weirdly a gentleman when Dean goes down on him, hands off and careful until Dean lifts off, gulping, and says, "Like you mean it, dude," and Sam laughs and then grips him and that's how they learn that Sam likes dick just fine, in fact, and that Dean likes even more how much Sam likes it.

Sam runs farther. Dean paces him, one day, when they fell asleep in the same bed and mostly managed to sleep through the night together, except for some moment around three a.m. when Sam kicked too hard and Dean threatened blurrily to murder him or dump him out of the bed, one or the other—and way too early after that, Sam nudged him awake, lacing up his running shoes, said, "Come on," and Dean groaned and pulled the pillow over his head and then, well, he came on.

Seven in the morning, autumn settling over the farms. Cold enough that Sam's breath fogs and Dean rubs his hands together, sitting in the idling car with the window down while Sam stretches his hamstrings. "You look ridiculous," Dean says, just to say something. Sam ignores him, of course. "How far are we going?" he says, instead, and Sam says, "Thirteen," and Dean checks the odometer and says, "Okay, Speedy Gonzalez, you just say—" and Sam says, "Go," and takes off, and Dean rolls his eyes and lets off the brake, and the Impala rolls forward, chasing Sam down the farm road, the sun glinting behind them so the whole damp stretch of gravel sparks silver. Nine miles per hour is the pace Sam asked for and Dean keeps it going, on the far side of the road while Sam lopes along on the left shoulder, and it's boring but not as boring as he thought it would be. He keeps an eye on the speedometer, makes the turns just behind Sam as the roads weave around the cornfields, the soy beans, the farm that's just gone to dead-dry grass that waves in undulating strange patterns in the morning breeze. He goes through Zepp one side one, side two, switches to AC/DC and cranks it during Big Balls so loud that a bird startles up out of the bushes by the road, and Sam laughs, coughs, keeps running. His pace doesn't slow, not by a step.

Sam stops, finally. An hour and a half, and Dean has to piss. He parks, turns off the car, while Sam breathes hard with his hands on his knees. "How was that?" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, still panting, and Dean can't wait any longer and goes over to the other side of the fence post and communes with the morning.

"Dude," Sam says, vaguely accusatory, but Dean only shrugs, and zips up when he's done. When he turns back around Sam's leaning on the car, sweat slicking his hair back behind his ears, and Dean raises his eyebrows and Sam shrugs. "That was good," he admits, finally. He's drinking the water bottle Dean's had sitting in the passenger seat the whole time. "Too fast to go the full twenty-six, but—yeah. Good."

He looks—content, again. Not smug, not even really glad. He pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, leans back against the car. Looks out over the little pond, the trees around it. Dean smiles, while Sam isn't looking, and then says, "Well, I left my gold medals at home, but if you want you can run back and get it—" and Sam rolls his eyes, and gets into the passenger side, and Dean gets to fake-bitch then about Sam's stinky sweaty ass on the vinyl, and it's a good morning, like they all are, anymore.

On the way home from a hunt—Ajo, Arizona, and vampires, in what Dean insists is the most ironic job they've ever been on—Sam has Dean stop at a drugstore. Two in the afternoon. Dean heads for the booze aisle and gets a six pack, and swings through the specialty candy and gets some pre-Christmas stocking filler, and then he walks around the aisles looking for Sam, and finds him in—

"Condoms?" he says. Sam glances up at him, holding a box, unfazed. Dean feels the black orb eye of the security camera on the back of his neck and feels—surreal. He tips his head. "I mean, not to go all sex-ed, but it's a little late, don't you think?"

Sam snorts. In lieu of responding he turns the box around in his hand and—not condoms. Astroglide. Dean licks the corner of his mouth and watches an old lady go by with her little cart on the far end of the aisle. "Yeah?" he says, and Sam lifts a shoulder, says, "You have a preference?"

Long time since Dean's had to think about it. He hitches the six-pack onto his other hip and comes and stands next to Sam, looking at the options. Fire & ice, spermicidal. Water-based. Sam's radiating heat, enough to feel six inches away, and Dean thinks about Sam thinking about this: driving through the cold desert, both of them tired after a night of chasing down the vamps, planning to crash in Amarillo. A motel, in Amarillo. He feels boring, normal. Shopping, with a bag of red-and-green Kisses in hand, and the wall of intensely pink pads and tampons looming at his back, and his—brother, waiting, while Dean reaches for the silicone-based KY he used to buy, when he used to have to buy it. The packaging's different but he's guessing the product's the same. He puts it in Sam's hand and Sam looks at it with his cheek sucked in on one side, and then Dean says, "You want something with, I don’t know, electrolytes?" and Sam says, "Yeah," and so Dean goes back to the wall of coolers and pulls out two Powerades, and Sam meets him at the cashier with rolled bandages and aspirin to replace what they used up out of the kit during this hunt, and the woman at the counter glances at their faces as she's ringing them up and Dean says, smiling, "Can I get a two-pack of lighters, too, miss?" and she's like seventy if she's a day but the charm offensive still works, and she's over-the-top as she hands them their receipt and tells them to be well, and Sam's giving him a sidelong look as they take the bags out to the car but, shit, Dean's had enough people giving him looks in his life, and Sam gets to but just about no one else does, now.

A motel, in Amarillo. Raining in west Texas like it never does. They get tacos and margaritas at a hole in the wall and it's still early, when they get back to the room, and Sam checks the stitches on Dean's shoulder—still holding—and Sam takes two aspirins to help with all the bruising on his side, and then Dean eats a Kiss from the mess of the Walgreens bag, and then he tosses the box holding the lube onto the closer bed, and he says, "So," and Sam shrugs, and says, again, "You have a preference?"

Shadow of a smile on his face. Dean gives him a look and Sam raises his eyebrows, all innocence, and Dean says, "You're a dumbass," and goes over and pulls Sam in by that godawful orange jacket and kisses him, and then he goes into the bathroom.

He takes his time. Showers, cleaning up. Leans his forearm against the wall and leans his head against his forearm and pushes his fingers inside, on the thin glide of the little complimentary bottle of conditioner, reminding his body that this is—yeah. This is good. He comes out with a towel loose around his waist and finds Sam mostly-stripped, leaning back on the bed with the TV on mute and his hand in his boxers. Dean glances at the screen—ESPN, showing basketball highlights—and says, "Jeez, you got a kink you haven't told me?" while Sam snaps the TV off, and Sam says, flushed, "Not my fault you took forever," and Dean says, frank, "Figured you wouldn't want any Mr. Hanky guest appearances on our first trip on the backroads, but if you'd rather—" and Sam says, "Jesus, Dean," and Dean grins like an asshole, and Sam rolls his eyes, and—

Sam's screwed women like this before, turns out, and knows to go slow. Dean's on his back, his one leg caught over Sam's arm and the other curled around Sam's hip, and he's not sure slow is slow enough. "Fuck," he says, grinding his head back against the pillow, and Sam kisses his jaw, murmurs, "Sorry," and Dean grips his shoulders and says, through a groan, "No, you're not," and Sam smiles against his skin. Dean knew it. Little shit.

Sam lifts up on one elbow, touches Dean's cheek. He drags his hips back, pushes in. Dean breathes shakily out and Sam's expression changes. "Is it—" he says, but thankfully doesn't ask the stupid question. He leans in, tilting Dean's hips to a new angle, and pushes again, and Dean drags a hand down Sam's chest, and Sam's watching his face, he knows, watching everything, learning him, figuring out what he likes, like he has with every new thing they've tried—probably cataloguing it on some insane chart, like he's been doing with the running—but just now, Dean doesn't care. He didn't realize how much he liked this, or how much he could. "God," he says, gripping Sam's hip, "go—" and Sam, thank christ, for once does what he's told.

Sam sucks him, to finish him off. When Dean's spent, Sam spits to the side, and then slides back up, kissing Dean's nipple and then the sweaty angle of his collarbone and his jaw and his cheekbone and the very end of his eyebrow, for some reason. "Freak," Dean sighs, content, and Sam cups his other cheek and says, "Back at you," quiet, and Dean tips his head in towards Sam's and breathes with him. Sam's mouth tastes like dick and it's a combo Dean is extremely fond of, but that's not, anymore, anything new. He reaches down and holds Sam's dick—still slick, because this is indeed the good lube—and half-hard, and sensitive apparently after doing its work, from how Sam hisses, and squeezes his forearm. Dean says, "If anyone gets to complain," and Sam lifts up then, and watches Dean's face while he slides a hand back between Dean's thighs, and presses gently. Dean bites the inside of his lip but lets Sam try it, and after a second Sam—slides a finger inside, where he's busted Dean open, and Dean lets his knee fall wide with the slick sting, and wonders. How much he could take, if Sam asked.

In the morning, Sam goes for a run. Dean stays very firmly in bed. "How'd it go, Romeo?" Dean says, drowsy in bed when Sam finally gets back, and Sam says, "You know that makes you Juliet?" but then, while Dean's frowning and trying to dredge up a comeback, he says, "Sixteen miles, mostly eight miles an hour, and I brought back coffee," and Dean lifts up enough to see the carrier on the table, steaming, and says, "You're forgiven for the Juliet thing."

He has Sam drive. He's feeling—hard to pinpoint, how he's feeling. Still cloudy, over Texas and then over Oklahoma, and Sam's driving a regular level of fast so they're going to get home around maybe dinnertime. He's thinking about steak—they could stop at that butcher in Smith Center—when Sam says, "Hey, let me ask," and Dean grunts, and Sam says, "What's it like?"

No guessing what he means. Dean says, "I mean, my ass is sore," and Sam rolls his eyes, and he's not being a dick about it or anything, and Dean thinks about how to answer. What's it like.

What came before doesn't matter, so much. They already talked about how only Earth counts, and that's true for a bunch of reasons, but on a physical level there's just no comparison. Even on Earth, though, this was different. What came before was mostly something Dean was okay with, either because he wanted it or because he needed it or because he had a job to do, and he's not someone who dwells on shit that could be different, and he doesn't really wish any of that was different. No point in it, and it doesn't bug him. It was always better, though, when he liked the person, and he got that sometimes, and when he got that it was… good, but. Maybe what he and Sam have isn't romance, isn't some big sweeping thing like from a movie—if Sam tried to sweep him off his feet, or vice versa, they'd probably just bicker and then fall over—but. But. What was it like?

He's been quiet too long. "It feels good," he says, honest. Lame, and Sam knows it, from how he glances across the seat. Random section of I-35, while Sam passes a semi. Dean watches the approaching road rather than look at Sam. "I don't know, man. Hard to describe. When you're with someone and you're figuring out what works, what makes the fireworks, that's the same from either side. But it's…"

Quiet, again. In the corner of his eye he can tell Sam looks at him, and he shifts his weight. His ass does hurt. Sam's got absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about, in the jockstrap department. That he can get used to; the weird feeling under his breastbone, this thing he's been carrying all morning, that's going to take a little longer, maybe.

"Jessica used to say she felt like she was taking care of me." Said—casual. Dean stares across the bench seat, can't help it, but Sam's just looking out at the road. One hand at ten, the other at about five thirty, his hair tucked behind his ear. His jaw clenching and then unclenching. "I don't know. I didn't get it—felt the other way around, to me—but I always… wondered, I guess."

Taking care? Maybe that's it. Dean finds he's holding his hand over the weird feeling in his chest and shakes his head. Last night: Sam's head bent next to his, Sam's chest against his, his back drenching sweat against the bed, his body loose-open finally to Sam's dick after so long of the punishing stretch. Sam's hips grinding in against his hard and low, and his arms around Sam's shoulders, and his eyes closed and just—taking, feeling the slick parted jolt and feeling Sam quicken and feeling, deep, in this jolted raw way, how Sam was getting close and Sam was winding tight and how Sam was coming, how he hitched and crushed in and breathed strange and didn't make any other sound but held Dean still and close and tight while he unloaded. With other men Dean was tired or sore or impatient, wanting his turn. Last night, he held Sam's shoulders and felt Sam's face duck in to his throat, and Sam's lips pressing there, and he put his fingers in Sam's hair and twined his leg around Sam's and wanted it to go on and on. Perfect.

"Guess you'll have to try it and find out," Dean says, after way too long.

Sam glances at him again, and pulls into the right lane, and settles in for the long drive. "Guess I will," he says, and he's watching the road, and so maybe doesn't notice the deep breath Dean takes, and lets out slow.

It turns out a marathon is not, in fact, twenty-six point two miles. "Technically," Sam says, while Dean's on his back under the Impala, "it's 26.21875 miles."

Dean rolls out on the bench to give that the incredulous look it deserves. On the stool, Sam shrugs. "Why," Dean says, "on earth, ever, would anyone care."

"It's the rules set by the competition," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes and slides back under the car. "It's just the length. Same reason a football field's a hundred yards."

"Isn't it the length of the run that Greek dude did?" Dean says, later, chopping up potatoes for salad. Sam looks surprised, but not as annoyingly surprised as he's looked other times. "Did the length of that change, somehow?"

"Dean," Sam says, patient, "I hate to say it, but I am not in charge of the rules committee for marathons. I'm sorry to disappoint."

During dinner Sam's doing math. 26.21875 isn't that much longer than 26.2. In March he did twenty-five miles in three hours and fifty-five minutes, looping back from the pond and then running way out to town and back again, and he's nearly there. "What's the difference between 385 and 352," he mutters, and Dean doesn't bother even attempting to work it out in his head before Sam says, "Thirty-three yards."

"Doesn't seem worth making a whole-ass rule about," Dean says, but Sam's just ignoring him at this point, probably looking at his dumb running spreadsheet, and that's fine. Thirty-three yards, Dean thinks.

There are weird old surveyor tools in one of the archive rooms. One morning when Sam's back from his run, soaking off the ache in the shower, Dean figures out how the hell to use the damn wheely thing, and he walks it off. He drags his boot in the dirt, right in front of the stairs down to the entrance, and then walks it out: ninety-nine feet, up the driveway, out to the gravel road. Almost exactly the length to the gate. Dean smiles, and walks back from the gate, and then marks ninety-nine feet precisely, with his boot and then with three stones, so he'll know.

Sam's planning for May 1. Dean doesn't ask why; he figures he can guess. They find a job, April 21, and it's a family of ghouls that's gross and shitty and time-consuming to put down, but they manage it on the seventh day, at least, so they don't overshoot the deadline. Sam sleeps in the passenger seat while Dean drives straight through all the way back from Pensacola. When they get back to the bunker it's two in the morning and Dean has to shake him awake, and he blinks in the barely-moonlight, and Dean has to say, "Up and at 'em, Sasquatch," for Sam to rouse, and Sam follows him down the stairs and into the bunker and through the dark halls and then, quiet, straight into Dean's bed, barely kicking off his boots and shrugging off his jacket before he curls over the pillow, sighing into the mattress. Dean stands at the foot of the bed, looking at him. Then he goes upstairs, and does the thing he's been thinking of doing for weeks, and when he finally gets back to bed he strips down to a t-shirt and boxers and slides in right up against Sam's back, and Sam doesn't wake up but he does make this tiny sound in his chest, when Dean's arm goes around him, and Dean sleeps, finally, like the dead.

Thursday's a slow day. Sam's not running again, apparently, until Saturday—he ran pretty flat-out a few times during the hunt, and Dean guesses that's probably training enough. Because he is, in fact, supportive, Dean makes food that Sam actually likes—chicken breast and broccoli and some stupid grain thing that he read was good for slow-release energy, and Sam says, "I didn't know you knew what farro was," which proves that in fact it's Sam who's the dickhead, but then Sam practically inhales all of it, so. Success. They watch Chariots of Fire so Dean can remember the stupid song, and Sam goes and does his weird yoga stretching after that, and then they sit together in the workroom and make silver rounds for a while, since Dean got a load of pawned shitty jewelry in and it's one of those chores that falls down the priority list when bullets are flying, and then when they've packed up the bullet boxes, and there's really nothing else left to do with the day, Sam stands up and stretches with his fingers reaching way up and his body arching, pulling long after the hunched work, and Dean's mouth goes wet, and he says, without much thinking about it, "Hey, Sam," and Sam says yeah without hardly paying attention, and Dean says, "I want to fuck you tonight."

Sam looks up at him. Dean lifts a shoulder and Sam takes a visible breath, and he says, "Smooth, Dean," but it's not a no.

Dean shaves, while he's waiting. He takes a whore's bath in his sink, and waits in his boxers just like Sam had, that first time, sitting on the little loveseat in his room. Sam comes back in a t-shirt and unzipped jeans and bare feet, his hair barely wet at the ends, and he frowns at first at the empty bed before he sees Dean, sitting, and Dean says, "Took you long enough," and Sam says, "Don't start."

He's not nervous. He lets Dean kiss him slow, though, laying together on the bed, and with Dean's hand in his jeans, and he's hard all the way and wet at the tip and a tight grip locked on Dean's hip before Dean finally slides his jeans down, feels. Damp, and a little soft, and small, and he rolls his hips back against Dean's thumb, making this deep sound in his chest. "How do you want it?" Dean says, and Sam shrugs and then laughs, shaking his head. "However," Sam says, honest, and Dean rolls his eyes and kisses him and then pulls his jeans all the way off while Sam pulls his shirt over his head, and Dean gets him on his knees, then, pulls his hips back, and applies his mouth to Sam's asshole, and that's not entirely new but Sam yelps, flinching, and Dean has to hook an arm around his hips and hold him in place to lick in deep, like he wants to.

"Tell me," Dean says, and Sam groans. He's reaching past Dean's arm, fisting his dick. His balls warm and heavy, and his body—open, yeah, from the shower, from prepping himself, from knowing how—from watching Dean do it, from doing it himself, sliding his fingers in and working the muscle soft and learning how it can be good. Sam's hips push back and Dean breathes out hot, ducks his head down, suckles one of Sam's nuts and then licks back up over the flattened-wet hair and the crinkle of his hole and scrapes his teeth over one asscheek, and Sam's hand reaches back and grips his shoulder and Sam says, deep, "Are you going to fuck me, or what," and Dean slides up, kisses between Sam's shoulderblades, presses his dick swelling up in his boxers against Sam's ass.

It'd be easier if he kept Sam on his knees. He turns him over instead, and Sam's—god, hot for it, his dick huge and curving up to his navel, his chest flushed in that deep way it gets when he's nearly ready to come, his eyes heavy. He props himself up on his elbows and watches Dean lube himself up, and when Dean slots a slick thumb inside Sam—still tight, christ—Sam's eyelids dip but he just pulls his knee higher, and reaches down and feels Dean's dick, fingers slipping over the head. He gathers his balls up out of the way while Dean pushes up between his legs, and he's watching down between them, avid, for the moment it happens. Dean watches Sam's face instead, and on the push inside—Sam's lips part, and his jaw loosens, and his breath stills, and his eyes—Dean pulls back an inch, slides in deeper, and Sam's face tips up and he meets Dean's stare, dragging in air, gripping Dean's thigh, arching. Dean gets a hand on Sam's jaw and holds him there, their noses brushing, and he feels it, the moment Sam's body ripples. How Sam lets him in.

Sam doesn't come from being fucked. Not that Dean expected him to. Dean holds his balls and kisses his jaw, his mouth, lets Sam bite his lips, while Sam jerks his own dick, and when Sam finally spills he groans, his thighs twitching around Dean's hips and his asshole rippling. Dean slides his hand up, following Sam's, squeezing and getting the wet over his own fingers, and finally his dick slides free from Sam's body. Sam says, low and surprised against his ear, ah, and Dean loves him, is all, and always has, and always will, and now is, really, no different.

"So," Dean says, much later. His head on Sam's shoulder, and Sam's fingers in his hair. "What's it like?"

He'd watched Sam clean up. His nose wrinkling as he wiped between his legs. Sam had said, "You like this?" and Dean had said, "The proof is in the pudding," and Sam had stared at him and then said, horrified, "Never talk again." He'd gone and got them both beers as repayment, and now those are gone, and they've cooled off but the bed's still kind of gross and smells like sweat and jizz and, honestly, Dean's about as comfortable as he ever is.

Sam's fingers go still in his hair. "Huh," he says, after a few seconds' thinking.

