#and before that it was the Did You Know They Used To Grease The Underneath Of Submarines With Pink Grease During WW2

[keeps-ache]

'how do you even fake a minesweeper screenshot' it's easy! all you need a is 30-40 dedicated minutes, 15+ screenshots, a good amount of knowledge on medibang, and the desire to lie to your brother for no reason :3

[a1ecmcdowell]

mechanic!dean x bimbo!reader - old habits die hard.

includes, so damn fluffy it's SEEICK. not teeth rotting fluffy but it's just ENDEARRINGGGG okay.

★ ˚⋆

it'd been a long ass day at the garage, and the last thing dean wanted to do was salt your fucking house.

it was a mistake, telling you about salt deterring demons, because now you seemed to think that demons were everywhere. which... was right, of course, but that guy at the bar that you'd thrown salt at was fine. a bit too drunk, but he was too out of it to know that he was staring at you.

guy realized it pretty quickly when you'd whipped out your to-go salt shaker and started pouring it into your hand like it was a sugar packet and tossing it at him.

really, he couldn't be mad. it was as cute as it was irritating, how determined you were to understand the lifestyle he had and then abandoned.

it came back, though, as all things left in the dust tended to do. catch up and with a vengeance.

it started simple. you’d texted him while he was slid underneath a car at the shop, grease and oil all the way up to his hands and smearing all over his screen when he’d grabbed the phone to text you back.

conveniently, one of those splotches of oil covered the important parts of your message.

can u replace salt with pepper

*warding

*wording? idk pls answer quick!!!

the last two came in quick succession, as your rambling thoughts often did when they translated into text, and he didn’t bother to scroll up and read the rest when you were absolutely adamant he answer quick. you typed so quickly that you often misspelled things with those acrylics of yours, so he just disregarded those details as nothing serious.

yeah sure.

dean didn’t know why you were so worked up over salt, of all things, but figured it had to do with cooking, and that you were out because you’d used all of yours — and his — on your little quest to salt every little thing you deemed demonic.

cute. like little kids were cute until they started wailing.

but dean was never, ever mad, even on days like this where nothing ever went right. carburetor’s busted in this guy’s piece of shit truck, and guy’s pissed because dean can’t shit one out and has to order it. diner down the road handed out the last piece of apple pie before he walked in there to get you and him one, like he usually did, on his way back to your house to see you. someone ran a redlight and nearly creamed baby.

yeah, by the time he got to your place, he was ready to throw the towel in and break something. to sit down and not touch anything else, since apparently everything was going to shatter when he touched it.

dean walks up your front steps, heavy sigh already laden on his lips about the fact that he did not have a sweet treat for his sweet thing, excuses sour in his mouth because he knew he’d endure a reaction akin to total devastation when he told you.

his hand lifts to knock, and he sees there, in a fleeting moment in the seal of your door, little ants. so damn many of them, its just a line of black. his eyebrows furrow, hand falling to his side again, as he kneels to get a better look at it.

his eyes are real close to it. he breathes in as he squints, trying to see if the movement is just hallucination or there really were so many that it looked like that—

immediately, dean’s nose burns. he can’t even stop the three sneezes in quick succession, or how his eyes water from it.

realization settles in. pepper.

his sigh is so damn heavy it rattles his bones. he makes sure, though, that he’s not anywhere near the pepper again, already having learned that lesson once.

dean grasps your doorknob and opens it, internally bristling at the fact that you didn’t even lock it. warded the house with pepper, so scared of a demon coming in, but not of the very higher chance of a break-in.

you were bent over all pretty over the back of your couch, little skirt riding up on your thighs, shirt bunched up where your chest pressed against the part of the windowsill that connected with the couch—

he gave himself a five second free card to admire the sight, before he cleared his throat.

“wanna tell me what you’re doin’, princess?” dean asked, his arms crossed firmly over his chest as he watched you. you, so focused on pouring the entire container of pepper in a strategic and straight line on the window sill.

you startled, as if you didn’t hear the door open and close, or, you know, his car pulling up.

“i’m salting the house,” you told him very matter-of-factly, your lips in that little pout that always zilched away every bit of irritation he could ever feel toward you.

dean blinks once, twice. “that’s pepper.”

you, again, look at him like he’s the one who doesn’t understand. “you said—”

“i thought you were talking about cooking!” he interrupts before you could try and ridicule him over this. nuh uh, that was his job right now.

you bristle, very visibly, and he almost laughs aloud right there. “i don’t cook, dean. be serious.”

how could he be serious when you were turning your house into a breathing hazard?

his lips start to curl, the laugh right there in the base of his throat.

“stop it. stop looking at me like i’m doing something silly and you’re not gonna tell me.”

“princess, you’re peppering your house,” dean says, and it feels so good to laugh after the day he’s had. you couldn’t stop the chuckle if you tried. “you have to know that’s silly, right?”

you told him to stop calling the little quirks you have stupid, even if it’s lighthearted. it’s implemented well into his vocabulary.

dean huffs out a breath through his nose to try and stifle it, at least. the last thing he wants to do is make you cry, or mad at him, when you were trying so, so hard.

he straightens, crossing the distance from where he stands to your spot on the couch. gently, he pries the pepper shaker out of your fingers. “were you really scared?” he asks you, and has to close his eyes at the weight — or lack thereof — of the pepper shaker. you’d done so much, and he could only see the front door barrier and the windowsill.

you’d turned your house into a lemon pepper chicken, and you were telling him not to laugh.

“yes!” you exclaim, still wearing that little pout. you’ve brought your hands into it, though, tossing them around in your upset. “i heard something outside, and i was really, really scared…”

dean’s expression softens. his free hand comes up to trace lightly over your cheekbone with his fingertips to try and soothe you. “and,” he drawls out, attempting to finish your sentence where you cut it off. “you didn’t have any more salt, so you had to use pepper.”

“you said!” oh, you were worked up. he felt like animal control trying to wrangle the puffed up kitten barring its teeth at him. “you said i could!”

dean’s eyebrows raise. “how was i supposed to know you meant to salt the house?”

your hand slaps very aggressively on your phone screen, resting beside you on the couch cushion. your manicured nails are typing so furiously on the screen that the clicks sound like popping gunshots.

then, you’re shoving your phone in his face, the text thread between you and him two inches from his eyes.

dean leans back to read it, the entire time watching you as you look poised to strike.

can u replace salt with pepper when wording your house

right. so that’s the part that he conveniently didn’t see, and the source of your typos.

the sigh he looses is so damn heavy.

“that’s my bad,” he says slowly, even though he still, still, is barely keeping his shit together.

you let out a triumphant little hmph that has him wanting to bend you over and show you what happens when you give him attitude, but he reels it in.

“yeah. it is your bad.” reels it in, barely. “now what do i do? my house is haunted, and— and there’s pepper everywhere—”

well, now the ice cold exterior is melting, because you’re standing in front of him with a wobbly lip, and it’s no longer funny anymore.

“where did you hear something?” he asks, his hand cupping your cheek again, resuming his soft touches to try and soothe away the upset, this time. “hey, c’mon, princess, i believe you. put those tears away. can’t help you if you can’t talk to me, can i?”

dean is never this soft with anyone. you’ve done a number on him from the very moment he met you.

your hand shoots out to point at the front door.

he uses his gentle grip on your cheek to tug you in, kissing your forehead lightly. dean has to remind himself a lot of the time that you don't know these things, because you grew up in a home that didn't prioritize raising soldiers instead of boys. your naivety was a blessing. "lemme go look," he mumbles on your skin, before he tugs back and turns.

he's gonna feel like a real piece of shit if there really is something.

his hand doesn't even touch the doorknob before he hears a soft sneeze on the other side.

dean peers through the glass, his eyes narrowed as he searches for the person on the other end, haunches raised because maybe his first theory was right. not a demon, but some fucker trying to break-in on his girl.

his eyes land on a squirrel, nose buried in the streak of pepper lining your front door. it sneezes, and sneezes again, before it scampers off on the creaking wooden boards that was your porch.

your soft steps pad up behind him, very blatantly tucking yourself behind his arm. "did you see it? i heard it, dean, i know there's something out there!"

you sound too damn upset still for him to tell you that your demon was an intrusive squirrel.

so he turns and brings you into his embrace, his chin resting on the top of your head, where he can hide the grin away from you. "yeah, i heard it, princess. we'll get this all cleaned up tomorrow and properly salt it. keep my baby girl safe from all the demons."

you nod into his chest, and it's so damn sweet, the trust you place into his hands. this little white lie won't hurt. not this one time.

notes, i rly don't know where this idea came from but it made me cackle so hard i had to write it instantly N E WAYYSSSS dean x stuff tomorr hope this hold u off til then

tags, @jasvtsc @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts @depressionbarbie2023 @deans-yn

[gogogodzilla]

✧ 𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝟠 : 𝑀𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑐  ✧

【 𝑇𝑜𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑜𝑤 】

╰› 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑎𝑛 𝑥 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