"Told you," Dean says.

Sam pulls, what little he can pull, at the top of Dean's head where he should really trim it up. "I'll think of something," he says, and Dean says, "Sure you will, Wordsworth," and Sam says, "I don't know why I thought this would make you less annoying," and Dean says, "It's a gift," but he's smiling, tipped in against Sam's side, and he can't see it but he'd bet that Sam is, too, or at least that Sam's got that dimple tucked into his cheek. Sam's hand spreads, cupping the back of Dean's head, and his mouth brushes Dean's temple. Yeah, Dean decides, warm. Dimple. Maybe two.

On Saturday, Sam goes for the run. His route's pretty simple. Looping west away from the bunker and back for thirteen miles; looping east and back for the other thirteen. The point two gets sorted out somewhere in there, as Dean understands it. He offered, a few months back, to pace Sam in the car if he wanted, and Sam looked surprised but then shook his head. "I'll be fine," he said, and Dean knows it's true. Still, he set out water at few-mile intervals—no one's out here, so unless a rabbit stole one of the stashes Sam should get the benefit—and Sam's pace is pretty damn consistent, so Dean knows when he'll hit the various markers, and knows when he'll be home, when it's done.

Sam stretches easily, on the stairs by the entrance. "If you twist your ankle a mile out, call me, but give me time to laugh," Dean says. Sam rolls his eyes, dropping his one foot and pulling up the other. "Do you want me to grab a pistol? Starting gun, or whatever?"

Sam shakes his head, and pulls out his phone. "See you in a few hours," he says, and presses a button, and takes off, and Dean watches him go, down the driveway, to the gate, and then turning and running from the morning sun. Nine a.m. Dean checks his watch, and says, "Okay," to no one, and goes back inside to at least do something with the morning.

An hour and fifty minutes later, Dean's leaning on the gate, drinking a beer, when Sam comes running back up the road. "Woo!" Dean calls, sort of sarcastic and sort of not, and Sam's breathing hard when he comes up but he steals the beer right out of Dean's hand, takes a few deep swallows. "Hey!" Dean says, and Sam shakes his head, burps abruptly, says, "Thanks for the water," and takes off again, and Dean checks his watch—right on time. Maybe faster. He finishes the beer, tasting Sam's salt on the rim, and then goes and sets up his minimal surprise.

He disassembled the bench those weeks back. Too heavy to move any other way. While Sam's completing the second half, Dean moves the pieces out of the side of the plant where he'd moved them, and puts the thing back together. Big concrete supports; concrete slab, that he about gets a hernia hauling back up into place. He's sweating, when it's done, but it's right at the end of the drive, just in front of his three-stone marker.

It's where he's sitting, forty minutes after noon, with a bottle of the whiskey Sam actually likes on the step, and two glasses waiting to be filled, and the sun coming down soft and easy, not yet hot or humid, not like it'll be later this summer. He stretches out his legs, propped on his arms, and watches down the lane while Sam comes around the corner again. Sweaty, tired, but keeping pace, and Dean doesn't mock or call out or say any of the dumbass shit he could say. Sam pulls out his phone, as he's running down, and Dean knows because he paced it exactly how many steps are left, exactly how far Sam has to go. Sam slows, as he's approaching the marker, and when his sneaker hits the stone he presses something on the phone and it beeps and he says, "Done," and takes a huge deep breath, panting.

He tips his head back on his shoulders, eyes closed. Dean watches him. His heaving chest, the sweat darkening his hair to black at the temples. His body.

"You set up a cheering section," Sam says, finally. "I'm touched."

Dimpling. Dean cracks the bottle, pours two glasses. "What can I say," he says, while Sam tips his head back down, tired. "I'm a fan."

"Sure you are," Sam says, tired. He sits down, finally, and takes his glass from Dean. Their shoulders together, and Sam's knee tipped against his. "Whiskey's probably the opposite of what you're supposed to have after a marathon."

"Well, good thing I'm not a stickler for the marathon rules," Dean says, holding his glass up to toast.

"Yeah," Sam says, smiling, "it is," and lets their glasses clink. They drink, quiet, looking out together at the warm day.

#ffcc #wincest #switching #my writing #trying a slightly different style here #idk if it worked but #it was an interesting experiment #i hope it satisfies

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yamigooops · 4 years

Text

Tire Tracks

pairing: street racer! bakugou x mechanic! y/n

words: 2.8k

warnings: language

Cars were your whole life. You grew up in your father’s mechanic shop and learned everything you knew from him. Customers came and went, some more frequently than others, but cars were the one constant thing in your life. You were able to lose yourself in the process of finding and fixing problems, speaking better with parts than with people.

You barely even registered the smell of oil and gasoline anymore. The thin layer of grime that coated your arms was like a second skin, and you were at home here. The cars all around you purred and multiple gaudy sound systems pounded in the crisp night air. The roar of engines was music to your ears, and you had spent the first 45 minutes of the meet up going around looking at the different setups people had.

Now, though, you were doing final checks on the one car that brought you here: Bakugou’s suped up racer. You rebuilt most of the engine yourself, put countless hours into making it faster and stronger. This car was your baby just as much as it was his, and you felt a twinge of nerves knowing what was to come.

“Everything ready down there?” barked the man in question. You finished double checking the last bolt before pushing yourself out from under the vehicle, only to find the blonde staring down at you impatiently.

“Yeah, it looks fine, no thanks to you,” you huffed, sitting up and wiping your hands on a nearby towel. “Listen, I get that you’re gonna go hard tonight, but if you fuck this car up again, I swear I’m done with you.” You put as much threat into your voice as possible as you stood, putting a hand to your hip and glaring at him.

A sly grin split his sharp features. “Aww come on, Y/N, we both know you wouldn’t give up that easy on her,” he taunted, placing an elbow on top of the car and rapping it with his knuckles. “You love her too much.”

He wasn’t wrong, this car was your pride and joy. “You’re right. It’s the person inside I’m worried about,” you rolled your eyes and turned away to open the hood. You had already triple checked everything underneath, but you needed something to occupy yourself with, so you didn’t have to be around Bakugou.

You had known the fired-up blonde ever since middle school, when his dad started coming to yours for maintenance. See, his dad was a local racer, and heard that your dad had the best service around. Well, he would often bring Bakugou in order to teach him about the inner workings of a car. Because of this, the two of you had practically grown up together, spending weekends at the racetrack and weekdays learning what your fathers had to teach you.

But that didn’t mean you liked one another.

Katsuki had always been full of himself. It could have been because of his looks or his dad’s success, or any other factor, you didn’t really care. All you knew was you hadn’t had a normal conversation in longer than you could remember. They always ended in one of you riling the other up, sometimes becoming yelling matches if things got really serious.

You sometimes questioned why you still worked with him, the little asshole. When you both turned 16, your parents decided to buy a junk car, and have you fix it together to test how much you had learned over the years. It took almost 6 months to get it into good shape, but you did it, the only setback being that you were constantly bickering. It was nearly impossible to make decisions about what to do because neither of you wanted to give in to the other.

After that, you continued to work on cars and decided to go to mechanic school after high school. Katsuki went to a traditional 4-year college, and you thought that would be the end of your tormented relationship with him, but no. He contacted you after two years and asked if you would help him with a project, which you agreed to. Ever since then, you’ve become somewhat of a team, travelling around the country to compete in race after race. Some were sanctioned and official, while others tore through backroads and had come to an end when the cops arrived.

Bakugou was one of the best street racers in the country, pushing himself and his vehicle harder than most were willing to do. His lack of inhibition and self-confidence were the keys to his success. Well, those and the fact that you were always there to fix up the damage he caused. You had been doing this together for four years, now each 24 years old, and you couldn’t help but admit that these races made you feel… alive. The whine of an engine as it shoots past you at near top speed, the screeching of tires as they skidded around tight turns, it was all like a fever dream.

The only issue with Bakugou’s racing was he tended to be reckless. Scuffed paint jobs, cracked tire plates, he always pushed his cars to their very limit and made you deal with fixing his mess afterword. Yes, sometimes he would help you, but seeing as you were the actual mechanic on the team you were stuck with the majority, if not all of the work.

“This race’ll be easy, Y/N. Don’t even worry. I mean, we’re gonna be on a dirt road in the middle of a field for god’s sakes, at least there are no buildings or streetlights to worry about,” he called from his place beside the car.

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you groaned. “You’ll look at that open road and think it’s okay to push as hard as you can!”

“Babe, that’s what makes me so good,” he chuckled, stepping up beside you at the hood.

He always did that, calling you pet names just to piss you off. It always did, making your insides squirm with distaste. At least, you told yourself it was distaste.

“You’ve already checked this thing like four times, just settle down it’s fine.” His voice, normally course like metal grating together, had a softer edge to it. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his crimson ones, and nodded. Pulling the hood shut, you turned around and leaned against it, crossing your arms. You looked over Bakugou as he pulled out his phone to send a text.

He’d recently gotten a haircut, shaving the sides of his head short and leaving the top to its normal spikes, and you had to admit, you thought it suited him better. It showed off his sharp jawline, which had only grown sharper as you got older. His bare arms were cut, unsurprising as he spent a great deal of time in the gym. He wore his signature high-necked black cutoff with a bold red X on the front, with army green cargo pants that cinched at the ankles. As per usual when he raced, he did his dramatic eye black to intimidate his opponents. It usually worked.

“Listen, I just don’t want you messing her up again, okay? I put so much into this car and the past three races I’ve had to set aside hours to fix her. I can’t keep doing that when I have paying customers that need my help too,” you tried to explain calmly. His head snapped up.

“I’m a paying customer too, don’t I get the same attention that your others get?”

“You’re more of a…side hustle.” The words came out with a bit of a grin.

One of his arched eyebrows raised dangerously. “A side hustle? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Working with you is like a second job. I spend so much time on this damn car, and looking at your ugly mug, that it’s like working another part-time job on top of the shop.”

His lips turned down in a scowl and he took a menacing step forward. “First off, you get half the earnings every time I win. I don’t have to do that. Second, I’m hot as fuck, thank you very much.”

You scoffed. “You’re average at best,” you lied. You agreed with him of course, but you’d never tell him that even if you were on your deathbed. “Also, the earnings are the way you pay me for all the shit I do for you, remember? That’s the agreement. Plus, most of that money goes right back into her,” you smacked the hood. “So, in reality you pay way less than any of my other costumers.”

He paused at this, taking in your words. “Guess you like me that much, huh,” he chuckled after a moment. The words brought a flush to your face, and you silently thanked the fact that it was nighttime, and the only illumination came from the cars around you.

“No, it’s just because I’ve known you for years. Sometimes I consider upping your rates though, just to piss you off.”

That got him scowling again, an expression that made you much more comfortable than that devious smirk. “I hope you know your sense of humor really sucks.”

“Bakugou!” A rough voice called from behind the blonde, making him roll his eyes and turn around.

“What do you want, shark week?” He growled, facing Kirishima who was making his way over with a smile.

“Just came to make sure you were still up for this race,” the red head grinned, displaying his sharp teeth.

“You really think I’d back down against someone like you?” Bakugou crossed his arms and relaxed onto one leg. “This is gonna be easy as shit.”

Kirishima chuckled, “Don’t count me out so quick man, might not be as easy as you think.” He glanced over Bakugou’s shoulder and spotted you behind him. “Hey Y/N, you here to patch his ass up after the race?”

“You know me so well, Kiri,” you smirked. Bakugou let out a grunt, punching Kirishima’s shoulder playfully, the other man simply laughing at the disgruntled racer. “Best of luck out there,” you smiled genuinely. You had known Kirishima since high school, where he and Bakugou were best friends. They frequently raced these days, constantly trying to one up each other and keeping a running tally of who won. Currently Bakugou was up by two, if you remembered correctly.

“Thanks Y/N, your faith means the world,” he replied with another toothy smile.

“Hey, quit trying to poach my mechanic,” Bakugou yelled spiritedly.

At this, Kirishima simply laughed, turning to leave. “Just came to say good luck man, I would never try to steal her away from ya. You’re like a match made in heaven. I don’t know anyone else who could put up with your bullshit.”

“I don’t know of anyone else either, I’m really doing the world a favor, huh,” you called, loving the way your blonde partner whirled around and glared at you.

“See you guys after the race!” And with that, Kiri was walking back to his own car.

Bakugou stood there for a moment before turning around to return to the car. He was quiet for a moment before speaking up. “Y’know, you don’t have to keep working with me if you don’t want to. I’ll understand if you don’t…” he said, so softly you almost didn’t hear.

You looked over at him in surprise, “What do you mean, I never said I don’t want to work with you.” It was so unlike him to say things like this that you were completely taken aback.

“It didn’t sound like that just now,” he grumbled, not looking at you. “I know I can be a lot to handle, so I guess I wouldn’t blame you.”

You chuckled, making him look up curiously. “Bakugou, I’m a lot to put up with too. I’ve known you for long enough that it doesn’t even phase me anymore,” you said honestly.

He stared at you for a moment longer than necessary, making you flush slightly. “Yeah, whatever,” he growled in classic Bakugou fashion.

“Racers!” came a shout from nearby. The official of the race stood between the two cars, looking to the two men. “Are you both ready to go?” Both gave a thumbs up, and the man nodded. “Come line up at the start then!”

Bakugou took a deep breath before putting on his jet-black helmet and getting into his car with a sharp slam of his door. You moved away from the vehicle to let him go line up before returning to the side to say your final words to him. “Remember what I said,” you warned, leaning against the rolled down window. “Don’t fuck her up this time, got it?”

He smirked at you and narrowed his eyes. “There’s nothing to worry about Y/N, this is an easy course.” “It better be, for your sake,” you rolled your eyes with a grin. You loved how amped up he got at the starting line.

“See you on the other side, kid,” he nodded. You gave him a thumbs up and stepped away from the car. The official made his way into the center of the two cars, and you made yours over to your pickup truck to watch the race. You climbed up into the bed and leaned against the cabin to look over the field. From up there you could see almost the entire track, and since the cars’ lights would be on you wouldn’t have any problem keeping track of them.

You watched as the official signaled to prepare to start, the engines of both cars revving loudly. A crowd had gathered to watch, and you smirked, knowing that only got Bakugou more amped. Loudly counting down from three, the official dropped the flag and the two vehicles were off, tearing into the darkness as fast as possible.

Bakugou accelerated just a bit faster, edging in front of Kirishima, who swerved slightly to avoid him. They made their way around the course, Bakugou maintaining the lead for most of the time, but losing it several times. Nearing one of the final bends, you saw the headlights on Bakugou’s car dip dramatically and fall a bit behind Kirishima’s for a moment before pulling back ahead. You got a bad feeling in your stomach at that. However, it was over in an instant, the blonde coming in first by a decent margin.

As he got out of the car, Bakugou was swarmed by the crowd. It took you a moment to make it out in the semidarkness and jumble of bodies, but as you hopped out of the bed of your truck and made your way over to Bakugou, you spotted it. The left half of his front bumper was crumpled and scraped. Anger swelled in your stomach, and you pushed forward with renewed vigor, shoving people aside and coming to a halt in front of the man in question.

“What the fuck Bakugou?! What did I tell you literally RIGHT before you left?” You got in his face as he took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “Look at your fucking bumper! How the hell do you explain that, huh?!” Your anger at his carelessness blinded you to the way he was looking at you, the hunger in his eyes.

Just as you were about to go off again, you felt his hand grasping your chin roughly. This was such an unexpected move that your mind blanked in the seconds to come. “God you’re fuckin sexy when you’re mad,” Bakugou growled, pausing a moment before hungrily pressing his lips to yours. The first thing you registered was the heat. They were burning against yours, and they were soft, much softer than you would have guessed.

Snapping back to yourself, you put a hand on his chest – his muscular chest – and pushed away. You looked away, trying to clear your head. “Woah, you can’t just… kiss me…” you gasped.

“Why not?” He murmured in your ear, absolutely glowing with his victory. He was always an impulsive guy, but that doubled when he won. He was known to break things when he beat someone, so part of you wasn’t surprised that he did that, but it was so unexpected that you never would have thought it would happen.

You looked up at him and found a grin resting on his lips. You felt something in you snap, something that had been holding you back from what you’d wanted to do so many times before but never had the courage to do. Giving a minute shrug, you said fuck it and went in again. It wasn’t a sweet kiss though. He threaded his fingers through your hair, and the hand holding his helmet released it, coming to dig into your waist. It was hot and heavy, filled with anger and pent up emotion and victory. It was a kiss years in the making, and you couldn’t deny that you wanted it to happen. This man was leaving tire tracks on your heart, driving right through the barriers you tried to put up to block him out.

And you were okay with that.

#bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou fanfiction #street racer au #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha #bnha fanfic #mine #my post

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rpmemes-galore · 4 years

Text

supernatural : season 7 … sentence starters

“Why can't they scream?”

“If it bleeds, you can kill it.“

“The hell did he say to me?“

“Stupid little soldier you are.“

“I'm sorry, is that a flirtation?”

“Pay attention to me, I'm bored!“

“You got away. We got you out.”

“What a brave little ant you are.“

“You break everything you touch.“

“Shut up. I observe with my eyes.“

“That's just another blood sucker.“

“All the coolest people are freaks.“

“No, you did. You deserved better.”

“Why do you always provoke him?“

“It's not your fault. It wasn't on you.“

“He says the same thing about you.“

“You know that he’s not real. Right?“

“I think you pissed off my sandwich.“

“You really want to die not knowing?“

“Are you angry? Why are you angry?”

“It's called anime. And it's an art form.“

“Kind of gets clearer when you're dead.“

“I don't fight any more. I watch the bees.“

“If you think I'm leaving you here alone...“

“Here's my advice you didn't ask for: quit.“

“Life wasn't comfy. Why should death be?“

“You got cake. That's close enough, right?“

“Didn't realize you were such a spa expert.“

“Wait a second, do dogs even have ghosts?“

“You carry all kinds of crap you don't have to.”

“I'm sorry. I think you have to go back to start.“

“You have to trust someone, again, eventually.”

“No, but I didn't want to do it alone. Who does?“

“She's kind of like the little sister I never wanted.“

“It looks like you are well and truly... on your own.“

“Going vengeful? It's an itch you can't scratch out.“

“No, we want you to just stand there and look pretty.“

“Did you kill him? I sense that you kill a lot of people...”

“Oh, trust me. There's a lot weirder out there than that.“

“I'm afraid we're much more likely to be ripped to shreds.“

“I might be a freak but that's not the same as dangerous.“

“Dude, on my car...he showed up naked...covered in bees.“

“You're wrong. I am utterly indifferent to sexual orientation.“

“And if I can’t tell you, again... I'm sorry I ever did this to you.“

“Do we need a cat? Doesn't this place feel one species short?“

“So, you're supposed to kill me? And I'm supposed to kill you?”

“But, that doesn't mean something is going on with me. Okay?“

“Plain old people taste fine, but everything is better with cheese.“

“Once, you were my favorite pets... before you turned and bit me.”

“Hunters are never kids. I never was. I didn't stop to think about it.”

“Because of me, everything, all these people.... I shouldn't be here.”

“This looks like a sex torture dungeon. Is this a sex torture dungeon?”

“You can’t torture someone who has nothing left for you to take away.“

“Shark week, man. How do you not watch that? Whole week of sharks!“

“No, we did not get licorice, we got good snacks. Licorice is disgusting.“

“That's right, you don't, because you're a stupid, short-sighted little prat.“

“I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but I detect a note of forgiveness.“

“Look, I'll work this damn case, but you lied to me, and you killed my friend.”

“Stop trying to wrestle with the big picture, son. You're gonna hurt your head.“

“Look, if I've learned one thing, it's that if something feels wrong, it probably is!“

“We're coming for you, and not just to hurt you – to kill you. You understand me?“

“Can you even get drunk anymore? It's sort of like drinking a vitamin for you, right?“

“Now, I don't care how you deal. I really, really don't. But just don't.. don't get killed.”

“You died, and I was still so afraid I'd turn into you, I never even had kids of my own!“

“Well, in that case, you should able to see I am 90% crap. I get rid of that, what then?”