╰› 〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: Your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, allowing you to reunite with Charlie after all these years

╰› 〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, slight age gap, light angst, charlie's pov, slight dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, fingering

╰›  ✧ 𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑡𝑜𝑏𝑒𝑟 𝑚.𝑙𝑖��𝑡 ✧ 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑜3 ✧ 𝑤𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑝𝑎𝑑 ✧

Rain patters against the roof of Swan Auto Repair, and the smell of motor oil, grease, and the remnants of old coffee fills the air. Charlie sits slumped at his desk in the back office of his shop, his head propped against his arm wrinkling the papers underneath. His faded flannel shirt is worn and rolled up to his elbows, exposing his oil-smudged hands and forearms. A distant ringing pulls him further out of his slumber and he blinks blearily as he attempts to regain his senses. 

He sits up with a groan, his back aching from his uncomfortable position. His steps toward the reception area are uncoordinated and he stumbles a little as he reaches for the phone on the wall. 

He picks up the phone and presses it against his ear. 

“Swan Auto” he answers, his voice thick with sleep. 

“Charlie?” your voice rings out on the other line. 

He straightens at the sound of your voice, and he’s surprised his heart didn’t lurch out of his chest. He can’t remember the last time he heard your voice, but it sounds just like it did the day you left.  

He forces himself out of his thoughts. “Been a while. Everything okay?” 

Your voice quivers as you speak. “I’d be better if my car didn’t break down in the middle of the night. Would you be willing to give an old friend a tow?” 

He likes to think you were more than old friends. The nights you used to spend tangled in his sheets surely meant something to him.

“Where are you?” 

He holds the phone with his shoulder as he searches for his jacket. You rattle off your location, which is mostly just a combination of landmarks. 

“Stay where you are. I’ll be there soon,” he says before hanging up. He grabs his jacket from a nearby coat rack and heads toward his tow truck. He wonders if you’ve changed at all. Forks had been a constant in his life, even after it felt like his world had been turned upside down by your departure. He figured the same could be applied to him. He hadn't changed except for a few more gray hairs and the sense not to get attached.

He sighs as he climbs into his ancient tow truck. It sputters to life, and Charlie begins his drive towards your location.  

He pulls in front of your car on the side of the road and hardly has enough time to throw it in park before he jumps out to meet you. You’re standing near your car, soaked to the bone. 

“Charlie!” you call as you head toward his truck. 

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and ushers you toward the passenger side of his truck. He practically shoves you in the seat before slamming the door behind you. 

He clambers into his truck, grateful to be out of the rain. He turns to look at you, taking in your appearance. The rain had soaked through your clothes, forcing them to cling tightly to your form. He can’t help his gaze from wandering, watching as water trickles down your neck and dips between the valley of your breasts.

“You’re drenched,” he says, forcing himself to look anywhere else but your tits. Your teeth begin to chatter and he reaches over to turn the heat up. 

“Why didn’t you just wait in the car?” he questions, his voice rough but not unkind. 

You shrug, “Felt weird just sitting there.”

His gaze softens as he looks at you, really looks at you, not just your soaking wet clothes. You hadn’t changed a bit. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d dreamed of just being in your presence once more, and now that he was really with you he didn’t know what to do. 

You turn to face him, “Thank you, Charlie. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” 

“Probably getting hypothermia,” he sighs. “Stay here while I hook your car up. We’ll take it back to the shop, and I can take a look at it there.” 

He doesn’t wait for your reply before jumping out of his truck. He works quickly to hook up your car, the rain only slightly inhibiting his progress. By the time he returns to you, he’s drenched and shivering. He’s thankful you’ve cranked the heat, and he takes a moment to defrost. 

“It’s good to see you, even if the circumstances aren’t exactly ideal,” you said, cutting through the awkward silence that fell upon you.  

He cleared his throat and started his truck. He was silent as he pulled out onto the road. Pine trees passed by in a flash as he picked up speed. The sooner he could get you back to his shop, the sooner he could get away from you. That’s what you wanted, right? 

“I told you to get rid of that piece of crap when you had the chance,” he mentioned, nodding his head toward his rearview mirror. 

You grinned, “It got me this far, hasn’t it?” 

“Speaking of, why now? Couldn’t find what you were looking for halfway across the country?” he questioned and it came out harsher than he intended. 

His words lingered between you, leaving a bad taste in his mouth. The silence that filled the cab of his truck was suffocating, and he counted down the seconds until he pulled into his shop. 