“I seriously doubt she said that. And if you knew me, you would seriously doubt it's true.“

“You almost got us both killed, so you can be pissed all you want, but quit being a bitch.“

“You're either laughing because you're scared, or you're laughing because you're stupid.“

“Look I see the way you look at me, like I'm a grenade and you're waiting for me to go off.”

“I remember you. I remember everything. What I did. What I became... Why didn't you tell me?”

“I don't even care anymore. And you know what's even better? I don't care that I don't care!”

“Oh, I severed their vocal chords, of course. It was a delicate procedure, but very doable.“

“You seem troubled. Of course, that's a primary aspect of your personality so I usually ignore it.“

“Hey, with enough curse mojo, you can turn a freaking pencil into a weapon of mass destruction.”

“No, I put down a monster who killed four people, and if you didn't know her, you'd have done the same thing.“

“She wants to tell you, pardon me, if you don't tell someone how bad it really is? She'll kick your ass from beyond.”

“Those depraved killers got put down like the dogs that they were. Us on the other hand, we're completely harmless.“

“ Believe in that. Believe me, okay? You gotta believe me. You've gotta make it stone number one and build on it.”

“What do you think he's going to do when he finds out we've been conspiring? You do... want to conspire, don't you?“

“Did you know that a cat's penis is sharply barbed along it's shaft? I know for a fact the females were not consulted about that.“

“Decide to be fine ‘til the end of the week. Make yourself smile because you're alive and that's your job. Then, do it again the next week.“

“Yeah, you know how I'm gonna deal? I'm gonna stuff my piehole, I'm gonna drink, and I'm gonna watch some Asian cartoon porn and act like the world's about to explode, because it is.”

#spn quotes #rp meme #sentence starters

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wiypt-writes · 4 years

Text

Riding High

Ch20: When The Bough Breaks

Chapter Summary: Fliss finds herself in an impossible position…and her decision tips Frank’s world upside down.

Chapter Warnings: Bad Language words.

Chapter Pairings: Frank Adler x OFC Fliss Gallagher

A/N: Don’t hate me…

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Fliss Gallagher and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Riding High Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 19

And this day’s ending is the proof of time, killing all the faith I know.

“Was that another one?” Frank asked as Fliss tossed her phone onto the coffee table with an angry snort.

She nodded, pinching the bridge of her nose.

Frank sighed and looked at her “Honey…” “I know, I know…” she looked at him. “Look, I’ve made notes of every time I’ve had one so… its recorded. But again, it’s not like we can prove anything…they happen like twice a day and then nothing…hardly what they’ll call harassment.” Frank shifted slightly “This has been going on for 2 weeks now sweetheart.” “I’m well aware of that.” she snapped, before she shook her head “Sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry…not at you.” “Come here…” he said, opening his arms and she snuggled into him, leaning against his chest as his hand gently ran up and down her arm. “Maybe you should think about changing your number…and not putting the new one on the website.” “Yeah.” she conceded, “It’s not gonna help for work though…” “You can work round it.” he said, “Keep the business line and if you’re not there people will have to leave a message. Then, once you know your clients…you can give them your cell number.”

“Fucking ass hole is still making my life awkward.”

“Only if you let him. It’s a minor inconvenience to change your number but, if in the grand scheme of things all he has in his back pocket is sending you some dumbass birthday card and silent phone calls then…he’s just a pathetic fucking loser that’s trying to bully you into being scared.” “I’m not scared, just pissed off.” she shook her head “I know he’s a chicken shit, he wouldn’t dare come near me not when you’re on the scene…or my dad for that matter.” “Good, because if he did I’m not sure I’d be able to control myself.” Frank said softly.

“Maybe we should just pay someone to kill him.” Fliss said after a moment’s pause and Frank let out a snort “Bullet straight between the eyes.”

“Nah, too quick.” Frank sniffed, reaching for his beer “I’d dangle him over a tank of hungry sharks and lower him in inch by inch…”

“Or we could feed him to pigs, like in Hannibal.” Fliss mused.

“That’s also an option…no trace” he nodded taking a mouthful of beer.

“You know they should teach this shit at schools” Fliss reached for her own drink “How to get rid of bodies. I feel it is something everyone should be educated in.” “Maybe you should mention it to Bonnie. Tell her you feel it is an educational rite of passage or some other inspiring shit like that…”

Fliss laughed, placing her wine glass down and shifting so that she was led on her front, half on-half off Frank, looking up at him as her chin rest on his chest.

“On a scale of 1 to 10 how much of a meltdown are we facing with Mary on tomorrow morning?”

“From her current mood I’d suspect a good 4 and a half, maybe a 5.” he mused, before he looked at Fliss “I don’t much care, she’s going whether she wants to or not.” “When do the University Classes start again?”

“Not till second week in October.” Frank replied “Which reminds me, I need to submit that funding form tomorrow…” “It’s on the table.” Fliss said, as she correctly guessed from the look on his face he was pondering where he had put it.”

“What would I do without you?” he grinned down at her.

“I have absolutely no idea.” she shrugged and he smiled and leaned down pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Did you speak to Evelyn before?” Fliss asked him and he nodded.

“She’s coming down this weekend.” Frank said, “She’s still on about Mary going to Boston for a weekend.” “You still not comfortable about her going?” Fliss asked.

Frank wrinkled his nose “I don’t know if I trust her fully yet.” “You’ll never know you can unless you give her a chance.” Fliss reasoned

“You think I should let her go?” Frank said, slightly surprised.

“That’s not my decision to make, Frank” Fliss shook her head.

“No, but I value your opinion.” Frank looked at her. “Go on, tell me what you think.” Fliss hesitated for a moment before she sat up and turned her body so she was facing him, her legs tucked underneath her on the sofa. “If it was me in your position, I’d give Evelyn a chance. She’s played ball so far, done everything you’ve asked her to. You’ve got legal guardianship of Mary so she can’t pull any stupid stunts, and if Mary comes back and tells you something she did that you don’t like, well, you cut the visits.” Frank looked at Fliss before he took another drink from his beer bottle. He was torn in two. In one respect he wanted Mary to be happy and it certainly seemed that she enjoyed seeing Evelyn, but on flip side he was still more than comfortable with keeping his Mother at arm’s length.

“I’ll think about it.” he shrugged, non-committedly.

“Well, you should also ask Mary.” Fliss said “She might not even want to go.” “She will.” Frank said, “Evelyn has a piano.” Fliss laughed “Yeah, but she’s also bossy, remember?”

“Yeah, I had heard that.” Frank said, and Fliss chuckled again.

“Well, can you not think about it right now?” she said, taking the beer bottle out of his hand.

“Hey…” he pouted as she put it down on the table, his pout soon turned into a smirk as Fliss moved so she was straddling him on the sofa, his t-shirt that she’d been lounging around in rode up her thighs slightly and his hands rubbed up the side of her bare skin. “Something on your mind baby girl?”

“What makes you think that?” she asked, sliding her hands up his chest, over the soft material of his top.

“Just a hunch…” he mumbled, as he reached up and gently gripped the back of her neck, pulling her head down to meet his.

****** “Hey Frank…”

Frank looked up and smiled at Alan as he walked into the work shop.

“Hey Alan, not seen you in a while, how you doing?” “Good…I’m good. I was just wondering if I could have a word in my office.”

“Sure.” Frank frowned “Is err, everything ok?” “Oh, yeah, it’s nothing to worry about…quite the opposite in fact…” “Alright, well me just finish piecing this oil filter together and I’ll be with you.”

“Sure.” Alan said, “No rush.”

Frank quickly tightened the filter back up, gave it the once over before he set down his tools and hopped off the boat, wiping his hands on a rag before he walked through the door at the back of the workshop and down the small corridor that led to the main office at the rear of the shop. He knocked sharply on the door and then swung it open as Alan looked at him, gesturing for him to take a seat whilst he finished up his call. Eventually, he bid the person on the other end good bye and placed the receiver down.

“Relax, Frank…” Alan chuckled as Frank adjusted his jeans for what felt like the 30th time since sitting down.

“Sorry.” Frank nodded, scratching at his temple. “So errr, do you need me to do something or...” “In a manner of speaking, yes.” Alan said “As you know Paul is retiring at the end of the year, which means the Head Mechanic role is up for grabs…and I was wondering if you’d be interesting in taking the position.” “Me?” Frank’s eyes widened slightly

Alan nodded “I know in the grand scheme of things you haven’t been here long but you’ve impressed me, just like Bill said you would. You knuckle down, you do the overtime if needed, you don’t complain…I like you Frank, and the team does to.” “I err…” Frank scratched the back of his neck. “I’m flattered…but I’ve never managed a team before or…”

“You were an Assistant Professor at one stage right?” Alan eyed him and Frank sighed, nodding “You must have had a research team…” “Yeah, but…” “It’s no different.” Alan shook his head, “And I’m here to help and give you some guidance. I’m not quite ready to retire fully yet. Not like Bill, only so much golf I can play before I go fucking nuts.” Frank snorted “Yeah, not gonna lie, it’s not my thing…” Alan looked at him “The duties won’t be that much different Frank. You’ll just be in charge of booking the jobs in, allocating them to the guys, keeping on top of deadlines and general management of the team…means a little less time spent actually getting your hands dirty but…well, you can manage that yourself. You wanna take a job you take it.”

“Can I take a bit of time to think it over?” he asked.

“Sure. Take a few days, let me know. I’d like to have whoever is taking over in a position to start the handover by the start of October if possible so…” “Thanks.” Frank nodded “I’ll give it some thought.” “Oh, and it also comes with a Ten thou a year raise…” Alan casually dropped in as Frank stood up “Plus a bonus each year of up to 20 percent, depending on how well you’ve done on your targets” “Just a minor detail you forgot to tell me.” Frank arched an eyebrow.

“Well, I wanted to make sure you’d consider it for the right reasons not merely the financial incentive.” Alan shrugged “Another reason I’m convinced you’re perfect for the job.” Frank nodded and with that he left the office. Given that it was almost lunch time he took his break 15 or so minutes earlier and headed out into the September sun, pulling out his phone.

“Hey Sailor.” Fliss greeted him.

“Hey Cowgirl.” he smiled, leaning against the hood of his truck sipping a bottle of water “You got a sec.” “For you, always. What’s up?”

“Nothing, nothing bad anyway…I just got offered a promotion.”

“Frankie that’s amazing!” She gushed “You sound surprised though.” “I am, a little.” he said, before he launched into an explanation of what Alan had told him and what the job would entail, plus the financial incentives.

“Wow!” she said as he finished talking “Baby, that’s fantastic. I’m so proud of you!”

Frank felt himself blushing at her praise, and despite the fact he couldn’t even see her he rubbed at his neck slightly. “So, you think I should take it?” “Of course I do. But at the same time, if you don’t want to then…you don’t have to. This is a great position to be in honey, Alan’s clearly seen your potential.”

“Just not sure If I’m cut out to be management.” he said, biting his lip.

“I had the same thoughts about my business you know.” she spoke gently “I wasn’t sure if setting up on my own after everything that happened was gonna work but then Dad told me that I’d never know unless I took the plunge. Have a little faith in yourself. The only person who doubts your capability is you.”

Frank smiled at her words and looked up and out over the Marina “You always know exactly what to say.” “Not really, I make most of it up as a go along.” she said and Frank laughed. “But, just think, with the extra money you can get a new car…” “There’s nothing wrong with my truck.” “Frank, it’s died on you 4 times in the last 2 weeks. Dad reckons his ride on lawnmower has more power under the hood than that thing”

“Ok, I’ll admit…she’s getting a little clunky…but she is into her twenties now….” Fliss snorted “You could get yourself a nice Audi…”

“Fuck off.” Frank said and she laughed

“I like Simon’s car…” “You like it so much you get one.”

“Would never fit Thor in the back.” she said and Frank had to concede she had a point “But now you’re freelancing…you don’t actually need a truck do you?” “No, but…it’s handy…” “Handy, baby it only has three seats…” “And a flatbed…” Frank pouted slihglty. “So get one with five seats.” she shrugged. “You can buy trucks with a full cab…”

“This is not a good enough reason to get me to take the promotion…”

“You want a better reason?” She said. “Ok, well here’s some food for thought…when the lease is up on our place maybe we could look into buying. You know I don’t wanna rent forever, I want us to have something for the future that’s ours, and the extra money you get a year would make a difference in what we can borrow towards it.” And just like that, as always, she’d managed to sideswipe him. He’d be lying if he hadn’t considered getting back on the property market, he had savings after all…but he’d given it no more thought than a fleeting idea every now and then when he drove past places with real estate signs in the front yards

“This mean you’re coming round to the idea of marrying me and having baby Franks and Flisses?” She snorted “You’re such a dick…although that’s the only time you’ve ever mentioned that when you’re sober.” “So you’re saying that if I ask you when I’m not drunk you’d say yes?” he teased. “Goodbye Frank…” She teased in an airy voice, before she cut the call.

Chuckling to himself he slid the phone back into his pocket and headed back inside to grab his lunch from the fridge in the kitchen. As he did so he passed Paul who was heading out with a fresh cup of coffee.

“Oh, erm…Alan…” Frank looked at him. “So, turns out I don’t need as much time to think about it as I thought I did. I’ll take the job.” Alan smiled at him and pat him on the shoulder “Good man. I’ll get the wheels in motion and then we can work out how we start to transfer Paul’s responsibilities over.”

Frank nodded at him as he walked off.

“Oh…” Alan called after him, “We’ll also need to pick your car.”

“My car…” Frank frowned.

“Yeah, did I not mention? Paul’s BM…that’s a company car. I’m gonna let him keep it as a retirement present so we’ll need to order you another one. Not least because I don’t want my Head Mechanic driving around in that heap of shit you have. Looks like we don’t pay you enough…” Frank stood there, eyebrows raised as Alan simply smirked at him and left. Shaking his head, he gave a little groan, already imagining Fliss’ face when he told her.

*****

Fliss had reacted exactly how he had thought she would, laughing hysterically and then teasing him about how he had no alternative now than to get rid of the heap of shit he was ridiculously attached to. She’d then spent the evening looking at cars on her phone, showing him ridiculously pimped out vehicles in various vile colours, the final straw being a hot-rod red for Mustang with gold rims and flames painted down the side. At that point he’d snatched the phone out of her hand, grabbed her hips and pulled her down under him on the couch and given her something else to think about for half an hour or so.

September ticked by, in the usual speed by which time seemed to be flying for Frank and he found himself thrown into his job, soaking up Paul’s experience of managing the team as much as he could. He was also extremely grateful for both Fliss and Bill’s input, both of them having dealt with managing staff and rotas so he was able to ask them both questions as well. Naturally, when V heard about it she insisted on cooking him a special dinner, and even Evelyn presented him with a very nice bottle of Scotch when she came to visit as a Congratulations.

Another bit of good news for them was that once Fliss changed her phone number the calls stopped as well. Frank was glad about that, because it meant that once again they’d thwarted the ass holes attempts to intimidate her. She’d made a blog, however, of every call she had gotten which now sat in Greg’s files along with the Card. Just in case.

Nope, on the whole life seemed to be going well for the pair of them.

“Someone’s looking smug…” Greg teased Frank as he leaned back in the chair around Greg’s large outdoor table. It was a Saturday at the start of October and they’d finally got round to having that cook out and gathering that the Circle of Truth had been attempting to organise round everyone’s schedule for the last 3 months.

“Well, you know…life’s pretty good.” Frank smiled, sipping his beer, his eyes straying to Fliss who was stood around the bar area to the right of the garden with Bonnie, Zara and Lisa. She was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a tie-died off the shoulder sweater but as usual, she looked stunning.

“You got a ring yet?” Jake asked, dropping down into a seat next to him.

“Oh don’t you start as well.” Frank groaned as Simon and Greg both laughed. “We’re happy as we are…besides, we’ve not even been together a year yet…” “Not far off.” Jake shrugged “Man, when you know you know…” “He’s just scared she’ll say no.” Simon teased. Frank stilled for a moment and then turned to glare at the man. “Shit, you are?” Simon frowned “No, not especially but…” Frank shook his head, trying to find the words to explain “I’m absolutely, totally convinced I want to spend the rest of my life with her, and I know she feels the same but…well she’s been married before and I don’t want to ask until I know she’s ready to do it again.”

Greg looked at him, nodding “I get that.”

“That’s gotta be the most grown up think you’ve ever said…” Jake looked at Frank who flipped him off but deep down he had to admit, it wasn’t wrong. He knew that both he and Fliss had come a long way from the people they had been just over 14 months ago when they had first met. Fliss had come alive, flourished even in herself, and he…well, he’d learnt that there was more to life than the meaningless cycle of one night stands and that flying by the seat of his pants wasn’t always the most productive thing to do. Both of them had been broken in their own way, had their own guards and walls around themselves which the other had managed to smash straight through. He stole another glance at Fliss and smiled, he knew there was no other woman for him, but in the same breath…what was the rush? They had a life time. And a ring and a piece of paper wasn’t going to change any of that.

“Man you grew up…” Simon grinned and Frank rolled his eyes.

“Look, I’ll have you know I’ve brought up a kid since the age of 6 months…all this shit about me being a man child…It’s crap…”

“Whatever man…we all know you’re not a grown up until you have scatter cushions on your sofa…” Simon teased, referencing the previous week when he and Bonnie had come over for drinks and Fliss and Frank had had a jokey argument about said cushions. Frank threw his head back in a huge bout of laugher, shaking his head.

“Fuck you!” he said, looking at him as Simon grinned.

“Anyway, man…speaking of weddings…” Greg turned to Jake “You’ve been engaged for what? Three years now…when you gonna set a date?”

“He has a point…” Simon looked at him.

“Well, you can all shut the fuck up because for your information we have.”

“Shut the front door!” Greg grinned

Jake nodded and took a large mouthful of his beer.

“So you gonna tell any of us or…” Jake glanced over at Lisa before he yelled her name and she looked over at him, the other women also looking up.

“Can we tell them now babe?” he called. Lisa grinned and nodded, and then made her way over followed by Zara. Fliss looked at Bonnie who shrugged, and the two of them picked up their drinks and followed.

Fliss perched on Frank’s knee and he slid one hand round her waist the other dropped to her thigh.

“So, we have set a date for the wedding.” Lisa smiled to a huge shriek from Zara. Frank spotted Fliss looking at Bonnie, the two of them sharing a significant smirk and he squeezed her thigh.

“Stop being a bitch.” he said in a low voice.

“Rude…” she mumbled, grinning into her gin. “6th April next year…” Jake grinned. “At Hardemans Secret Garden in Dover, Tampa.” “Well unless you invented a time machine, it ain’t gonna be this year is it?” Simon looked at him, before he gave a yell as Bonnie slapped him round the back of the head.

“Obviously you’re all invited.” Jake said, “Except for Simon.” “Hang on, if he isn’t coming does that mean I can’t?” Bonnie pouted.

“You can be my plus one.” Fliss nodded.

“Oi…” Frank nipped her thigh gently. She grinned at him, ruffling his hair slightly. He jerked his head out of her reach and looked at her over his aviators. She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.

“Guys this is great news…” Greg said, nodding “Best dig the suit out.” “You wear a suit to work every day.” Zara looked at him.

“And you won’t need to.” Jake shook his head. “In fact none of you will…my brother is best man, obviously, but I’d like you guys there as my Groomsmen…that is, if you’re up for it.” Frank smiled at Greg, then Simon before they all shrugged.

“Yeah, I’m in…” Greg smiled.

“Me too pal, I’m honoured.” Frank smiled, tipping his beer bottle in Jake’s direction.

“Does this mean we get to plan the Batchelor party?” Simon asked. Jake nodded with a grin and Simon leaned back “Oh this is gonna be beautiful….”

***** “You’re fucking mental.” Frank looked at Fliss as she shrugged, circling Cap back round to the jump which Joanne had just hiked up another foot. He shook his head and turned away “I can’t watch.” “Don’t’ be a chicken Frank.” Mary grinned up at him, “It’s cool…I wanna do that some day.” “Over my dead body.” Frank looked down at her.