The rain had lightened up only slightly as he dropped your car off at his shop. You followed him into the back office as the tension simmered between you. He leans on the edge of his desk, taking in your appearance. You haven’t aged a day; you just look a bit more tired, maybe a little more sad. 

“M’sorry about earlier,” he begins. 

You wave him off, “I deserved it, don’t worry about it.”

“Still,” he shrugs, meeting your gaze, “it wasn’t fair. You had every right to leave this town and chase your dreams.”

You take a step towards him, “I shouldn’t have left the way I did. That wasn’t fair.” 

He resists the urge to pull you in and kiss all the regrets away. You shift on your feet before taking another step closer, situating yourself between his thighs. It almost seems like you’ve read his mind. 

You cup his face and he leans into your touch. A soft noise escapes him as you drag your thumb across his cheek. 

“I missed you,” he murmurs as he looks up at you. 

Your eyes search his for a moment, and the next thing he knows you’re leaning in. Your lips collide, and it's everything he’s dreamt about for the past few years. You kiss him, and it’s like nothing’s changed. It’s like you never left. 

You tangle your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging him impossibly closer. He groans against your mouth and slides his tongue against your bottom lip. His hands wander downward and squeeze your ass, earning a small yelp in response. He uses the opportunity and runs his tongue across the backs of your teeth. 

You pull away, panting, your breath tickling his cheeks. Your eyes meet, and the slight nod of your head is all it takes for the rest of his resolve to crumble underneath your fingertips. 

He grabs you and spins the two of you so you’re pressed against his desk. “Gotta get you outta these wet clothes, baby,” he mentions as his hands wander under the hem of your shirt. 

You hum, pulling him in by his flannel. Your lips meet in a sloppy kiss, and his hands skim across your body, almost as if memorizing the feel of your skin under his fingertips. Although, he doubts he could ever forget the feeling. 

One hand pops the closure of your jeans while the other wraps lightly around your neck, squeezing slightly as you kiss him. 

“You miss me as much as I miss you?” he questions as he dips his hand down your pants. His fingertips brush against your clothed core, and you gasp against him. He hums, “Certainly feels like you missed me.” 

He presses open-mouthed kisses against the side of your neck as he teases you through your underwear. You tucked yourself into the crook of his neck, and your quiet moans quickly turned into desperate pleas. 

The urge to have you desperate and crying for his cock nearly overwhelms him. A small part of him wants you to feel like he felt all those years– release just close enough that you can taste it but too far to fully grasp it. 

A larger, louder part of him wants to bury his cock in you and have you singing his name within the next 30 seconds. That part of him won. 

He pushes you back against the hard expanse of his desk and makes quick work of your jeans and underwear. He tugs them down and off your body, leaving you bare before him. He could’ve come just from the sight of you. You looked up at him as you spread your thighs, baring your glistening cunt for him. Just for him. 

He slides a finger through your folds, and you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, muffling a whine. 

He halts his movements. “Let me hear you, baby. Wanna hear those pretty little noises you make.” 

You give him an obedient nod, and he continues. He swipes a finger through your folds, gathering your slick as he circles your clit. You arch against his touch, moaning a little. 

His free hand moves upward to push up your t-shirt over your breasts. His fingers run over the lacy front of your bra, and when that isn’t enough for him, he pulls down the front of your bra. He circles your nipples, mirroring his ministrations on your clit, and the buds harden under his touch. 

He sinks his finger into your core, pumping it a few times and eliciting a breathy moan from you. He wants to take his time with you, despite the raging desire to ruin you. He wants you to keep crawling back to him because no one can make you feel the way that he does. 

You give him an all too familiar pleading look, and he decides to take mercy on you just this once. He pops the button on his jeans and eagerly pushes down his boxers just enough to let his cock spring free. He pulls out of you and coats his cock with your arousal. He pumps his hand a few times before sliding his cock through your folds. You whine each time his head hits your clit, and it's music to his ears. 

He plunges into you inch by tantalizing inch. Your legs wrap around his hips, pulling him in closer. You felt heavenly against him, squeezing him just right. The plush skin of your thigh sinks under his fingertips as he pushes your thighs near your chest, practically bending you in half. He begins to rock his hips, nearly getting lost in the sensation of you already. 

Your walls flutter and clench around him. You arch your back as he readjusts his angle, hitting the sensitive spot inside you. He reaches down to where the two of you meet and draws lazy figure-eights against your clit, earning a whine in response. 

The familiar heat builds within his abdomen and he wills himself to last a little longer. He needs to feel you cum around his cock, and the thought consumes him as he thrusts harder into you. 

He grabs your face with his free hand and leans down to press a sloppy kiss against your lips. It’s a mixture of tongue and teeth, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. The obscene sounds of your sopping heat and skin slapping against skin fill his back office. It’s nearly enough to make his cheeks flush. 

Your thighs clamp against his sides as you throw your head back and cum with a strangled cry. Your pussy squeezes him like a vice as your release crashes over you, and his thrusts falter. 

He grips your hips and juts into you for a final time as he cums hard, filling you just how you liked. A comfortable silence lingers between you as you both catch your breath. 

He slowly pulls out of you and watches as his release leaks over your folds. He attempts to commit the image to memory, just in case this is the last time you’ll be together like this. 

You grab at his flannel and tug him down for a kiss. It’s much softer than your previous ones. He prays it’s not a kiss goodbye. 

“You in town for long?” he questions as he pulls away. 

You shrug, “For the foreseeable future.”

“You got a place to stay tonight?” 

You shake your head and look up at him with those eyes he could never resist. 

“You can stay at my place, and I’ll take a look at your car in the morning. Deal?” 

You stand and press a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Deal.”

[lowkeyrobin]

Headcanons for mcyt x reader doing a cooking/baking stream together??

I love your writing!!!

<3

ooooo okay okay!!! yes of course bro ; also thank you!! I appreciate it sm 🫶🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; cooking/baking stream

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, & foolish gamers

warnings ; language, grease fires

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you guys were making lasanga

Garfield jokes every five minutes

there's pasta sauce and cheese everywhere

he's constantly screaming to the viewers because you keep slapping him with the lasagna sheets, cooked or dry

"y/n! help! I'm being assaulted with lasagna sheets!"

he stained his shirt with pasta sauce 💀💀

almost set the house on fire bc he somehow left shit in the oven before preheating it

you turn on music halfway through and it turns into a karaoke stream

"CALIFORNIA GIRLS WERE UNFORGETTABLE-"

RANBOO

you were making soup because you found a good recipe you wanted to try

you accidently spilled the broth and covered your legs in it

he cut himself chopping up the celery (very minor cut dw)

"cooking stream? more like we injure ourselves for two hours stream"

"cooking stream? I hardly know her"

very chaotic but very good soup

during the intervals where you guys were just waiting for things to cook, you started a hashtag on Twitter to ask you guys stuff

and you answered them while keeping an eye on the food

afterwards you guys watch TV and eat your food while still streaming

"normalize eating on stream 2024!"

FREDDIE BADLINU

you were making breakfast for dinner on stream

you had to go use the bathroom while the bacon was cooking and left Freddie to tend to everything for less than a minute

and he started a grease fire.

after he got it extinguished he kinda just stood there waiting for you

meanwhile chat was exploding with panic and laughter

"Hey, y/n, I don't think we're having bacon tonight!"

"What the fuck happened???"

luckily no damage to anything other than the meat

the rest of it was really good though, and the stream had enough action for tonight 💀💀

NIKI NIHACHU

you guys were making cupcakes

you dropped like two eggs 💀💀💀 so while she was getting new ones you were cleaning up all the eggshell fragments and the insides

you got the camera to show stream your fucking mess and someone sent a dono saying "butterfingers ass"

the cackling after that 💀

you're able to get them into the oven though

and while you're waiting for them to cook, you watch dance moms and discuss everything wrong with it

commentary youtubers? I hardly know them

she begins making the icing while you pull the cupcakes out to let them cool

10/10 cupcakes they're amazing

you guys had a pride flag theme so lmao

ALEX QUACKITY

you were supposed to be making pancakes as a little challenge

his are literally raw and he put chocolate chips from the freezer straight in them

"that banana isn't gonna help anything"

"how do you know that??"

flour is everywhere. it looks like a war started

you put to much non-stick spray on the skillet and started a little fire

but Alex to the rescue dw

he couldn't even figure out how to use it and almost sprayed himself in the face!

goes on Twitter later to update that your kitchen was completely fine but the underneath of your microwave is a tiny bit melted

you blame him every time after that 💀💀

"my microwave melted a bit because you don't know how to use a fire extinguisher!"

"youre the one who used too much spray!"

chat always sides with you, too 😭😭

FOOLISH GAMERS

you thought making fried rice was a good idea? wrong

he literally has no idea what's happening

"can you make the scrambled eggs for me while I tend to the vegetables?"

"how many?"

"they're literally on the cabinet"

chat clipping every single funny moment too

"is the rice cooker even on? holy shit you left it on warm"

"I thought that meant it was on!"

"dude you've used this thing before, how long did it take for you to cook it?"