“Yeah you said that about me going to Boston.” “No, that’s not what I said.” Frank sighed, looking at her “I said over my dead body were you going to live with Evelyn….and did you?” “No…” Mary conceded “But you’re letting me go back for a weekend.”

“Yes, because you’re going for 2 nights and coming home” he said, and despite himself he turned his head to see Fliss sail Cap over the huge jump.

“See….” Fliss said, pulling the horse up to a stop “Easy…” “Whatever you say sweetheart.” he shook his head.

“Can I jump Monty soon?” Mary asked, and Fliss smiled.

“Yeah we can do a little cross pole…” “I give in…” Frank groaned, throwing his hands out to the side “The pair of you are nuts.”

“Says the guy who almost cried when he had to order a new car.” Fliss looked at him and Frank rolled his eyes “I mean who does that?” “Yeah Frank…” Mary said, swinging off the fence to the paddock, leaning back to look at him. “You get to swap a rust bucket for a shiny new Mitsubishi and you were like heartbroken.” “Hey, me and that truck have seen a lot of action-“ “I don’t wanna know…” Fliss started.

“Of which you’ve been part of…” he smirked her and she flushed a little, grinning. “I’m kinda attached to it.” “It’s a lump of metal.” Fliss looked at him.

“How dare you.” Frank scoffed, feigning offence.

“Well now you can have new adventures in the new truck.” Mary shrugged “Simples.” “When you do get it I vote the first thing we do is load it up and head off for a picnic somewhere.” Fliss said, hopping off Cap.

“I can go with that.” Frank nodded as she turned and walked towards the gate, letting her out.

“Can I take him?” Mary asked, hopping down off the fence.

“Sure…” Fliss said, handing her the reins. Mary led the horse away to the barn as Fliss removed her hat and pulled out her bobble, shaking her long hair free before she tied it back up again.

“I really do like it that colour.” Frank mused after a second, watching her. She blushed a little, and he knew why. A week ago she’d come back from the salon, her usually bright auburn hair was a lot more demure, having had caramel put through the ends. When Frank had complimented her on the change she’d gotten a little shy and said that she used to have it like that when she was younger, but John had always wanted her to keep it her natural colour. Now she felt like she fancied a change. Her admission had once again, knocked Frank for, how simple little things like that were so huge for her.

She pulled off her riding gloves, shoved them into her back pocket and they walked into the barn as Mary opened Cap’s stable and led him inside. As always, the large horse bowed his head gently to allow Mary to undo his bridle and Fliss smiled. Cap was secretly her favourite after Heidi. He was such a loving animal, despite his size always being so gentle and careful around people, especially Mary. Most animals were like that around her, she just had this aura that they seemed to like. But then again, everyone said that animals were a good judge of character.

“Can we go to the shack for dinner?” Mary spoke up, looking at Frank “It is Saturday…”

“Oh, I dunno…” Frank sighed, “Not sure my heap of shit truck will get us there.” “No but Fliss’ jeep will.” Mary shrugged and Frank shook his head with a snort.

“You literally have an answer for everything.”

“Wonder where she gets that from…” Fliss looked at him and he nudged her gently with his elbow.

“So can we go or not?”

“Yes, ok we can go to the shack.” Frank said “But the deal is you tidy your room when you get home. It’s a disgrace.” Mary pondered this for a moment as Fliss undid the girth on Cap’s saddle, pulling it off.

“Deal.” she nodded “Only Fliss said she was gonna help me sort my clothes out…some of them don’t fit anymore.”

“Yeah we do that tomorrow morning.” Fliss smiled, “Then we can look at ordering you some warm stuff for New York.” “Are we still getting matching sweaters when we get there?” “No.” Frank said, at the same time Fliss nodded.

“Yes.” “No, we’re not.” Frank looked at her.

“Errr 2 vs 1 Sailor, you’re outvoted.” she shrugged, pushing past him with the saddle on her arms. “But if you’re a good boy we’ll let you pick them right Mary?” “I dunno.” Mary frowned “Have you seen his shirts?” Fliss let out a roar of laughter and turned to face her, before she looked at Frank, laughing even harder at the pure indignation on his face.

“I hate you both.” he said sullenly, folding his arms.

The Shack was busy by the time they arrived but given that it wasn’t too cold they managed to find a small table outside and ordered their food, Mary getting through an astonishing amount considering but the Frank had noticed she was going through a bit of a growth spurt which he mentioned to Fliss when they were snuggled up on the sofa later.

“Not sure getting her any stuff for New York yet is wise.” he mused “If she carries on like she is it won’t fit her.”

“Well we can wait…Fliss said shrugging, her hand rubbing at Frank’s stomach under his shirt. “You have no idea how excited I am…” “Really?” Frank snorted “You never mentioned it.” “Oh piss off” she laughed, before she sighed happily “It’s the one thing I miss about home and Boston…you know this time of year the leaves would be changing colour and falling,…”

“I know what you mean.” he said, his hands carding through her hair “You don’t really Seasons here.”

“Well you do…” Fliss said, “Hurricane and Summer.” Frank let out a laugh as she looked up at him. “You know you’re my hurricane.”

“What?” he looked at her

“Came into my life, blew it all upside down…” “Jesus you talk some shit!” he laughed, shaking his head as she grinned.

“You know there was actually a hurricane Frank back in 2010. So I’m not talking complete shit…” “Whatever Sweetheart…” he snorted, leaning back as her nails scratched against his stomach. He gave a twitch and grabbed her wrist, and looked down at her as she flashed him a coy look. “Stop it.”

“What, this?” she moved and used her other hand, and Frank let out a hiss as he shifted and grabbed that one too.

“You know what that does to me…” he looked at her, his voice low.

“Yup.” she nodded, grinning.

With a jerk of his arms he pulled her forward so she fell onto him fully, drawing a giggle from her as her nose bumped against his.

“I fuckin’ love you.” he smiled at her, and she grinned, giving him a soft kiss.

“Yeah, you’ve told me once or twice…” she smirked, her lips locking onto his.

******

“Fliss?”

“Office…” she called back, and a second or so later Joanne popped her head into the room.

“Everything’s done.” she said, “I was gonna lock up…you’re not normally here this late.”

“Yeah I know but I have some paper work to sort. Need to file a couple of things and, well, thought it would be easier to do it here than take everything home. Frank’s taken Mary bowling so…” “And you’d rather be here doing paper work?” Joanne teased.

“Sadly, it needs doing…besides, last time we went I kicked his ass, again, he sulked for hours.” Fliss snorted “Maybe he stands more of a chance against Mary.”

“Won’t he let her win?” Joanne asked “I mean, she is only eight…”

“No chance.” Fliss looked at Jo. “He says that she needs reminding every now and then that she’s not a genius at everything…” Joanne let out a laugh “Fair enough. Ok, well I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, bye Jo…”

Fliss set about getting to work, filing the various bills and disclaimers she’d had signed and started then sifting through the list of clients and payments, checking who owed what and typing out the bills for the month. Once they were printed and placed in envelopes, ready to be tacked to the stable doors in the morning she glanced at the clock and realised it was almost 8 pm. Frank and Mary should be home now.

She was just about to pack up when she realised she hadn’t gone through the post for the day. For a second she debated leaving it for the morning, but decided she would get it over with. There wasn’t much- mostly a couple of letters from various equestrian societies around the area about a few events going on, but the last one she reached was a manila envelope with the address typed out on the front.

She turned it over, opened it and then pulled out the contents and immediately felt her blood run cold as she looked at the paper in front of her. It was a copy of the photo of her and Mary, taken from the first Blog that Mary had written over the summer. Underneath it was typed a simple message- I always knew you’d suit motherhood.

Fliss swallowed, it didn’t take a genius to work out who it was from but for the first time since his ridiculous campaign now she was actually frightened as to the meaning behind this. Up until now it he’d been nothing more than annoying but this was designed to be more than an aggravation.

It was a threat. A direct threat telling her he knew about Mary.

Whilst Fliss wasn’t Mary’s mother, and would never claim to be she loved that girl like she was her own and the fact that John was even brining her into this made her feel physically sick, so much so that she felt the bile rising in her throat and with a sharp heave she lurched to the side, grabbing the waste paper basket and hocking up the bitter substance. Coughing she wiped the back of her mouth with a shaking hand, reaching for the bottle of water on her desk.

She folded the photo up and stuck it back in the envelope, shoving it in the drawer before she stood up and locked her office, heading to her jeep. Her mind was reeling, now it wasn’t just her he was focussing on, this changed everything. Did she tell Frank? She knew she should, she couldn’t leave Mary in danger. Not that she believed any harm would come to her, not really, especially not under Frank’s care but that was another worry she had. That if she told Frank this, it was really going to push him over that edge into blind rage, and he’d been on the first plane out to Boston, hunting the fucker down…and then what?

He ended up in jail himself because Fliss knew Frank well enough to understand that if that blind rage took hold, he wouldn’t stop.

She had no answer to this, nothing. She sat in her jeep, staring out of the window, trying to force the thoughts and mumbles and voices in her heat to quiet, so she could think clearly, get some form of grasp on what it was she needed to do. And then one voice was screamed at her, clearly, giving her a solution…the only one she could viably see working.

With a loud sob, Fliss covered her face in her hands, unable to see an alternative to the decision she had just reached. A decision that was going to break her heart more than anything had ever done before.

******

“Hey, you’re late…” Frank looked up, immediately frowning as he saw Fliss’ face. “Honey…what…” “Where’s Mary?” she asked instantly.

“She nipped to Roberta’s” Frank said “I know it’s late but we saw her as we were headed out of the car and she wanted to collect something for Show and Tell tomorrow…why?”

“We need to talk.” Fliss said.

Frank stood up off the sofa and walked towards her, he reached for her and she took a step back.

“Ok, Fliss, you’re scaring me now…what…”

“I think…” Fliss looked down at her hands “I think that we need to stop seeing each other.”

Frank blinked, not sure he had heard her right, but when he looked at her he saw a tear trickling down her face and she was avoiding his gaze. The world around him began to fade and a dull buzzing filled his head and rang around his ears as a horrible cold feeling washed over him.

“Lissy…” he swallowed, his words sticking in his throat “What’s brought this on? Did I do something? Are you not happy? I don’t understand…” “I just…it isn’t working for me…” she took a deep breath and looked up at him.

“You’re lying.” he said instantly, he could see it written all over her face “Fliss, what’s going on?” “Nothing, I’m sorry. I just…I need to leave, I need space.” she said “I’m so sorry Frank…” Frank took a deep breath, and watched as she turned to leave. After a second he hurried after her into the hallway, shaking his head.

“Lissy, please…talk to me…” he all but begged as she walked to the door. She made to open it but Frank was behind her and placed his hand firmly on the top of the PVC, causing it to shut. She spun round and looked up at him, the tears now pouring down her face.

“Please, Frank…don’t make this any harder than it is…” her voice was broken, and she shook her head. “I don’t understand what THIS is?” he looked at her, running a hand through his hair as he felt the stinging of tears in his own eyes “Last month we were talking about buying a house together and now you just wanna break it off, for no reason? Honey, just…whatever is going on, we can work through it, just talk to me.”

“I’m so sorry…” she whispered, “Just…let me out…please…”

He looked at her again, her eyes bouncing across his and he knew instantly he couldn’t stop her, and would never do that to her either, no matter how much he so desperately wanted to lock the door and force her to tell him what the fuck was going on. So with a sniff he forced himself to step back and her hand went to the door knob, her shoulders shaking.

“Liss, please…” his voice cracked. “Don’t do this…”

She took a deep breath and opened the door, the warm air from outside hit him in the face, tears stinging his eyes slightly before click of the latch hit his ears as the door shut behind her, leaving him stood alone in the hallway, stunned and utterly, utterly broken.

**** Chapter 21

#riding high #frank adler #frank adler x ofc #frank adler x original female character #gifted #gifted fan fic #chris evans #chris evans characters

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hale-13 · 3 years

Text

Scare Tactics

By Hale13

For the Summer of Whump Day 19 Prompt - Fear

“And just to show you we mean business…” Peter flinched when his index finger was grabbed and sharply snapped in half, leaving him breathless. He didn’t scream though. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction. “Tough kid,” the leader mused, petting Peter on the head. “I’m going to let my men work him over,” he said to the camera lightly. “You pay me within the next four hours and I won’t start cutting off things he’ll miss. Sure would be a shame… he’s got his whole life ahead of him you know.”

Words: 2407, Chapters: 1/1 (Complete), Language: English

Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)

Rating: Gen

Relationships: Peter Parker & May Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark

Character: Peter Parker, May Parker, Tony Stark, Happy Hogan

TW: Canon Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Torture

Read on AO3 or below the line break.

“One more hour! C’mon, just one more hour please,” Peter begged, hands twitching and sweating as he looked around frantically. He could do it. He just had to do it.

“Whatcha doing Pete?” Tony asked right in his ear causing Peter to let out a high pitched scream and rip the VR headset off his head, nearly tossing it into the wall and only barely catching himself at the last second.

“What the fuck!” He exclaimed, panting and placing a hand over his racing heart – it was galloping under his fingertips. Tony, standing next to him with his hand extend like he was reaching out to touch Peter, had his face pinched up like he was trying not to laugh and failing spectacularly.

“What was that?” The man questioned, pulling the headset from Peter’s twitching fingers to set it down on the bed and safely out of reach lest Peter almost throw it again. “You okay?”

“You scared the shit out of me!” Peter told his mentor dramatically as his heart rate slowed to a more manageable rhythm. Damn he was so close to winning!

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Thought you had a tingle or something,” he said with a teasing tone and that was it, Peter was never letting Tony and May have lunch together again. Tingle… seriously? “What were you doing anyway?” Tony asked, picking the headset back up and turning it around curiously in dexterous fingers.

“Playing FNAF,” Peter said with a shrug. “I had nearly won too!”

“Beg pardon?” Tony asked with a head tilt. “Did you just have a stroke? I don’t speak teenager.”

“It’s a game Mr. Stark,” Peter grumbled, grabbing the headset back to turn it off. “A horror game. You’re a security guard and you have to live through the night without a bunch of animatronic animals killing you.”

“Sounds exhausting,” Tony commented, passing Peter his untouched book bag – he was supposed to be doing homework while Mr. Stark was in a meeting but oh well. He could always do it later, it was the weekend after all. “Happy’s pulling the car around. You sure you don’t want to stay? It’s getting a bit late.”

“I’m good,” Peter insisted, throwing the bag over his back and tightening the straps a little to sit more comfortably. “Besides, May and I are supposed to marathon the new season of Lucifer tonight.”

“Ah yes,” Tony said with a smile. “Do tell aunt hottie I said hello would you? I’m looking forward to our monthly co-parenting coffee date next week – can’t wait to tell her about this!”

Peter groaned and blushed. “Please don’t,” he muttered, skirting around his mentor to get to the door. “See you next week?” He asked as he paused in the doorway, turning back to look at the man and smiling.

“Yeah I’ll see you next week kiddo. Don’t have too much fun this weekend!”

“Bye Mr. Stark!” Peter called as he raced to the elevator, bouncing impatiently on his toes as it descended to the garage where Happy was waiting in one of the many black town cars Stark Industries owned.

“Took you long enough,” he groused good naturedly as Peter hopped into the back, dropping his book bag into the foot well and buckling his seatbelt with a bright ‘hey Happy!’ before pulling out his battered copy of The Collected Works of Shakespeare. He was supposed to finish MacBeth before class on Monday morning and he had been putting it off for a while (re: the last two weeks). Thank god for SparkNotes!

He read in the peaceful silence of the car as Happy navigated the busy Manhattan roads into the more quiet streets of Queens, finally pulling to a stop in front of Peter’s building and unlocking the doors. “See you Monday kid,” he called as Peter jumped out of the car.

“Thanks for the ride Happy!” Peter answered as he shut the door and waved the car off before letting out a sigh. It had been a long week and he was looking forward to just hanging out with May and decompressing. He felt like he barely saw her these days since she moved to working nights – it had been way too long since their last Netflix binge sesh. Peter took the stairs two at a time, forgoing the ancient and slow elevator, and was soon standing outside his door, fumbling for his keys.

As he went to slip the correct key into the lock, Peter felt every hair on his body stand on end as a shiver tore through him. He paused and looked up and down his hallway. Everything was quiet and peaceful, nothing out of place, so why was his Spidey sense tingling? With a gulp, Peter looked at his door and felt his heart freeze in his chest. May!

Peter swiftly unlocked the door and threw it open only to pause just over the threshold.

May was seated in one of their kitchen chairs, pulled into eye line of the door to the apartment, and looking pale but utterly pissed as the masked man behind her jammed the muzzle of his gun further into her temple. Peter, his heart nearly beating out of his chest and his adrenaline spiking to leave a metallic taste in his mouth, held his hands up immediately in surrender. As if it would ever be a question with May involved.

“Close the door,” the man said firmly, jutting his chin and Peter felt it snap closed behind him, paying no mind to the other invaders that were scattered around the room, his eyes stuck only on May.

“What do you want?” He asked, surprised that his voice was steady – he could tell that his body was still and sure but inside he felt like he was about to shake apart; like he was standing in the epicenter of an earthquake.

“Your cooperation mostly,” the man with the gun answered, passing the weapon off to one of his underlings and approaching where Peter stood motionless, hands still raised, just inside the door. His eyes were a pale blue and they scraped over Peter’s form quickly before he held out his hand. “Phone, watch, bag. Give me anything that Stark might have chipped and don’t try anything funny. I’d hate for anything… untoward to happen to your Aunt.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, slowly pulling his bag off his shoulders and letting it drop to the floor with a thump. One of the men behind him picked it up and started riffling through it as Peter unlatched his watch and passed it over along with his phone. He was grateful that he hadn’t brought his suit with him to school today or he’d have a much bigger problem – assuming they didn’t already know he was Spider-Man of course.

“Search him,” the man called out as he dropped Peter’s phone and watch to the floor before pointedly stomping on them until they broke. Peter fought to hold still as he was patted down, making eye contact with May. She gave a minute shake of her head and Peter bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood. He knew she didn’t want him to compromise his identity for her but he would do whatever he could to keep her safe – Spider-Man be damned.

“He’s clean,” one of the goons called out, nudging Peter forward and forcing him to sit down opposite May.

“Peter Parker,” the leader mused, walking over until he took up all of Peter’s sight leaving May out of view and ratcheting Peter’s already frantic heart rate up more. “Tony Stark’s personal intern. How does one get that job eh?” He looked at Peter expectantly and Peter grit his teeth together.

“Right place right time,” Peter grunted, his eye contact never wavering. The leader frowned behind his mask and smacked Peter sharply, causing his head to whip to the side. It was more surprising than painful and Peter glared back in obvious loathing.

“That will be your only warning,” the leader grunted, leaning down so he was eye level with Peter. “Next time it’ll be your aunt. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Peter confirmed, gripping the arms of his chair tightly and trying to control his strength. By his count there were five men in their apartment. If he were alone or in the suit it wouldn’t be a problem but with May involved…

“Now let’s try again,” the man continued, pacing a circle around Peter’s chair like a shark circling prey and thus giving him the briefest chance to make eye contact with May again. The skin of her forehead was red and dented where the gun mashed into her face. But he eyes were full of fear and anger for Peter – her sight was locked on the cheek he could feel burning and already swelling. “How did you get your internship?”

“September Foundation,” Peter answered. “I submitted some of my work on clean energy and Mr. Stark was impressed enough to offer me the internship.”

The man hummed, stopping his circling and placed both hands on Peter’s shoulders, squeezing them. “But it’s not just an internship anymore now is it?” He questioned, tone light. “I doubt any normal intern gets access to Stark’s personal lab or stays overnight. For a while I thought you might be his bastard but, no, it doesn’t seem you are.” Peter tensed at the words and bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, tasting blood. “However you are important enough for him to pay handsomely for I’d wager.”

“He won’t,” Peter insisted, not breaking eye contact with May – she looked terrified now and he wasn’t sure who she was scared for most. “He doesn’t negotiate with kidnappers.”