"like, forever"

"oh my god"

fried rice 10/10

he's complaining about the vegetables like he didn't have like two hours to say something about different veggies

[legobiwan]

For the drabble prompt list

"none of this is your fault" mario and luigi

Drabbles, they said, Ha! I answered. Anyway, I have no idea where this came from, but enjoy this barely-edited not-drabble. I am apparently incapable of concise writing right now :D

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“None of this is your fault, Lou.”

Luigi scoffed, pushing dampened sleeves up both arms, smearing dark, sweaty grease across his skin in wide, impressionistic lines.

“You tell that to Toadsworth in three days. I’m sure he’ll be happy to believe you,” Luigi groused, tightening a stubborn, thick bolt with a violent twist. That should keep the engine boosters from flying off at speeds exceeding thirty miles an hour. (Or as they were counted in the Mushroom Kingdom, five hundred and two mycelia per second, a measuring system so opaque - and infuriating - that Luigi had sat through an entire five-hour Toad Council meeting just so he could petition the government to introduce a bill to launch a public vote on switching to any other quantifier that made a modicum of sense. The notion, of course, was voted down in a manner of seconds. Tradition, Mister Luigi, Toadsworth had sniffed, rapping his long-handled gavel with an imperious gesture, closing off all debate on the matter).

Snobby old toad could stuff it up his spore holes.

“He’ll get over it,” Mario said. “What’s he going to do, anyway? Make us sit through another boring state dinner?”

Luigi poked at a serpentine belt that resembled some slices of old cheese he once found in the back of their fridge in Brooklyn. How these guys managed to stay competitive with equipment in this condition was a complete slap in the face to basic physics.

“You like those dinners.” Luigi crawled out from under the dented chassis, sitting back on his haunches as he gestured at his brother with a ratchet-wrench, making curly patterns in the air as if he were a Magikoopa casting a spell.

“I hate those dinners as much as you. They’re hot, stuffy, and the food is an insult to the entirety of Brooklyn. It’s not my fault I get to sit next to Peach and you’re always stuck with Lady Maitake and her hundreds of onion bulb-pup photos for two hours.”

“Don’t remind me. Did you know she’s trying to train them to do circus acts and take them on the road?” Luigi ran a finger down one of the dusty schematics strewn about the stone floor. “Hand me that spanner, will you?”

Mario shook his head, chuckling, handing off the hooked tool to Luigi, who shimmied once more underneath the maroon-and-black kart. “Look, you got hoodwinked into a bad contract. I should have looked over the fine print before you signed.”

“You’re not my keeper, Mario,” Luigi grumbled, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice. “And it’s not even the contract that I care about. Frankly, I’m impressed Bowser’s been able to get these things to do anything beyond cough up smoke and crash into the nearest palm tree. It’s a good challenge to get them running again.”

“So what’s the issue, then?”

Luigi stilled, his hands guts-deep in a mess of wiring and cables that looked like an earthworm graveyard. After a moment, he sighed, letting the spanner tool clatter to the floor with a bright, metallic jangle. 

“The issue,” he began, staring up at the internal electronic system of one of Bowser’s so-called best racing karts. “Is that he’s probably going to win. Bowser, that is. And everyone will make nice about it at the awards ceremony and Bowser will get too drunk on elderflower wine and get kicked out of the post-race party.”

“That happens every race, Lou.”

“Yeah, but you know Bowser. He’ll let it slip that I was the one doing repairs on his karts. And then in the morning, there will be a meeting. And Toadsworth will go on about the standing of the Kingdom being compromised and it being a diplomatic catastrophe that we allowed Bowser to win and that,” Luigi adopted a whiny, pompous voice. “Mr. Luigi has once again strained his credibility within the Mushroom Kingdom.” 

“Look, that stodgy old Toad has no chance of making those charges stick. You were exonerated, Weeg. Nothing that happened with Bleck - “ Mario clenched his fists, hissing through his teeth. “Nothing that happened in that place was you. That wasn’t your fault, and neither is this.”

Luigi reached towards one of the dangling battery coils, playing with the violet and yellow wires between his fingers. “Sure,” he breathed. “Not me.”

“Not you,” Mario insisted, his voice steely. “And besides,” he continued, a hint of humor creeping into his words. If you’re so concerned about Toadsworth, why don’t you sabotage Bowser’s fleet?”

Luigi pushed himself out from under the kart, snapping up to a seat in wide-eyed horror.

“And ruin my reputation as an engineer? No way, bro. I’ll risk the treason charges, thank you very much.”

Mario guffawed, ambling over to take a seat next to his brother, the two coming shoulder-to-shoulder, backs set against the passenger door of the Koopa Coupe. “I think your reputation is beyond reproach, Lou.” Mario gave a small, uncertain smile. “After all, you did build two killer robots in the span of two weeks.”

It was a huge step forward, just being able to talk about the whole incident in Flipside, no less joke about it - the ordeal with Bleck and the jester and Luigi’s brainwashing. Mario had stayed tight-lipped about the entire debacle for weeks after they had gotten back, much to Luigi’s aggravation, until things came to a head one night due to a series of ill-conceived plans on the part of the Toad Council, the most brazen of which featured a misserved cup of tea laced with a dubiously legal truth potion.

Luigi sniffed out half a chuckle, nudging his brother in the shoulder. “Well, I can’t let Bowser think I’m slipping, right?”

Mario eyed his brother carefully, his features brightening as he caught the note of mischief in Luigi’s voice. Grinning, he clapped his brother on the knee. “You’ve got an idea, don’t you? The Old Koopa King doesn’t know what he’s got coming.”

Luigi straightened, composing himself into the picture of innocence. “Dear brother, I am a man of my word. Bowser will win the race, just like the contract stipulates.”

“And?”

“Aaand,” Luigi drew out the word, schematics and thermodynamic equations taking shape in his mind. “Let’s say the engine modifications I’m making happen to engage a set of rocket boosters at a certain speed threshold. Bowser’ll like that. But then maybe the activation of those boosters, given a certain location and time input, temporarily cede control of the brakes and steering to a pre-programmed route of the engineer’s choosing.” Luigi paused for dramatic effect. “All after the race is finished, of course. No injuries. No harm. Just a little post-race joyride through the forest.”

Mario gave a joyous whoop, bringing his brother into a tight, side-hug. “They’ll hear him screaming all the way in Rogueport! Ha! You know he’ll threaten to invade during the after-party! No one will care if you worked on his kart once he shows back up breathing smoke!”

“He’ll do that regardless,” Luigi laughed, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. “But you know how these modifications are. Always a chance of overburdening your circuits.”

“And at least it’ll be a while before he tries to trick you into doing his dirty work again,” Mario added.

“I hope so.” Luigi placed a warm hand on his brother’s shoulder, smiling. “Thanks, Mario.”