“We’ll see,” the man said lightly, unconcerned. “Here’s the deal Parker. You’re going to come with us, quietly, and I won’t put a bullet through your aunt’s skull. I hear that you watched your uncle bleed out from something similar – wouldn’t want another death on your conscience now would you?” Peter flinched violently, unable to hold it back and felt tears prick at his eyes. He couldn’t cry now. Not in front of these assholes. “You’re going to come with us and, once we get you back to base, I’ll call in the order to let your aunt go. If they don’t hear from me within the next six hours… well I’m sure you can figure it out.”

Peter nodded slowly and tried to silently apologize to May – she was watching him with tears now cascading down her cheeks and shaking her head, begging him not to give in. “I’ll do whatever you want,” Peter agreed, sealing his fate.

His Spidey-sense screamed at him and he forced himself to hold still as the gun clocked him across the temple, knocking him out instantly.

—————————————

When Peter finally woke up some indeterminate amount of time later it was to a throbbing head and aching neck from sitting slumped over and tied to the most uncomfortable chair he had ever had the displeasure of sitting in. He opened his eyes with a groan to look around the room. It was darkened, of course because why wouldn’t it be, and empty, also not a surprise. The door in front of him was made of a dark metal the same as the chair he was sitting in which was bolted to the floor.

He tested the cuffs that were binding his wrists to each arm of the chair and found that they weren’t reinforced and should break easily with his strength. So they didn’t know he was Spider-Man then – that was a plus. Peter could work with that.

Before he could look around much more or even try to formulate a plan, the door in front of him flew open to admit multiple people, all in masks, and a camera set up that had Peter’s blood running cold.

“I have to thank you for your cooperation,” the man from earlier said gaily as he entered the room last. “You made this much easier than anticipated.”

“My aunt?” Peter asked, voice wobbling a little but his eye contact unwavering.

“Fine. As we agreed,” the man confirmed, kneeling down a little to look directly into Peter’s eyes. “Now we’re going to make Stark a little video, a one-sided video chat if you will, to ask him for a little… monetary gift. All you have to do is sit here and look pretty while we do all the work okay?” He said condescendingly, running a hand through Peter’s hair before patting his cheek mockingly.

It took all of Peter’s willpower not to head butt him directly in the nose.

The set up was done fairly quickly, the camera pointed directly at Peter and the red light blinking. His captor came to stand right behind him, hands resting on Peter’s shoulders again.

“Oh looks like he’s tuned it! Hello Stark, I think I found something that belongs to you,” the leader said, squeezing Peter’s shoulders. “You shouldn’t just leave your things lying around you know. Don’t want them to get displaced.” Peter grit his teeth in irritation and humiliation – he couldn’t believe he had let himself get kidnapped – that he had put Mr. Stark in this position! “Anyway,” he continued lightly, “I have a little request. A trade if you will. I’ll give you back your intern and you give me twenty million dollars and a clean way out of the country. Shouldn’t be too hard for you right?”

Don’t do it Peter tapped out on the arm of the chair in hasty Morse code. Don’t give them anything. I’ve got this Peter tried to say with his eyes. Trust me.

Later, his jaw hanging loose and his body aching with breaks and bruises, Peter will let a single tear fall.

The door knob turns and his adrenaline spikes.

#summerofwhump #summerofwhump19 #Prompt: Fear #irondad #spider man #Summer of Whump 2021

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Ducktales Final Four: The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck Review! or The Batman Trial Episode but with Ducks, Sharks, And the Fonz

Hello all you happy people and welcome to the penultimate Ducktales review... for season 3 anyway. I still have most of season 1, all of season 2 (I did cover one but I’ll probably redo it), the tie-in comics, the 87 series, and even then i’ll never really be done with ducks between all the scrooge comics and other duck related shows like Darkwing Duck and Quack Pack. But as far as covering the show as it comes out as i’ve done for the past year, that’s’ts almost done. It’s honestly just starting to hit as I type this: this is the second to last episode. After next week while there’s always fan fiction (And I certainly aim to contribute to that), a possible Darkwing Duck Reboot under frank (though that’s in doubt) where they could show up, and a movie down the road given what we saw with Phienas and Ferb and the show’s popularity it’s still not the same as getting these well animated, well crafted adventures every week with breaks or the ocasional entire week of them. The show won’t go on, and whatever happens with the property next is a mystery no amount of ducks can solve.

So with all that in mind naturally this episode is a breather episode: It’s not unimportant: like the rest of the season it ties off a lot of loose ends, adds in some stuff we didn’t know we wanted, and in general feels necessary like every episode this season. It’s something I credit the season for immensley: They knew this would probably be it so while they had more stories to tell, they made sure if these were their last, to leave no loose ends. And outside of ones they just never wanted to address in the first place like “What happened to Donald’s parents”, “Why was every trace of Della missing despite Scrooge’s search for her having just ended”, and “What did Della thing of the decades long seperation”, they’ve tied up pretty much all of them except for FOWL and what Beakly was lying about, and I feel both are about to ducktail into one another int he finale. Could be wrong but I applaud them for tying off almost every loose end and character arc by this episode that isn’t related to FOWL in some way. Not every show can do that: She Ra was a masterpiece but still had a few things like Scorpia and Catra’s broken relationship, Hordak’s reformation and Adora’s Parents just left up in the air due to time constraints, Steven Universe ONLY got to go back and answer a lot of questions because they were lucky enough to get an epilogue mini series, and Star Vs... was not as good as either show by the end and by the finale about 80% of things it’d brought up all had the following answer:

My point is it’s VERY hard, even when you know the end is coming to tie everything up in a neat bow. And I can’t know how good the finale be or how satsifying it will be but given how well this season’s wrapped everything up so far, i’m betting on immensely. But we can talk about that when it finally comes around next week. For now we have a trial episode to talk about that’s mostly good.. mostly. See why the mostly under the cut as I discuss and recap the episode with full spoilers. Count it down!

We open in the Mansion, where a bunch of tribble like Fuzzy creatures are running amok. Unsuprisingly, Scrooge bought one for Louie as a pet to teach him responsiblity.. again. And once again he instead turned into a get rich quick scheme, didn’t read the manual and now they have an infestation.

ONCE AGAIN, Louie is written like he’s barely changed at all in the past three seasons. Anyone whose been following my reviews regularly knows this has been a pet peeve of mine for the entire season. Despite having an ENTIRE arc about Louie growing as a character and learning the human cost of his scheming and to use his angle seeing talent’s wisely, the writers keep writing him as if he learned nothing. I went back to track it and while not as often as it felt I noticed a few things. The first is that it WASN’T like this for the first half of the season. No really. He even learns brand new lessons in The Trickening and Louie’s Eleven. Granted he also exploits his uncle in Louie’s Eleven but that’s mostly played for laughs.. still not a great bit but not a major part of the episode.

So he was fine for the first act of the season... but then for whatever reason from Let’s Get Dangerous onwards (Again I don’t count the Christmas episode as both of those are meant to slot in anywhere and chronologically take place before this season for the timeline to make any sense), he’s just...

He’s utterly insufferable in his small parts of the first half of Let’s Get Dangerous! as he berates Huey for daring to look a gifthorse int he mouse.. even though everytime he’s seemingly got something for nothing or minimal effort it’s backfired and it’s something that seeemd to stick with “The Richest Duck in the World!”. He’s fine in Impossibin and alright in split sword as while he clearly hadn’t learned lying isn’t the best policy we at least got a good story out of it. He then went right back to obnoxious with New Gods on the Block where he, EPISODES AFTER THE SOLEAGEO FISACO again thinks an easy way out is the right way, and has NO guilt over possibly killing a bunch of people with his gold powers and in fact is disapointed he dosen’t get to keep a living being turned to gold!. He spents all of Fight for Castle McDuck being a huge dick to Huey AGAIN iwth no lesson, and now has yet another family endagering get rich quick scheme he feels no remorse about.

I will admit when I”m wrong and I DID think it was in way more of the season than I thought. And let’s face it in real life personal issues don’t just go away and you can sometimes slide back, i’ve done it way too many times and i’m not proud of it. We’re only human. But this isn’t real life, this is cartoon ducks. And cartoon duck wise most character development has stuck or if a bad trait’s come back it’s been in a new way. Webby is still trusting, but knows how the world works now and while idolizing scrooge dosen’t think he’s perfect anymore. Huey is no longer a skpetic towards the super natural and hasn’t forced a party on anyone. Dewey hasn’t craved other people’s love or thought he needed to earn his mom’s love again. And that’s just the other kids. They aren’t the same people theyw ere going in, neither is Louie. So it’s grating when an episode acts like h’es exactly the same, let alone almost a fifth of the season.

What makes it even worse though is that he had an ENTIRE STORY ARC dedicated to learning some of these lessons already. With the others if one episode were forgotten i’d let it slide as it happens with tv, i’m used to it. It’s not a great look but it happens. Mistakes happen again we’re all human. But you can’t act like an entire arc of a series didn’t exist. While they ignore Della’s history somehow being hidden for the rest of the show they don’t ignore that Dewey spent a whole season looking for her, as he never hides something like that from his brothers again nor do they, and he’s out of them the biggets mama’s boy. While they did take a while to adress Lena, partly because the episode got pushed back, they didn’t act like season 1 never happened and she was still working for her aunt. Della still isn’t on the moon and Owlson still isn’t working for glomgold. Actions. Have. Consequences. That’s the whole point of this episode, but they act like none of it got through to louie and it makes his arc feel like a giant waste in hindsight. This episode even feels like it was SUPPOSED to be in that arc: Louie is back to his season 2 characterization, Scrooge is actively trying to mentor him again.. it just feels really out of place as our second to last episode in that way and drags it down a bit.

Thankfully after Scrooge bars the door, and possibly leaves everyone to their deaths but he presumably has enough faith in the kids, the twins and Beakley to take care of it, he gets a summons to court.. and gets kidnapped. He and Louie are whisked away to a mystic court presided over by a giant statue of justice holding scales, that judges someone based on Karma. Scrooge’s foes have brought him to court, blaming him for being evil and if he looses he looses EVERYTHING. And their proscutor?

Sadly not Droopy, maybe next continuity, but searing the same Hannibal-Esque Getup is Doofus Drake to Louie’s horror. As for why he’s like this.. he thought iht was fun. Great gag.

After the credits we find out why he’s doing this: He’s still pissed about Louie taking half his inheritance and giving it to his family, so he’s going to take LOUIE’S inheritance. It’s.. honestly a great setup: Doofus was already a villian I liked, being a nice weird evil mirror dewey instead of a walking fat joke like last series. So I was glad to both see him pop up one last time to make it a full trilogy of apperances as an angonist and to see him take a step up from his passive roll in the past: in his first two apperances while he was evil and abusive, and still is, his evil was mostly due to his own warped logic, feeling he could put shock collars on and control people and that Louie lying to him was enough to warrant making him into a pinata. He’s still a bad person mind you: kid or not he ensdlaved his parents, tried to enslave louie and goldie and in general REALLY needs some help empathizing with people. But my point is that before he didn’t come after anyone.. so it’s a nice capper to have his final turn as antaognist be him going after our hero.. and at his most dangerous. Before someone would’ve come for Louie eventually in Doofus’ first apperance and Goldie would’ve found a way out or Scrooge, despite grumbling about it, would’ve helped.. if nothing else than to lord having to save her from a 12 year old over her. Here if he wins the family is out on the street and three of their greatest enemies are now infinitely more well funded.

So while naturally unnerved by his rival Louie offers to defend Scrooge who denies it despite the fact that Louie is REALLY good with words, and Scrooge, while not bad with them, can’t stop shouting and keeps pissing off the baliff, played by my boy Henry Winkler whose done a lot of voice work and also played Fonzie on Happy Days, is currently on the HBO series barry and in general is just a fucking delight. The irony is also not lost on me that he’s not playing a lawyer here despite being one on arrested development.

We get our first witness: FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD. Hell. Yes. It’s nice to see him in his full glory one last time, as I don’t know how much he’ll be in the finale. Scrooge blows of the Duke Baloney thing, which is fair given that while Scrooge screwed up there, Glomgold still stole money from him right after and then spent his whole life trying to one up him. But Glomgold has a different tale in mind as he stole something else from him: the limelight.

It was 1980-something and Glomgold was a bonified celebrity in Duckberg for his hot dogging, grandstanding and treasure hunting loved by all and took Baba Wawa, a nice mix of Barbra Walters and the parody of her on SNL by the late Gilda Radner, to a shark shaped cave to get the gem of the shark god, a ruby tooth at the end of the cave. Naturally Scrooge popped up and easily made his way through and stole the spotlight. As it turns out he wasn’t always well loved and it makes sense: he dismises Baba asking him about how disliked he is, and dosen’t care and even in the current story, or rather season 1 of it, he dismiseed PR entirely in Jaw$. He was rich enough and enough of a job provider he just didn’t see the need for fame or glory, that just came second so it’s logical no one liked him. Fortunes naturally reverse as you’d expect though: Glomgold dashes forward and ends up putting Baba and her camerabird in danger and being Glomgold he irrationally assumes she’s working for Scrooge and leaves her to die. Scrooge however, after getting the rock, goes out of his way to save her because it’s the right thing to do. He can be selfish at times, and as we’ll see monstrously so, but at his core Scrogoe is a good man who will do right when the chips are down. So this leaves Glomgold trapped and Scrogoe getting his good press instead and realizes he likes the attention.

As the flashback ends Glomgold fills in the gaps, pointing out he was stuck with the sharks for days, but slowly bonded with them learned from them and they became family, helping him with traps, joining him for thanksgiving and even getting a heart taatoo with a shark on it. Awww. Look I didn’t really need to know where Glomgold’s love of sharks came from, nor that he had some weird tarzan origin story with them.. but my life is 100% better knowing all of this so thank you Frank and Matt. Thank you. I’m also entirely convinced the two have had this whole part of his backstory ready to go for three seasons and were waiting to use it, along with the other two bits we’re about to get to. This episode as you can tell is also a vingette episode, but one where the wraparound is way more improtant than usual.. but it works given the setting and allows the stories to be as long as they actually need to be, and it addds some nice stakes instead of just having Scrooge’s villians gripe about him.

Scrooge protests and the Bailiff puts a clamp on his beak, so he has no choice in the matter when Louie steps up for the defense. Louie also proves that irresponsible he may be.. he’d be a damn good lawyer, as he easily picks things apart, pointing out Glomgold was ALREADY bad by then, Scrooge had no intent to steal the spotlight and Glomgold is currently planting dynamite under his chair, with predictable and hilarious results. So he gets put on the “good” side of the scale. Next witness.

Next up is Ma, and I was delighted that as I’d hoped and theroized this episode wrapped up one little plot point that while not major, was something I was curious about: Ma’s claims Scrooge stole Duckburg from her family. This was also likely the backbone of the episode at one point as Frank pitched a beagle trial episode at one time, but Disney nixed it. Likely the magic stuff was added both to justify it better and to distract Disney Channel’s higher ups because they constantly underestimate what a child will like. It was for the best though as the beagles are just a bit weaker here: While Character Actress Margo Martindale is a delight and was specifically cast for the role, overall it just feels like they ran out of ways to make the beagles a big threat and releigated them to muscle when needed, to the point they only appeared in one episode besides this one this season as with FOWL about, they didn’t really need villians of the week and what ones they did use like Glomgold and Mark were far more entertaining villains who needed a coda to their stories.They aren’t bad characters, but in a series where their breaking into the bin or mansion wasn’t a story the crew was interested in they served no real purpose.

So we finally get answers about the whole Deed thing: It was sometime in Ma’s childhood, good look guessing when, and the Beagles owned Duckburg having clearly overwhelmed Fort Duckburg at some point in history between Clinton’s defense of it and now, with Grandpa “Pa” Beagle finally making an apperance. In the comics he was basically what Ma is to both series: the scheming brains behind the beagles who showed up on occasion and it was a good idea to use him as the past version of her.

Scrooge naturally comes a calling and unsurprisingly Ma was lying: Scrooge offered to buy the place first from Pa, he refused outright, and then when Scrooge showed off the money he was offering, Pa bet the deed for it in an arm wrestling contest. Not only that but as Scrooge finds out as he almost looses, Pa was cheating having a smaller beagle boy operate pull a lever in a device attached to his arm to give pa extra force. Scroooge simply dropped a few coins to distract the guy and claimed victory and the deed.

Little Ma is left dejected though and Doofus claims he ruined his life, but Louie steps up, at this poitn Scrooge has learned to reign himself ina nd accepted Louie as his defense without saying anything, a nice subtle bit. He probably realized that while irrepsonsible.. Louie has everything to loose her and no reason to slack off and dosen’t even relaly have to lie for his uncle to get him off: he’s simply using his ablitiy to see all the angles to poke holes in their story.

Case in point, he orders the “tape” to continue and finds Little Ma berating her dad for his failure and forcefully taking control of the family. LIke Glomgold, Scrooge may of cost her something.. but it was something she and her family hadn’t earned and they were still on a bad road. Scrooge just made it worse.

But suprisingly, its MAGICA, who we’ve established is an uncaring monster, who has a story Scrooge genuinely feels bad about. Like the rest she was not a good person: Long ago she and her brother Poe were extorting a villiage, and lording over it as gods, changing the population into goats, toads and other things. The only diffrence from what Magica would do to the blot and presumiibly others later, is that Poe reigned in her manical tend ices, trying to get her to think things through. The goat transformation was so they’d have milk and at least get something out of it and as to not waste all their slaves. Poe is voiced by Martin Freeman of The Hobbit and Black Panther fame. Great actor, does amazing work here. So like the others Scrooge changed things, and fought someone with bad intentions for his own self. He talked Magica into fighting him with both amulets by playing into her ego and Poe trying to talk her down, and easily deflected her bolt with the dime to turn her into a crow with her own spell. So far it’s just like the other tales in a nice mirror.. it’s what comes next that makes Scrooge into a bad guy too. Not as bad as Magica and Poe.. but sitll not good. Poe dives selflessly in front of the coin.. and shockingly while she cared nothing for Lena.. that wasn’t the case for Poe. Magica is truly devastated, desperatly trying to put the amulet back on and begging scrooge for help while he just ignores her and fills up his sack. And while they both deserved it... Scrooge and Louie both recognize he was wrong as the flashback ends with Poe escaping and Magica sitll haven’t having found him to this day. And props to Catharine Tate here a she takes a normally hammy terrible person who was wholly unsympathetic and manages to make her painfully human.

What makes the act so terrible is not who it happened to, they both desrved it, but Scrooge’s attitude, utterly callous to magica’s pain with not a drop of sympathy. While she deserved it as did Poe.. he’s not doing this to her as some justice for her crimes, or because she did something horrible to him or any valid reason.. he’s doing it because he’d rather get more of her and poes gold than lift one finger to help someone who had , for all his evil, selflessly sacrificed himself for his sister. For all Poe’s evil and tyranny.. there MIGHT of been a good man in them, in both of them.. and Scrooge could’ve cared less. He shut the door on Magica ever becoming a good person, ever getting her brother back to line his own wallet and to satisfy his own ego. See that’s the true mark of a hero: how they treat others, even the worst of them. And in his lowest moment Scrooge could’ve cared less about anyone but himself.

Scrooge feels bad and Louie does finally get the responsibility thing and this is where things start to go off the rails: he apologizes to Doofus and admits he dosen’t want an enteral rivalry and h’es sorry for any pain he caused. The off the rails part is because Doofus is genuinely not a good person, ahs done very bad things and is trying to bankrupt Louie for the crime of “taking half your fortune after you used it to torment and enslave your own parents’. It just.. dosen’t play as well as they’d like. That said I DO like both Louie deciding to bury the hatchet instead of just avoiding him and Doofus showing some nobiity in accepting it. Maybe he’ll change.

He goes off into the night, and Scrooge genuinely apologizes and accepts repsonsiblity... and here’s where the plot finishing going off the rails and into someone’s living room: the bailiff AWARDS THEM SCROOGE’S FORTUNE BECAUSE HE ADMITTED SOME CUPLABLITY AND WAS HUMBLE.

This just.. it makes no sense, it will never not baffle me and it hurts my brain> Yes he admitted some wrong doing and apologized for it.. but it was also THROUGHLY proven the other two weren’t his fault, and he was simply being a good man which should get him some good. Thankfully the conclusion is a bit better, as Louie points out while they made him, he made you so who made who, who made you... okay i’m getting into the AC/DC of things point is these incidents all shaped Scrooge into a better person. His mistake with Magica. is clearly learned from. He’s stopping a group of bullies in Ma’s story and saving a life without a second thought in the second. He learned to value others, to value family all because THEY showed him what happens when you don’t. By seeing the worst person he could be.. he became the best. So the trial’s thrown out his assets are returned, and their teleported out before magica can hit them with lighting. Lesson learned.. well kinda Louie tells scrooge to do it because he got the pet.

Final Thoughts for The Life and Crimes of Scrooge McDuck:

Great title aside.. this one is a mess. It’s not a terrible episode: the flashbacks are genuinely engaging, each one helping flesh out the villians and in Ma’s case pulling one last dangling plot thread. Glomgold’s was just entertaining , clevelry using his 80′s origns for an 80′s style news special and giving us the origin to his love of sharks that we didn’t know we needed., Ma’s tied up a loose plot threat with a fun flashback and Magica’s was genuinely heart wrenching and did the tall task of making us feel for someone that terrible. The wraparound.. was a bit weaker. Doofus was the best part, playing an excellent manipulative bastard lawyer, and being a genuine threat and his walking away peacefully was a nice touch, and Louie having to defend scrooge was great and showed him off better than ever. And Louie did get some moments to shine.. it was just wierldy bookened with him acting terribly AGAIN, in a way he should know better than in an episode where he acts fine for most of it and even then he thinks lying to a judge is a good idea! I know he’s 12 but he’s not this stupid and while as I made very clear i’ve seen this shit before, I haven’t seen it flip flop in the same episode. Louie deserves better than this.

But it’s also in service to a responsiblility aseop that just.. dosen’t work as presented. Yes you should take responsiblity for your past, yes you should learn from your mistakes and own up to them, I have, and yes it’s all too easy to slide back> That’s all fine.. but him apologizing to Ma, whose family was terorrizing a town, and Glomgold, who he did nothing to, and having Louie apologize to Doofus, who while he tried to exploit him still enslaved his own parents and deserved to loose half his fortune AND loosing half his fortune wasn’t even the main thing Louie wanted to do as his main goal was getting BOYD a loving family.. it’s bullshit. Just pure Grade-A bullshit. Why are you booing them their right. It’s a good idea for a moral but it’s executed so overwhelmingly poorly it bogs down what was otherwise an exceptional episode, into just passable. It’s just mind numbing and saddening to know the next to last episode wasted so much good ideas on a clumsy moral. Thankfully I have hope the finale will be better, and again at least we got some good out of this one.

Next Time: Endgame Baby! Clan McDuck and their Amazing Friends Vs F.O.W.L. for the fate of adventure itself! One last ride! I can hardly wait!

This week on the blog: Ducks Ducks and more ducks.. and a top 12 list of my faviorite superheroines later today’s for international women’s day. But after that we have more of the Della arc, the last step in the Lena arc before Shadow War next week, and the 87 ducktales pilot treasure of the golden suns!

If you liked this review, share it around, follow for more, and you can comission your own for 5 dolalrs an issue or episode, or kick in some money on my patroen, link on my blog. Even a dollar a month helps and my next stretch goal is 5 dollars away and if we reach it i’ll review both the super ducktales mini series introducing gizmoduck AND a darkwing duck episode a month. Until the next rainbow it’s been a pleasure.

#ducktales #the life and crimes of scrooge mcduck #scrooge mcduck #louie duck #doofus drake #magica de spell #poe de spell #FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD #ma beagle #the beagle boys #disney channel #disney #ducks #uncle scrooge

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itsyou-itsme-itsus · 4 years

Text

Gambled Away

Dark Avengers AU!

Summary: Your boyfriend Scott has a gambling issue that finally catches up with him when he plays the wrong people.

All Avengers are dark.

I don’t own any of the characters just writing for fun.

Warnings: Its a little violent and no smut yet but small hints of dubcon. Do Not read if this is not your thing!

The restaurant was the literal definition of a hole in the wall. Somewhere in the dead center of New York your boyfriend Scott brought you here. He swore up and down this was the best Italian food in all of New York. You had your suspicions. The walls were a faded red paint looked rusty, likely meant to be deep maroon at some point. Spots near the ceiling were chipped and peeling away. Risking the chance of dropping paint chips into the food or drinks. The floor tiles were covered in a greasy brownish grime. Black soot sat wedged within the cracks.

You cringed feeling lucky to have not seen any cock roaches scurry around. The night was young so you didn’t fully let your guard down yet. The cleanliness of the restaurant was questionable and there was no way a health inspector allowed this. You wondered what could have been keeping them a float. Bribes? Maybe a secret laundering service in the back.

“Oh Mr. Lang. Welcome back. Will you be having the house special?” A tall man with dirty blonde hair and glasses came out.

He sounded smart, his enunciation almost sounded robotic or artificial. He shot you a sympathetic side ways glance. He seemed so out of place to be working in a dump like this.

“We’ll be right back.” Scott said pushing the employee towards the kitchen.

“Scott wai-“ they disappeared before another word could reach your boyfriend’s ears. It was hard to hold back the audible huff of annoyance that crept up from the pit of your stomach.

Like a rancid taste in your mouth that wouldn’t go away, there was a tugging in your chest. Something felt off and it wasn’t just the sketchy nature of the restaurant. More details started to become more apparent. There seemed to be only one employee in the back and no other staff since you walked in. Feeling the need to plan an escape route you doubled checked the space between you and the door behind you. It was glass looking out into the busy streets of New York a Seven Eleven sat on the corner across from the restaurant.

Tony’s was painted across the top of the glass in white stenciled paint. Parts of it were fading a little. No one had even come out to ask you for your drink order. The urge to run out the door and home was strong. You wanted to give Scott the benefit of the doubt because he was so sweet! You would just have to put your foot down towards these kinds of situations.

“Who is all here tonight Vis?” Scott asked following Vis to the basement door.

Vis didn’t need to answer when he opened the door it had told Scott his answer. Sitting at the table was Bucky, Steve and Natasha. He had prayed that it was Tony and Sam. They often had higher payouts and were surprisingly more merciful when Scott lost or had to take a couple weeks to get the money back. It was more of fun competition among the wealthy. While the poker games with these three were often high stakes and more ruthless. They would be more likely to break your leg if you didn’t have the money to give them the next day.

“You know what. I should probably just get back upstairs.” Scott tried to hurry and escape before he buried himself.

“No, we need a fourth.” Steve spoke tapping a deck of crisp cards on the table.

“Shit.” Scott muttered to himself before smiling and agreeing. He sat down and watched as Bucky slid him over a stack of chips.

“Buy in is $300.” Natasha said pinching out a few 20s and setting them in the middle of the table. Bucky followed suit and waited for Scott and Steve.

Scott looked into his pockets. He only had about 2k on him. The pot was steep. But he swallowed hard and asked that luck be on hid side tonight. He peeled out $300 from the stack in his pocket and put it with Bucky and Natasha’s. Steve was the last to put his down.

Scott always won due to his calm demeanor and straight poker faces. It always worked in bluffs with Tony and Sam. Not with these three sharks. They were mercenaries and ex-assassins. They knew how to read through someones facade.

As Scott waited for Steve to finish shuffling the cards he let his eyes wonder. In the far corner of the room near the door was a large TV screen. On the screen was the video live streaming from upstairs. Scott could see you in the chair at the table looking around nervously. He was starting to wish he had just taken you to a real restaurant. This might cause you to break up with him.

“I’ll see your $100 and raise you $200.” Bucky said to Nat. She smirked at him fanning her cards up at eye level.

“Bet.” Scott said nervously.

“Bet.” Steve stared down Scott. They knew all about how Scott had been cleaning poker games out in different parts of New York. He had gotten infamous for taking home 500,000 to a million a game.

Steve normally wouldn’t of cared until he heard that his friends Sam and Tony had lost 2.5 million dollars to Scott last week. Steve wanted to get Scott out of the gambling world, to teach him a lesson. To Steve People like Scott were pests. An invasive little ant marching around like it owned everything in someone else’s kitchen. He figured just like an ant he’d rough Scott up and send a message to all the other ants out there. Slowly poison the nests within the area.

Scott kept playing his hand quietly and safely. For the first time in his life he had folded in one round. This pissed Steve off, fueling his fists for when they took Scott into the back Alleyway behind the dumpsters.

The air felt thick and ominous. Scott was beginning to perspire. His leg bounced uncontrollably and he kept looking up at the camera feed. Natasha caught on to this and nodded to Bucky and Steve they looked up to see a beautiful younger woman sitting in the upstairs restaurant area.

She looked nervous as she looked at the kitchen door and then back at the front entrance. Steve couldn’t help but think of how innocent and sweet she looked. Not like the usual girls who came through here. It was easy right away to tell that she had no idea what kind of place she was in.

“Vision.” Steve yelled standing.

“One moment.”

Steve met Vis at the door. They began to whisper and a vis’s face fell. He nodded, complying and left with the door shutting behind him.

“Hello, can I get you anything to drink?” You jumped startled at the sound popping up behind you.

“Sorry, I did not mean to frighten you.”

“That’s alright.”

Vis smiled and waited patiently for your order.

“Oh right. I’ll have ice water please.” Vis internally sighed the only other options would of been strong liquors, beer or wine.

“I’ll be right back with that.” Vis smiled and walked back towards the kitchen.

He had been instructed to make sure you didn’t leave. He worried what was to happen. He wanted to tell you to leave but if they caught you on camera and Bucky got to chase you, it would be far worse than if he just did his job. Vis scrambled through the fridge and realized that there was no food in the entire place. Thinking fast he decided to call the pizzeria down the block and instructed they come to the back door of the kitchen.

He came out with a smile and set down a bottle of water. You eyed it, raising an eyebrow before twisting open the cap and taking a sip.

“Thank you.” You trailed off feeling awkward. Vis smiled and excused himself to the kitchen again.

Scott had to hold back celebrating his first win. Bucky grunted pushing the pile towards Scott. Nat shot him death glares and Steve, seemed to be somewhere else. Just as they expected Scott raised the pot. He got his confidence back and had planned to rake it all in tonight and leave to take you to the kind of restaurant you deserved to eat at.

The second and third time Scott won he was all out. Smiling leaning in to pull the cash to him. He laughed and gloated while the others watched him. The more confident Scott got the sloppier his tactics were. He became more reckless with his hands.

“I need a drink.” Bucky growled. He stood and brought back three glasses to the table. Giving Nat, Steve and Scott each a glass. Bucky poured whiskey in each glass and leaned back to take a swig straight from the bottle.

“Well this has been great guys. But I’m all in!” Scott said reloading the middle of the table with the last pot.

“All in.”

Once all in everyone watched and loosely played their hands. They wanted Scott to win. Scott was the only one who was unaware of this.

“Royal fluuuuush baby!” Scott yelled flopping the cards onto the table. The others leaned back poorly feigning disappointment but Scott wouldn’t notice in his moment of glory!

Scott was so happy! He kept dropping cash as he tried to gather it all. He used his jacket as a sash to help him carry the load. He quickly shot you a text saying pick a new place to eat at, anywhere you wanted to go. While he was scooping up his earnings he hadn’t noticed that Bucky perched himself near the door, the only exit out of the basement. Steve sat on a worn leather brown couch in the back of the room, Nat sat leaning against the wall. Just behind the poker table.

Steve texted Vis to bring you downstairs using the ruse that Scott wanted her brought down. Steve relaxed his new plan would be so much better than Just breaking all of Scott’s bones.

“Thank you and goodnight guys!” Scott yelled waltzing towards the door.

Bucky stuck his metal arm out and ushered Scott to back up. Scott’s face dropped and the color drained from his face. He swallowed hard looking behind him to Steve.

“Wouldn’t want leave your girlfriend behind.” Steve’s tone was calm with something sinister hiding beneath it.

Scott’s blood ran cold. He dropped the money and looked up at the camera. You were gone from your seat. The door now had the open sign shut off. It said closed and the lights were off. He tried to reach for the handle but Bucky drove his fist into Scott’s stomach. He doubled over in pain. Gasping as he hit the ground instantly curling into the fetal position.

“Um, why are we going this way?” You clutched your hoodie to your chest as you followed Vis through the now desolate kitchen. You hadn’t noticed that Vis shut the lights off after the two of you entered the kitchen.

“Scott is leaving out the back, he asked for you to meet him down here.” Vis said his face devoid of emotion and his voice still in monotone.

It neither comforted you nor did it make you feel worse. It was the dark basement stairs that made you feel frightened. The hallway lit up as the door opened you stepped in and saw Scott slightly slouched over on a couch with a tall muscular blonde with a thick dark beard. A beautiful redheaded woman stood behind a table full of cards and poker chips. She stood with her arms crossed.

“Hello?” You said softly looking at her and she smiled warmly.

“Hi I’m Nat.” She said not moving from her spot.

“I’m Y/N.” You returned the gesture.

“That’s a beautiful name Y/N, I’m Steve.” He was stretched out with his arm along the back of the couch.

Even though you felt like something was very wrong you couldn’t stop yourself from being polite. You were never one to judge people off their appearance.

“Thank you.” You couldn’t help but blush a little. It made a carnal feeling twist inside of Steve, he subtly palmed the hem of his pants as it to adjust himself for comfort.

“Scott lets go.” You said turning to your boyfriend. That’s when you noticed. His eyes looked red and his face was pale white. He had blood on the corner of his mouth. You looked up searching for the door and Vis. Your body jolted a bit once you noticed the tall muscular man with long brown hair staring back at you from the shut door. His flesh hand held a bottle full of whiskey. His other hand was metal, it rested on his leg.

“Whats the rush doll?” He asked addressing you for the first time. He had been so silent that you wondered if he had been there the whole time.

“I’m so, so sorry Y/N. Please I didn’t kn-“ Scott cried out to you, you could tell he genuinely shaken up. His frame shook and you tried to make sense of the situation.

“What is this?” You asked looking to everyone in the room for an answer. A deafening silence seeped into the room like a gloomy fog on a cold morning.

“Scott here is 4 million dollars in debt.” Natasha spoke. Her smile slid away but it stayed in her eyes. To her and Bucky this was like a cat playing with a mouse after it was cornered. This mouse would think it had a chance but the cat sealed its fate when it caught the mouse.

So many thing swept over you. Trying to process the severity of the situation left your mind grasping at scenarios. Part of you wanted to hug Scott and tell him it was all going to be ok. While the other half of you wanted to scream and slap him for being so stupid! The emotions twisted within your gut like a tornado. You felt nauseous.

“F-f four million??” Was all that you could muster to come out.

“That’s right.” Steve said pulling your attention back to the couch.

Scott couldn’t make eye contact with you, he just looked down at the floor in shame. His heart was breaking from knowing he had drawn you into something dangerous, over his addiction for gambling.

“Give me one week, i-I’ll pay it back and you’ll never see us again!” You glared at Scott warning him to follow your lead. You weren’t even sure how you would get that kind of money.

“Y-yes you’ll never see me again.” He promised looking at Steve. Steve wasn’t looking at Scott. He was staring at you.

“That doesn’t work for us.” Steve said leaning back on the couch.

“Here’s the choice. One. We beat the shit out of Scott until he’s unconscious in the hospital or you stay and be his payment.” Natasha and Bucky smirked loving how Steve had turned the tables. Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at Steve in disgust.

“I’m calling the cops!” You yelled, with tears in your eyes. Your trembling hand dipped into your pocket gripping your phone with clammy hands. It felt slippery and you struggled to get it out of your pocket. Bucky, Nat and Steve watched you intently.

They allowed you to pull the phone out and open the screen. 9-1-1. Your thumb hovered over the call button. Steve jumped up scaring you and the phone fell to the floor. Steve wrapped his arms around you holding you tightly to his chest. He was so much taller and wider when he stood. You felt small and fragile in his grip.

“Sh sh sh... its ok.” He whispered in your ear, his lips grazed the outer shell of your ear and it made you shiver. You tried to pull away and shrink into yourself all at the same time.

“Please!” You cried out struggling to get nowhere. Steve just held you close to him. His cheek pressed against yours. His beard scraped against your skin. He was warm, it made you feel claustrophobic. He inhaled smelling the lavender shampoo in your hair.

“STOP! This doesn’t involve her! Just hurt me!” Scott cried out standing up. Steve nodded to Bucky who came up behind Scott and socked him right in the ribs with his flesh hand.

Scott wheezed and choked as he doubled over clutching his sides. His face flushed a bright red. Bucky likely broke his ribs. He tried to crawl to you. One hand holding his sides while his legs curled towards his chest. He drug himself on one arm. Nat walked up casually and smiled at you before swinging her leg violently and her foot connected with his ribs again.

Scott gasped for air as his body flopped over onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling feeling disoriented. For a moment he was in shock from the pain. A small amount of blood pooled at the corner of his mouth.

You hadn’t realized it but you were crying and shaking uncontrollably. Steve was holding you up, pulling you closer to his chest. He was trying to sooth you. As if he and his friends hadn’t been the ones hurting you and Scott. In the moment of terror you had gripped onto his strong arm to steady yourself.

“I’ll stay!! Please stop hurting him!” Once the words flew out of your mouth the air in the room seemed to thin out. Nat backed away to the table leaning on it with her fingers curled over the edges. Bucky helped Scott up who howled in pain when he went from prone to standing. He clutched onto Bucky as if his life depended on it.

Bucky hobbled Scott’s crippled body to the door. He banged on it with his metal fist. A few seconds went by before Vis opened the door looking mortified.

“Take him to the hospital.” Bucky said nodding his head to Scott who was going in and out of consciousness.

“Wait.” Steve said causing everyone including you to look at him in confusion.

Steve shifted you slightly in his arms, you were now against his chest facing him. You had to look up at him. There was a shimmer in his eyes that made you feel sick.

“Kiss me. Like a handshake for our deal.” Steve lowered his head his lips were only a few inches away from yours. His other hand left your waist to raise your chin with one finger.

Your heart hammered in your chest, you felt dizzy. You didn’t want to kiss this awful man! Tears filled the brim of your eyes, a heavy invisible stone started to crush your chest.

Bucky lifted Scott’s head making him watch as Steve pressed his lips to yours. You didn’t fight him, you wanted to get it over with so that they’d take Scott to the hospital. Steve parted his lips when yours didn’t he slid his tongue along the seam of your lips, Prodding for entry. Reluctantly you let him. He sighed into your lips as his tongue met yours. Bile felt like it was rising up into your throat. You just wanted this to end. You kissed Steve back timidly but it seemed to appease him.

He pulled back smiling at you before peppering your soft swollen lips with a few gentle kisses. In shock you allowed Steve to set you on the couch. He turned and nodded to Vis who helped Bucky get Scott up the stairs. Nat and Steve talked in the corner for awhile.

“Alright see you tomorrow. It was nice to meet you Y/N.” Nat smiled before grabbing her jacket.

“Yeah.” Was all you could say as she walked out the door leaving alone with Steve.

Steve walked over to you, he held out his hand. You looked up at him through the tears in your eyes.

“You must be tired. Let’s go home.” He said as if you and he had been dating for years. You looked to the door weighing your options of escape. Steve followed your glance and smiled.

“You can try it if you need to.” He offered crossing his arms over his broad chest. The blue button up shirt was stretch tautly against his broad chest.

You put your head down shaking it. Tears quietly streamed from your eyes. Staining your cheeks. Scott was gone and now your were stuck with this man who terrified you. Steve offered his hand to you again and this time you accepted it. You placed your hand in his and let him pull you up.

“I can be good to you or I can be harsh. It’s really up to you.” Steve leaned over kissing you on the head as he lead you out of the restaurant. You just nodded your head letting him guide you with his hand on the small of your lower back.

Your fate had been sealed. Your boyfriend had gambled you off like a trophy piece. Now you had to go home with this man and do whatever he wanted you to. May be it would be smart to just pay off the debts and leave town forever. He would eventually get bored with you. At least you prayed he would sooner than later.

#Avengers #steve rogers #bucky barnes #Dark Fic #AU #natasha romanoff #Vision #Scott lang #steve rogers x you #scott lang x reader #captain america #winter soldier

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canonicallysoulmates · 4 years

Text

Walker 1.06

This was….okay. I liked it more than I thought I would...

Let’s just get into it.

This is the first episode where there is no case. Sorta. Kind of. The focus of this week is that it’s the one year anniversary of Emily’s death so the case elements are about her murder and it’s a part of the episode but it’s not a focus.

The episode is like divided into three groups of characters, everything they’re doing comes back to Emily’s death but each group is doing their own thing: there’s Liam and Captain James, Cordell, Micki, Trey and Micki’s mom (yes, Micki’s mom), and the final group is the grandparents, the kids, and Stella’s wannabe boyfriend.

So, I’m gonna follow that same format and go group by group and at the end put it all together.

First up is Cordell, Micki, Trey and Micki’s mom.

Walker is in trouble, because if you remember in the first episode he punched a guy who spit in his face and mentioned Emily so now Walker could lose his job due to unwarranted use of excessive force. Cordell is taking things calmly because while it’s not right things always tend to fall in favor of the cop (in this case ranger) but Micki is worried because his cowboy ways is costing the department a lot of money and he could lose his job. She’s even more worried when out of the blue her merciless shark of a psychiatrist mom shows up and it’s revealed she’s gonna be the one to do Cordell’s psych evaluation.

While that’s going on, it’s the day of the anniversary of Emily’s death and Cordell received a call from Geri letting him know she plans to sell the bar cause she thinks its time to move on and she’s been made an offer by a developer. I don’t really care for that set, they have not done enough to make it important to the audience but for Cordell it’s a big deal since that was Emily’s favorite place and it’s where the two of them and Hoyt and Geri used to hang out. So, he dumps the plans he had made with his kids to go camping in honor his wife’s memory since that’s something she loved to do, except not really but she was quirky and said things like “not all things have to be good to be good” something she apparently said all the time and yet her kids didn’t know- that character is such a fucking Mary Sue but I’m getting off track, point is he comes up with some bs and stalls the deal Geri was making with a developer and decides he’s gonna fix up the bar himself. Oh, yeah, the night before a section of the bar collapsed so a lot of the episode has him trying to fix it.

And that’s where Micki trying to be a good friend and partner finds him and tries to warn him and prep him for her mom who if you haven’t guessed she doesn’t have the best relationship with; she’s worried that her mom is gonna use him to teach her a lesson, she knows her mom is not gonna go easy on him, that she’ll make him look guilty and is gonna suggest they take his badge.

Cordell is a stubborn fool who’s dealing with his own personal shit and ends up stapling a nail unto his hand with the nail gun he was using. Not gonna lie that was funny af 😂 And then because he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, and he doesn’t wanna risk losing the bar, he decides that removing the nail himself is a better option than going to the ER, so with Trey’s instructions and Micki’s help he gets the nail out; he is so lucky he didn’t damage a nerve or make things worse. And luckily for him, Micki’s dating an army medic so Trey goes to check up on him and bandage him up. Trey who brought along Micki’s mom, Adriana.

Her and Cordell don’t exactly start off on the right foot on account of Cordell going on the defensive as soon as he meets the woman.

Defensive, by the way, is pretty much Walker’s middle name in this episode: he snaps at Trey who was patching him up, he yells at Micki, who was just trying to be a good friend and help him not just with her mom but with fixing up the bar, more than once; he is filled with anger and grief and is just a ticking bomb and it all comes to head when all the work he and Micki had done collapses again and makes an even bigger mess.

And that was where the show made a big mistake, because we know Cordell has a lot of bottled up anger that has been building inside him and he’s been letting out in short bursts- it’s why he’s in trouble and has to go through evaluation because his anger got the best of him! And it’s a big focus of this episode with him he letting his temper get the best of him a couple of times so there’s all this build up but there’s no payoff.

After all of their hard work collapses, Cordell snaps and he grabs a chair and he smashes it to the ground but Micki stops him from destroying anything else. And I get it, they don’t wanna keep destroying the bar and he’d probably feel really shitty if he did but he needed to have that breakdown, the show needed him to have that breakdown. He needs to let out all that anger he has build up and sometimes the only way to do that is to scream and break things and have a physical release of everything that’s inside you. And it’s a shame that the show pulled back from showing us the full extend of Cordell’s grief and anger, that they didn’t let the scene play out.

On the other side of town we have what’s gonna be our group two: the grandparents, the kids and Stellla’s wannabe boyfriend, Trevor aka the dude she met at the stables where she’s doing her community service.

As I had said, the kiddos and their papa were supposed to go camping in honor of their mom but he bailed to go and try to fix the bar, so the kids decide they’re gonna go anyways on their own but since they can’t drive Stella decides she’s gonna kill two birds with one stone: honor her mom, and more importantly get some time with the boy she likes. So she contacts Trevor to give them a ride but turns out the grandparents are tagging along on the camping trip something Stella is not happy about cause you know she was hoping to get that alone time.

Anyways, she has a little back and forth with her grandma and in the end they end up taking the dude along with them in the camping trip.

While that’s going on we go to our group three: Liam and Captain James. They have the most interesting part of the episode, and the “case related” portion of it. Sadly, they don’t have nearly enough time dedicated to what they were doing, and this isn’t really a focus of the episode it’s just part of it; as you know, they are re-investigating Emily’s case and it’s a good thing too cause apparently they did a shit investigation the first time around.

They go to the prison to talk to the man who confessed to Emily’s murder but shocker he ain’t gonna tell them shit, so they decide to go to Hoyt who is in the same prison with a nice little deal, they’re gonna put him in the same cell as the guy to get info, in exchange Hoyt can get a reduced sentence.

In just two hours, that fucker manages to give info that leads Liam and James to a major breakthrough. Sherlock Homes, doesn’t work this fast! That was way too easy, too fast, too clean cut- too plot convenient, show seriously.

So what was the major breakthrough? Can’t tell you that yet.

Back to Cordell, after his almost breakdown and a conversation with Micki where he admits he’s pissed and tells her he’s gonna plead guilty, he calls up his dad and asks for him to turn back around and bring the kids to the bar. Since the bar was Emily’s favorite place, that’s where he and the kids are going to camp in honor of her memory. The next morning Geri shows up to tell them the guy who is buying the place is gonna tear it all down and use the lot to build some condos but Cordell and the kids come to the conclusion that was seen coming from a mile away and is impressive it took them this long to get to: that they should buy the bar. So, Geri sells it to them and they’re gonna fix it up with Emily’s life insurance money. I’m sure I’m supposed to find this a really nice moment but as I said, they have not done enough to make the audience be invested in this bar, and I’m sorry but the fact that it was his place to hang out with the wife is not enough to make me care about it.

Anyways, Micki returns home after her conversation with Cordell, where she admitted that she’s avoiding her mother cause she doesn’t wanna accept that her mom may be right about her, to find her mom cooking with Trey who she seems to get along with and honestly why wouldn’t she the man is a dream son-in-law. Side note: the man speaks Spanish so he has officially moved up even higher on the hotness scale 🔥

The episode wraps up with three major reveals- well, two major reveals and one sorta expected one.

The first one comes curtesy of the info Hoyt provided Liam and James. He told them about the dude’s niece and their shared love of art which seems insignificant but it’s what leads James to find out the girl owns a small gallery that is somehow making big money. The gallery has someone making repeat purchases, with money coming from a bank in Austin that started two days after Emily’s murder. And from whom is the money coming from? Straw Ring, LLP which is the LLP Geri used for the bar. So, she had something to do with Emily’s death.

Honestly, to me this reveal wasn’t that surprising cause she always seemed like she was hiding something about that day.

However, the other two shockers from the end did surprise me.

The second reveal is that there’s a warrant for Micki’s mom and they arrest her!

And last but certainly not least, it turns out, Stella’s wanna be boyfriend: Trevor, is Clint’s - the leader of the team that Cordell ran with back when he was undercover as Duke - son! And he recognized Cordell from a picture of his dad’s and went and told him! I knew that boy was trouble! Out of the three, this was the thing that shocked me the most and left me literally screaming.

And that was the epi!

Like I said at the beginning, I liked this episode more than I thought I would; I was actually sort of expecting this to be the first episode I didn’t like because all of the focus was on the wife arc but it actually had some aspects and scenes I really enjoyed.

No surprise to anyone that among the things I loved are the Cordell and Micki scenes, y’all know I love that relationship and how they’re helping each other become better people and deal with things. Trey is always great, I’m so happy we got to see him interact with Cordell I hope that’s something we see more of, the parts that were about the mystery and case of Emily’s murder were surprisingly some of my favorite, up till this point I hadn’t cared much for the mystery. The kids for once weren’t annoying which is an appreciated miracle. Not sure how I feel yet about Mama Ramirez. The ending with all the reveals was imo the best part of the episode.

So, there were definitely parts that I really liked and enjoyed, however, as a whole this ain’t my favorite epi so far. Which is why, even though there are things that I really like I think it’s just an okay episode.

I wish they had used the time they had better like I wish that instead of doing two flashbacks and a hallucination that they had done just one of the two and used that time for Liam and James investigation, or used that time to give us that Cordell breakdown.

And since I mentioned the flashbacks and hallucination let’s talk about them real quick; in terms of editing and placement the flashbacks in this epi were integrated pretty well and they technically served a purpose in the story because through the flashbacks we learn about Walker’s emotional connection to a specific decoration in the bar, a boars head he was gifted by his wife. Thing is though...it is as emotionally bland as a stale cracker. I'm not entirely sure what the point is of the wife flashbacks, I assume it's to...help you understand and connect with Cordell and learn about his marriage and stuff but honestly they're the worst part of the show; they're not used to their full potential, they're badly acted, they don’t really contribute to character development and they don't have the emotional weight the show thinks it does.

It would have been more impactful if they had turned the boars head into its own little mystery of why it means so much to him even though he doesn’t really like it, and then at the end when the kids are sleeping instead of seeing her he had sunk into the his memories of when she got him that thing and that’s when we get the flashback. And only one, no need to divide it into two.

The show wants the focus, at least of this season, to be the family and how they're dealing with the loss of someone so important in their life, this was the episode to show that they could deliver something meaningful when it comes to that but it didn't really do that; I felt bad for Walker, I'm rooting for him but at no point in this episode did I feel like crying with him or for him, and I think that may be why I'm not crazy about this episode because it didn't hit any emotional notes even though it was supposed to be an emotionally heavy episode.

There wasn't that impactful moment you know? That moment where you see the full extent of what a character is going through, this episode needed that and there was build up to it but with no payoff. (Which let me tell you is also a damm shame cause we know how amazing Jared is in emotional scenes and how much he shines in them.)

All that being said - and goodness gracious this post got long time to wrap it up - while overall I consider it just an okay episode there were a lot of good things about it enough for me to still like the episode, and to become really excited for what future episodes hold and see how things develop.

#this took me forever to write! i hope it makes sense i re-read this damn thing so many times while editing i don't even know anymore 😅#walker #walker 1.06 #walker spoilers #mine #opinion on walker

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katsukis-sad-angel · 5 years

Text

FatSquadCanons; During and right after the Chisaki arc

Pairing: Taishiro Toyomitsu x Reader, Eijirou Kirishima x Reader, & Tamaki Amajiki x Reader

Summary: The Fat Gum squad and their girlfriends/wives/fiancees during and right after the Chisaki Arc in My Hero academia

Warnings: Sex talk, slight angst, mentions of intercourse, cock-warming, swearing, cuteness

Author’s Note: That gif below brought back the sun, cured my depression, got rid of my anxiety, cured the coronavirus, and made Jesus rise from the cross and beat the shit out of Pontious Pilate

Enjoy!

Taishiro Toyomitsu

Mostly SFW

Misses you

A LOT

You’re so pretty and happy and you give the best hugs and have the sweetest voice so being deprived of those things for so long…

But he had to focus

They had to save Eri, so he couldn’t have your elegant features staining the cloth of his mind right now

You, on the other hand, try and cope with your worry, lust, and sadness by rolling up in his spare hero hoodies and his big black shirts because they’re warm and they smell just like him

You miss the way he held you in his arms as though you were made of porcelain, the way he kissed your lips like it was the last time, his big, warm, soft stomach you could sink into, the twisty blonde hair you loved combing your fingers through, his big smile, his huge hands, his hugs, his lips, his dick, and his laugh

That chuckle...

It would be the death of you

You just wanted to be back in his arms… or in his lap…

Or under him while he fucked your brains out

Pick one

He hasn’t been home in 2 whole week

So your touch starved as fuck, hungry for dick, lonely, sad, and worried

You’ve been eating dinner alone and the news has been on nonstop

So when he comes home with bandages all over his scraggly, skinny yet buff body, you immediately start bawling your eyes out

You’re so happy he’s safe and alive

He holds out one of his arms to you and you stumble from your chair and collapse into his arms

“Tai! Oh, my god!”

He picks you up and carries you to the couch like the goddess you are and lays down with you, kissing your cheeks, telling you how beautiful you are and how much he missed you until your stormy sobs have calmed to the occasional violent hiccup

“Honey bear, it’s ok. I’m here now. Don’t cry sweetheart…”

I want him to call me ‘honey bear’

The two of you lay there for the rest of the day

You get up occasionally to get your man food and to take a piss, but that’s about it

Refuses to let go of your waist even though his stomach sounds like a possessed garbage disposal

“Don’t worry about me Y/n, I’m fine. Just stay here, ok?”

You rest your head on his chest to listen to the beat of his heart

Nice pecs pillow

Forehead kisses, ear nibbles, ass and thigh grabs, hand kisses, etc

He’s all over you

He thinks you such a beautiful goddamn queen through the bright red tearstains and the evidence of emotional eating that had gathered on your hips

He tells you that, just the part about your cute and squishy hips

You end up falling asleep like that under a pile of blankets

NSFW

The very next day, as soon as you’re up, you start riding him like a horse

“That’s it babygirl, be a nice little cowgirl for me. Just like that~”

“Did you miss my cock while I was gone?” He’ll whisper in your ear, sucking on one of your piercings

“Yes, fuck yes I did Tai!”

Holds your bouncing hips with the one hand that works, kisses you, sucks tiddy, and makes sure you get off at least twice before he does

When he’s done, you collapse on his chest, panting

For a couple of hours, you lay there cock warming him because he asked you to

Then his stomach started up again and you got off and fed him everything in the house while naked because he asked you too

The end

Because you asked me too

Tamaki Amajiki

SFW

…

Poor sweet elf boi

Doesn’t really know how to cope

Spends a lot of time locked in his room

You notice he’s eating less

When he allows you to come into his room, he’s always wearing one of the hoodies you let him have

On those nights, there isn’t a lot of talking, but there is a lot of cuddling

He rests his head either on your chest or your stomach, wraps his muscley arms around your waist and holds you close

Whispers ‘I love you y/n.’ every so often

You’re really worried about him

His pretty black eyes are dull, he slouches more, Mirio can’t cheer him up, you can’t cheer him up, his indigo floof droops a little, dark bags under his eyes, stutters a lot more → talks even less than before, he looks sad, and is jumpy

He’s been really distant too

Staring off into the distance, completely zoned out and lost in his thoughts

24/7

So one day when he comes back from patrol with that spunky redhead and Fatgum, you go to his room and knock

No answer

You knock again

Still no answer

You fumble with the doorknob, but it’s locked

Using your quirk, you manage to get it open

“Tama, why is your-”

“Tamaki?”

Tamaki Amajiki was rolled up in several blankets, making him look like an adorable burrito

He was struggling to escape his warm cocoon, squeaking softly as he attempted to get his arms out

He blushed as soon as you saw him and then tried to hide his face in embarrassment, but you didn’t let him sink too far

You smiled indulgently and helped him unroll

“Tamaki, if you were cold then- Wait… are those my socks?”

“Yes.” He mumbled, hiding his face in your shoulder

You giggled

“Don’t be embarrassed Tama! If you want my clothes, just ask!”

You wrap your arms around him and pull him down so you’re laying comfortably in his bed together

“How are you doing?” You coo, stroking his soft indigo locks

“Awful.” He mumbled, burying his face in your chest

“I’m sorry to hear that…” You reply, tracing the indent on the back of his neck, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes. But I’m not allowed.”

“Oh. That’s ok. I don’t mean to be insensitive, but just try not to think about it. I know it’s hard and you’re under a lot of pressure, but tonight, just think about me. Or takoyaki. Or Nejire and Mirio.”

“You smell good.” He whispered bashfully, “New perfume?”

“Mm-hm! You like it?”

“Yup.”

“Good.”

You smiled sweetly, letting his soft voice (I love you Aaron Dismuke) play its melody over and over again in your brain

You were so lucky

You kissed his forehead and whispered, “If you need someone to talk to, I’m right here Tamaki. Ok?”

He nodded sleepily, eyelids drooping from lack of sleep

“I love you bunny.”

“Sweet dreams.” You sigh, relaxing in his safe embrace

NSFW

Don’t get me wrong, Tamaki is one of the sweetest, kindest, most adorable yet hot guys EVER, but he isn’t some fucking pushover

He’s domming your sorry ass in bed, whether you like it or not

He’s got tentacles

TENTACLES

GOOD HENTAI ANIME = TENTACLES

And he fucking knows how to use them to make you scream

He also has a cow hoof you can stretch yourself on

What happens if he eats noodles?

But that’s beside the point

Tentacles

With those, he can tease you, tie you up, make you cum, squirt, serve as a second dick for ur arse, put them in your mouth, etc etc etc

Anything you can imagine

Picture this: Tamaki is fucking your from behind, buried to the hilt in your cunt. Two tentacles trapping your arms against your back, one in your ass, one in your mouth, and one massaging your throbbing clit

You’re overstimulated, moaning, and crying from the pleasure, pain, and overwhelming arousal

“Do you like my tentacles Bunny? Does it feel good?”

“So wet for me… such a pretty Bunny when I fuck you like this.”

“More? Greedy bunnies get punished~”

Loves it when you’re all needy, hot, and bothered underneath him, begging for just a simple touch

It makes him feel really strong and happy

Knows it feels good because you make the most erotic faces

Nuts almost immediately when you do → tongue lolling out, eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream, and cheeks flushed

Aftercare?

You won’t even remember the accidental scratch you got from the lobster claw

Sore pussy and/or ass?

Hickeys?

Dry throat?

Hungry?

Anything marring the beautiful expanse of skin before him?

Gone

He’ll massage you, give you a bath, food, water, endless kisses, hums to you softly, bandage you up (if need be) and tuck you in

He NEVER wants to lose you to someone else, so he makes ABSOLUTELY sure, you’re 100% feeling loved at the end

He loves you so much

Never forget that

Eijirou Kirishima

Mostly SFW

Baby boy…

He has been very distant since this whole thing started

No more study and cuddle sessions (where you normally end up fucking)

Fewer hugs and kisses

No big girl fun time in bed

Not as many baby shark doot doo doo doo doo smiles

*author drowns in utter despair*

All you have are the clothes you steal from his closet every now and then

(every time you’re in his room) cough

So while boi is being a distant and depressing fuck, you bundle up in all 11 of his Crimson Riot hoodies (some of them are used as pants) and think about him

His garnet irises, his adorable sharp-toothed smile, his killer upper body, his soft red hair, his voice (thank you Justin Cook), his hands, his dick, his manliness, the tiny scar above his eyebrow, and his sharp jawline

Perfection

Kiri, on the other hand, wonders why you’re spending so much time in your room all alone and why fuck cuddle nights stopped

Right when he needed all of the love and support, it stopped

Were you mad at him?

Did he do something to upset or offend you?

Did he say something rude or insensitive without thinking about it?

Did you get tired of him?

Did you want to break up?

Had Bakugou finally stolen your heart from him?

He couldn’t tell

You looked to upset all the time, giving him distant looks, suddenly running to your room with your eyes full of… shit, were those tears?

No, not eyes full of shit

Eyes full of tears

Come on guys

He ran after you, but by the time he got to your hallway, you were already locked in your room

He knocked on the door

“Who… Who is it?” You whimpered in a choked voice

“Uh, Eiji… your boyfriend…” He said softly, running a hand through his softened locks, “Can I come in?”

“I…” You pause, “I guess. Gimme a minute.”

Shuffling sounds

*nose-blowing*

Then the door opened to reveal a slouching you in one of his hoodies

You had a used tissue scrunched in your fist

“Babe, are you ok? You’ve been acting really weird lately and I’m worried!” Said the pure ginger shark

“E-Ever s-since you s-started that work-study, you’ve been r-really d-distant so I thought you might’ve f-found someone else. Either that or you j-just needed t-time alone.” You whimpered, holding back tears for what seemed like the billionth time that day

“Baby girl, no one could ever replace you!”

Sharky pulls you into a hug

“I’m sorry you thought that Y/n. I’ve just been really zoned out because I’m trying to balance school, work-study, and our relationship all at once. I really need those study nights honey, I’m begging you. You explain stuff so simply and your notes are really descriptive. I love you so much and I don’t like it when you’re sad, because then I’m sad and then everyone is sad.”

“Eiji… I’m sorry, don’t blame all this on your self. I’m just being a whiny bitch.”

“Don’t say that!!”

“But I-”

You were cut off by a kiss

Eijirou cupped your flushed cheek tenderly with one hand, and with the other, he held the small of your back so you were flush up against him

“Eijirou…”

That night, you fall asleep on his chest, but Kiri can’t sleep

His phone on your nightstand flashes and he carefully picks it up, turning down the brightness so as not to disturb you

Apparently, it’s time

Carefully, he slips out of bed to join Midoriya, Ochaco, and Tsuyu downstairs

NSFW

When all of that is over and Kirishima is in your arms safe and sound again, he gets down on you before you even pull out your flashcards

Presses you back into the carpet and starts sucking your face

“Eiji? Wha-”

“Sssh.”

Clothes start flying everywhere except away from you and your horny boyfriend, who has moved onto your neck and jawline, kissing and nipping along your collarbones and mandible

You thread your shaking fingers through his pretty red hair

“So wet for me already?”

“Mmmh, you smell so good…” Eijirou moaned, sucking your puffy clit, his hands clamped on your hips to prevent you from bucking or squirming

“M-More… please, more! I need more Eiji~”

“Did you miss me, or just my cock?”

“Both- fuuuuck~ Eijirou oh my gOd~”

“You like that sweetie? Huh? Tell me how much you like it~”

…

*coughs*

You can hardly walk the next day

But don’t worry

Kiri will treat you like a queen and carry you around until you fall off or feel better

No studying happened unless you count Eiji learning to make you squirt

Otherwise, no

Neither of you did anything productive

But you did have a fun, sensual evening with the person you loved most

Nighteye Squad hc’s coming soon!

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atinydise · 4 years

Text

Ateez meeting their s/o for the first time in vacations but they’re already dating an idol (2/2)

❦ Genre: Fluff.

❦ Pairing: OT8.

❦ Word count: 3k3.

❦ Requested: Yes, thank you! 🦋

❦ Masterlist.

❦ Warning: ⚠️ All the names here are fictives and are not related to an idol or a public figure.

Part 1

SAN

San was so excited, there was so many things on his ‘To-Do-List’. They were on a break for 3 weeks. A rest well deserved. They planned a nice trip where they could rest, play and enjoy their time without a staff member around to tell what they need to do or not. That’s the main reason of why San was happy, he could do everything he wants to do. “Let’s go at the aquarium!” he shouted, grabbing Wooyoung’s arm. “Why are you so excited?” asked Seonghwa. “It’s not like you’re going to swim with shark again!” laughed Yunho. San got chills; this memory would be a memorable experience but a terrifying one also.

“I know but there’s a mermaid performance in 12 minutes!” Yeosang sighed, “you are unbelievable San….” “Let’s go please please please!” he begged. “Okay okay,” said Hongjoong on the right way, followed by the other members. “Hurry up!” shouted San. “I will give him as a dinner for the sharks,” whispered Seonghwa. When they got in the aquarium, San was running everywhere to see every fish one by one. “You are walking too fast!” complained Wooyoung, still pulled by San. “You should relax a bit San, or you will get a syncope!” laughed Mingi. The member rolled his eyes. He was okay but they weren’t following his excitation that’s all. He calmed down and continued to admire all these pretty fishes. That’s how he spotted you. You had the same smile on your face. Being amazed by the atmosphere here. You crouched down to see a little medusa. San found you cuter than anyone else here. He loved to see how your smile went wide when a fish came near you. He couldn’t resist but to come next to you. “It’s cute huh?” he smiled, pointing at the medusa. “Yes! She’s flawless and so intimidating at the same time.” “But we all know that she is dangerous!” “You just need to pee on the wound,” you laughed. San cringed at how disgusting it was. “I’m kidding!” you said. He giggled, “I’m San! Nice to meet you!” You bowed politely, “I’m Y/N!” He stayed with you 5 more minutes to talk about the crab hid in the corner, between seashells. But Wooyoung came and interrupted his speech. “San, your mermaid show is starting in 5 minutes.” “Oh! I almost forgot.” Wooyoung stared at you, trying to know if you were a good girl or someone trying to take advantage of his friend’s kindness. “Oh sorry,” he said, feeling the awkwardness. ”Wooyoung here’s Y/N! Y/N here’s my best friend Wooyoung!” The boy nodded while you couldn’t manage to say anything, too intimidated. “Do you want to come with us?” asked San. “Huh… I don’t want to bother-“ “No! It’s going to be funny!” “O-Okay.” “Let’s go!” shouted San. Surprisingly, he grabbed your arm and not Wooyoung’s one. It was unusual. “Wow, he ditched you for a girl…” teased Yeosang. “It’s not a big deal. He will probably come back to Woo soon!” said Mingi. It’s been 2 hours that they were at the aquarium and San hadn’t talked to Wooyoung or any of them. All of his attention was on you. All the members were amazed by how he was clingy with you. That was unexpected. You were sitting at the same table of the group, waiting for your ice cream. San insisted to pay for yours, because he spent a good afternoon with you. He was so nice. “San looks to like you a lot,” said Mingi, smiling next to you. “Oh really?” you blushed, “it’s just because we like aquarium.” “No, he’s not even so clingy with his girlfriend.” Confessed the loudest member. “His girlfriend?” you repeated. Wooyoung gulped, he made a big mistake. “He told me that he was single,” you looked at his friend. San came back at this moment, holding your ice cream with a big smile, “here’s your desert Y/N!” You stood up, “why you told me that you were single? Wooyoung said that you have a girlfriend.” “W-what?” he faced his friend. “I wouldn’t spend the afternoon with you if you’ve told me. I wouldn’t appreciate to see that my boyfriend spent time with another girl.” You said, grabbing your bag. San blocked the way. “We are not even in love. I can’t even considerer her like my girlfriend,” he admitted. “Whatever is your excuse; It was a bad idea to do it.” “Y/N! Does it change something if I tell you that you are actually more important than her?” he asked, shyly. “Not really, you shouldn’t lie about your relationship.” “Maybe that’s too early for that but if I broke up with her maybe we could continue to know each other a bit more?” He hadn’t left your stare. All the boys were “wooing” at the scene in front of them, like little kids. ‘Then maybe… but be sure of that. I don’t want you to regret it 2 days later.” “I’m already sure about it! Sihyeon is more a friend than a girlfriend. Her schedule is full, more than mine and she doesn’t have this craziness… that you have.” He said shyly. You smiled and sat down, hoping that everything would be okay. In front of you, Wooyoung was smiling. Now he was sure that you would treat San well if something happens between his friend and you.

MINGI

Since he was an idol, Mingi was treated well by everyone. Nobody would bully or scold him for a mistake: expected his manager and CEO. But sometime, he missed when people were honest and tell everything they wanted without being scared. Even his own girlfriend was like that. She was always behind him, accepting everything. She hadn’t that strong personality he needed. When the CEO offered them to go in vacations he couldn’t decline. He was the first one ready to leave. “Mingi is usually sleeping till we leave, that’s incredible! Pinch me!” said Seonghwa. “I really need vacations!” he rolled his eyes. “Does Jiyu influenced on your need?” said Yunho. “Kinda,” he replied. “Just broke up with her before it’s too late.” “I did.” They both stared at him. “Wait, when?” “Yesterday.” “What did she say?” Asked Yunho curiously. “I don’t know,” simply replied Mingi. They looked at him weirdly, trying to know a lot more about this story. “I wrote her a letter that I left at her apartment.” A big silence settled in the room. “A letter?” repeated the eldest member. “Yes, a letter. I couldn’t confront her, or she would give me a thousand of excuses. Like what she needs to take care of me or something else…” “She actually cares about you Mingi. You should have told her face to face.” Said Yunho, disappointed by his friend’s behavior. “Okay okay! I will talk to her after our vacations!” “Nice,” said Seonghwa. Mingi growled but immediately thought of his healing time. The next day, they landed in Jeju. The atmosphere was already different of the main city. Mingi couldn’t wait to relax. He was so excited that he accidentally bumped into you. Without looking at you, he apologized like he couldn’t care less. But for you it wasn’t right. So, you just poked his shoulder to let him know of your presence. “Hi?” he said, annoyed. “You could at least apologize properly.” You said, hands on your hips. “He raised a brow,” I apologized.” “You just bowed and ignored me. You could at least ask if I’m okay!” You scoffed. “You look okay.” His behavior was getting on your nerves. “Apologize again and this time look at me.” “Are you crazy?” “Are you a king? Just apologize correctly.” Mingi stared at you curiously. You were the first one confronting him since he debuted. “Do you know who I am?” he asked. “No and I don’t care. Can you apologize so I can go back to my room?” He scoffed, “and if I don’t? you are going to stay here?” “Yes, and you too sweetie,” you sighed. He liked your temper a lot. “Then we are going to stay here!” he said, sitting on the couch behind you. He sent a text at Yunho, saying that he will join them later. “Are you really going to waste your time here?” you asked. “Yes. Why? Are you doubting?” His arrogant personality was pissing you off. “I will stay here then…” you sat next to him. A big silence settled between both of you. “Let’s make this moment a bit more chill. What’s your name?” he asked gently. “It’s ‘Just Apologize so I Can Go Back To My Room’.” “Nice to meet you ‘Just Apologize So I Can Go Back To My Room”’, I’m Mingi.” You puffed, “So, Mingi. What are you waiting to say ‘sorry’? It’s not hard.” He smiled, “to be honest, you are the only person who confronted me since a long time. So, you got all of my attention.” “Are you a prince or something?” you faced him. “No, I’m just an idol and people don’t tell what they think about me.” “Then if it can help you... You are an asshole. You should be nicer and more careful.” You said nicely. “Thank you. It means a lot,” he laughed. “You should ask your girlfriend to be honest with you.” You pointed at his lock screen. “She will be my ex-girlfriend soon, “ he rectified. “Really? Sorry I didn’t mean too-“ you freaked out. “It’s fine, we were not in good terms since a long time.” “Shit happens,” you said, rolling your eyes. “And you?” “I don’t have a boyfriend,” you replied, shyly. “Then maybe I can get your number?” “Wow Mingi, you are not playing anymore,” you laughed, trying to hide your blush; “Usually, I’m pretty shy but I guess that you have this effect on me,” he scratched his head, embarrassed. “Yes, I know… they all said that,” you joked. He scoffed, “Sure. Then can I get your number?” “Sure, but text me when you are single. I don’t want a problem with your crazy ex-girlfriend.” You composed your number in his phone. “Deal,” he smiled. He was about to leave but you grabbed his arm. “Where are you going? You didn’t apologize.” “Are you serious?” he asked. “I’m waiting Mingi.” You glanced at the clock. “Gosh… women are crazy.”

WOOYOUNG

The whole group were enjoying their vacation near the beach. They booked a bungalow; leaving the hotel service this time. Even if they were struggling sometimes, that was probably their best trip. Wooyoung proposed the idea. He knew the members would be down for it or he could force them if they declined. They all got on the beach, today, running everywhere like little kids. Hongjoong and Jongho were setting the parasol and the lounge chair. Seonghwa and Yeosang were buying some snacks and drinks for the day. Yunho and Mingi were already on the water, trying to drown each other. And finally, San and Wooyoung were taking a bunch of selfies for Atinys. “This is one is good!” said San. “You are good, I’m looking like a humpa lumpa.” “That’s how you look every day,” said Yeosang, walking next to his friend. Wooyoung gave him a dead stare, while San was laughing out loud. “I need new friends, “he whispered. They joined their hyungs near the lounge chair. “What about take a group selfie and post it for Atinys?” he offered. “Yes, then call these 2 idiots playing the ‘Little Mermaid’ over there.” Wooyoung called but them they couldn’t hear him, too far. “I will get them.” As he was about to reach Mingi and Yunho, when you called him shyly. “Hi…” you bowed politely. ‘Huh? Hi.” “Me and my friend over there are playing volleyball, but there’s one player missing.” He stared at you, wanting to know what you needed. “Can you play with me?” you asked, embarrassed, not daring to look at him. “Oh.” He wanted to decline but his man side came out, you were stunning, and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. His throat went dry and his hand moist, but he managed to say, “yes” even if his voice cracked. “Really? Thank you!” You pulled him by the hand and joined your friends. “Guys! I found someone to play with!” “Hi. I’m Wooyoung.” He introduced shyly. They all greeted him. “So, you are going to be with me and Jeongin!” You explained. “Okay! Let’s go!” He shouted. You giggled; you liked his energy. The game went well. Everyone was having fun and your team was winning. Sometimes, you bumped at Wooyoung accidentally, he always made sure that you were okay. “Let’s stop guys! I’m tired!” Said Jeongin sitting on the sand, exhausted. “Right, we are playing since a long time, “ you giggled. You turned back to Wooyoung. “Thank you so much,” you smiled. “It’s okay. That was funny.” “Let me buy you a drink to show my gratitude.” You laughed. “A good coke will be appreciated.” He followed you at the vending machine. “Normal? Cherry? Or light?” you asked. “Cherry.” “Wow, this man has taste,” you teased him. You held his drink, making sure it was the good one. “Thank you.” “Do you want to sit here a bit?” you offered. “Sure.” You pulled 2 chairs for each of you. “So… what are you doing in life Wooyoung?” “I’m an idol,” he sipped his drink. “Wow. I’m talking to a super star right now!” you acted like a fangirl. He cringed, “I see the real you.” You laughed, “I’m not this type of girl.” “That’s what they said at first, “he winked. “Gross,” you pinched him. “I know it’s unexpected and that I shouldn’t ask that but… would you go on a date with me?” You were clearly surprised. You were stuttering words that none of you could understand. “Sure,” you finally replied. “Cool! Let me give you my phone number and text me later.” “I’m from old school. I would prefer to send you a letter,” you said shyly. “For real?” he asked, surprised. “Of course not,” you laughed, holding your phone so he could give his number. “Don’t forget to text me okay!” he insisted. You were about to reply but Yeosang came and cut you off, “Woo, your girlfriend is calling you for 20 minutes already. Do something before I broke your phone.” You stared at Wooyoung angrily, feeling betrayed and stupid. “Y/N…” You just stood up and left, disgusted. “Well done Yeosang…” sighed the idol. He tried to find you at the beach, but you were nowhere to be found. So, he just gave up. His vacations hadn’t ended well, he was mad and sad. But when he came back to Seoul, he received a text. [“Hi… it’s Y/N. Sadly I can’t get you out of my mind, so I hope you have a good excuse…”] He smiled and explained you the truth about his girlfriend, Eunha. She is an idol too, but she clearly obsessed by her music and every idol who were increasing into the charts. He fell in her trap because she was nice with him. But she was just manipulating and took advantage of his popularity. [“So… I broke up with her when I came back to Seoul.”] [“Then I guess that we can plan our date?”] you texted. [“Tomorrow? At Incheon cafe? 3pm?”] [“See you there weirdo.”] you replied. He was so happy that he could sing and dance all night long.

JONGHO

ATEEZ members were having fun at their hotel, they stayed at for 1 week. During this short period, they could do whatever they want. Jongho jut followed the group for the activities. Honestly, he couldn’t enjoy his vacation because of his girlfriend Ahin. She was nonstop making him feel like a baby. She was 2 years older than him and it wasn’t a big deal at first because it didn’t change anything on the relationship. But since few months, she was dissing him about his age, and he felt ridiculous to be treated like a baby or a brother. He felt uncomfortable to go out with her. She would pat his back when he would finish his meal, In front of the members or his friends. Being the maknae was already a though thing but Akin’s behavior on him was too much. He felt his phone buzzing on his pocket, probably her. He ignored her call and sighed. Seonghwa smirked, “let me guess…Ahin?” “Yes…” replied the maknae. “She shouldn’t be promoting or practicing?” “Probably, but honestly I don’t care,” said Jongho. “You should break up with her. She treats you, like a baby.” “I know that Hyung…” sighed Jongho. “Anyway, let’s get some fun.” They joined the other members at the casino. They heard Mingi yelling because he won 10 dollars. “This boy will never change,” said Jongho. While they were trying a bunch of games, San and Hongjoong spotted an arm-wrestling contest. “Yo! Jongho! You should try!” said San happily. “Hum… I don’t know, it’s been a while since I participated at this!” he hesitated. “Come on, it’s just for fun,” said Wooyoung, drinking his cocktail. Finally, Jongho lined up behind the guy who were actually winning. 2 minutes later, it was finally his turn. All the boys were cheering him, to boost him. “So young boy, your opponent is going to be…” “Me!” you shouted, your small figure getting out of the crowd. Jongho raised a brow, he never played against a girl. You sat in front of him, removing your ring. “Are you ready lady?” you giggled. He smirked, it’s not because you are a girl that I will be gentler.” “Same for me…” you stuck your tongue out. You wrapped your hand around Jongho’s one. “Okay… 3, 2, 1. Go!” At first, Jongho was shock by your strength, he knows that he would win but it was a good match. He noticed the way you were struggling. He found it cute, the way the little vein in your neck popped up, made you sexier. “Jongho! Just beat her!” Said Yeosang. “You know that you can beat me. So, what are you waiting for?” you asked cockily. “It’s funny to see you struggling.” “Are you a psychopath or something?” you asked. “If I was, I would be in a cave with other people right now.” “Okay that is creepy,” you giggled. Hongjoong coughed next to Jongho, “can you finish this and flirt later?” Both of you smiled. Jongho said, “okay sorry young girl.” He instantly pulled your arm on the table. You massaged your wrist while all his teammates were shouting at him. You stood up, “well done lady.” You were about to leave when Jongho grabbed your arm. “What do you want?” “I’m feeling bad to let you lose like that.” He said. “It’s okay, it’s a game.” “Let me pay you a drink at least.” “You shouldn’t offer me that since you have a girlfriend,” you smirked, crossing your arm in your chest. “H-‘ he began. “How I know? Your name was almost everywhere on the Internet, when you announced your relationship.” “How do you know me?” You scoffed, “you are an idol. I have to admit that you are good looking so it’s easy to remember.” You pointed Yeosang, “plus… your friend called you “Jongho”. “You are smart,” he smiled. “And you are taken.” You replied. “I’m actually trying to break up with my girlfriend, who is nonstop babying me whatever I do.” He explained. You grabbed his hand and took the pen on the counter next to you… “Here’s my number, “you wrote on his hands. “Call me when you are single or that you need an opponent for an arm-wrestling contest,” you winked. You were gone before he could manage to realize what happened. 2 week later, you just when back from work. Just when you sat, your phone rang next to you. [“Yes?”] you said coldly. [“Hi, it’s Jongho.”] You smirked happy to see that he hadn’t forgot you. [“So... are you calling me for the arm-wrestling?”] you asked cockily. [“Yes, I know that you want your revenge, but what about go on a date after?”] You smiled, [“How can I refuse this good proposition?”]

Part 1

#ateez #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez x you #ateez x atiny #ateez x reader #ateez writing #ateez scenarios #ateez reactions #ateez requests #ateez fluff

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