Mario beamed back at his brother, playfully flicking the brim of Luigi’s hat. “Come on, Lou. Show me how to build a sentient robot race kart.”

~~~~~

Drabble writing challenge: Make me sweat!

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Full Throttle Heart

Pairing:Eddie Munson x Reader

AU: Mechanic Eddie x reader

Warnings: none

Authors Note: I hope you enjoy, I need Eddie so bad rn- especially with the release of Gladiator 2

Word Count: 1.1k

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

You weren’t surprised to find yourself back at Munson’s Garage, not after how your car had been behaving lately. The thing was a mess—sputtering and groaning like it was on its last legs. Eddie Munson, though? He’d been fixing it up for years now.

Years. You weren’t sure how time had passed so fast, but it had been nearly five years since Eddie had rolled into town, taking over the garage after his uncle retired. You remembered the way Wayne Munson had always been kind to you, fixing up your parents’ cars on the cheap. When he handed the reins to Eddie, you’d been skeptical.

Eddie, who you’d known vaguely from high school, was more known for playing his guitar in the cafeteria and making dramatic speeches about “the conformity machine” than anything resembling responsibility. You weren’t exactly close back then, running in different circles, but you remembered his energy, his loud laughter, and his ability to command attention.

When you walked into the garage that first time and saw Eddie, covered in grease but still rocking his signature chain and bandana combo, it took a moment to recognize him. He grinned, leaning against the workbench like he had all the time in the world.

“Well, well. Look who’s stumbled into my domain,” he’d said.

Your car had needed a new starter then, and Eddie had been surprisingly competent. The snark and flair were still there, but underneath that was someone who really cared about his work. You left the shop that day with a working car and the faint beginnings of a friendship you didn’t expect.

Now, all these years later, you realized just how much Eddie had become a constant in your life. It wasn’t just car trouble anymore. Anytime you had an excuse to swing by the shop—whether to drop off coffee, borrow his tools, or just complain about your day—you did. And Eddie? He always made you feel welcome, even if it was with a teasing smirk and some exaggerated comment about how much trouble you were.

You’d told yourself for years that you didn’t think about him that way. He was Eddie. Loud, messy Eddie who played guitar in his garage band and spent half his weekends fixing up junkers with some of his old high school friends. But the more you showed up, the more you saw him for who he really was: funny, kind, hardworking, and, yeah, ridiculously attractive.

It was in the little things. Like how he remembered how you took your coffee. Or how he never charged you for little fixes, no matter how many times you insisted. Or the way his face lit up when you laughed at one of his jokes.

That autumn evening was no different. You walked into the shop, shivering against the chill, and found Eddie bent over an old Chevelle. The sight was one you were used to—his wild curls tied back, grease smudged on his cheek, his bandana barely holding his hair out of his face.

“Munson, tell me my car isn’t completely dead,” you said as you crossed the room.

He straightened, wiping his hands on a rag before grinning at you. “Sweetheart, your car’s got one foot in the grave, but I’m a miracle worker. You know that.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned against the workbench. “So, what’s wrong with it this time?”

He launched into an explanation about the alternator, but you weren’t really listening. Instead, you found yourself watching the way his hands moved when he talked, the way his lips quirked into a smile when he teased you, the way his eyes lingered just a little longer than necessary.

“And that’s why you need to stop ignoring the weird noises it’s been making,” he finished, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry,” you said quickly. “What was that last part?”

Eddie’s grin widened. “You weren’t listening, were you?”

“Just fix it,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up.

“Of course,” he said, stepping closer. “But only if you agree to dinner.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard. “Dinner?”

He shrugged, trying to look casual, though the slight twitch of his fingers gave him away. “Yeah, dinner. Or coffee. Or whatever excuse you need to keep coming back here and making my day.”

Your heart skipped a beat at the admission, but you quickly covered it with a smirk. “Fix the car first, Munson. I’ll think about it.”

The next day, you returned with coffee and takeout, feeling more nervous than you had any right to. Eddie greeted you with his usual teasing grin, but there was a warmth in his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

“Peace offering?” he asked, taking the coffee from you.

“Something like that,” you said, handing him the bag of food.

As he worked on your car, the two of you fell into your usual rhythm—banter, jokes, stories from your day. But beneath it all was something unspoken, something that had been building between you for years.

When he finished, he leaned against the car, crossing his arms as he looked at you. “She’s good to go. But, uh, you know, I meant it. About dinner.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding. “I know.”

“And?”

You bit your lip, trying to fight the smile that was threatening to take over your face. “I’ll pick you up at seven. But only if you clean up first.”

Eddie laughed, the sound warm and full of promise. “Deal.”

Dinner turned into takeout on the hood of your car, parked by the lake where you used to hang out as kids. Somewhere between bites of fries and Eddie’s terrible jokes, he reached for your hand. You let him, the grease-stained calluses on his fingers grounding you in the moment.

“Guess you’re stuck with me now,” he said, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.

“Guess so,” you replied softly, leaning just a little closer.

Eddie Munson, once the loud kid from high school, was now the quiet comfort you didn’t know you needed. And as the stars reflected on the water, you realized you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[aezuria]

hiii i love ur writing sm!! i was wondering if u would do leo valdez x reader headcanons? ty!!!

*ੈ✎ keep your head still, i'll be your thrill

—all the small things, blink-182

content: leo valdez x reader

warnings: cursing again

librarian's annotations: the title has no connection to the hcs but it came up while i was writing this also IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER 🙏🙏🙏

super clingy i do not make the rules

oh you thought you were gonna get up and be productive?? not today!

fuck everyone else tbh

LOVEEES gossip sessions with u

hes so invested in all the drama u have

probably laying on his stomach and swinging his feet and gasping incredulously. "what!? no she did not..."

got very pouty that you did not invite him to the girls night bc he didnt want to "miss out on the tea" (lwk stealing from my own work oops)

who can blame him tbh

LOVE LOVES DANCING

loves teaching u too (even if u suck)

like imagine him holding your waist and moving you to the beat as you fumble along, his chest pressed up against your own

GOOD LORD

"forward, back, left- there you go," he murmured into your ear, looking down at your feet. you stepped on his shoes a lot more than you should've; did he ever think that his proximity was why you were messing up!?

"you suck at this, don't you?" he laughed, but twirled you around anyway.

"did you ever think you're just a shit teacher?"

"rude!"

also this man was born a star

can probably hit super high notes as if its nothing

ok so we all know how hes a genius right

oh my GOD imagine him explaining how his stuff works and using words you're sure don't even exist and he's so into it and he just sounds so SMART

intelligence is so attractive why does no one talk abt that

you wanted to watch him work on the engine, so you pulled up a stool next to him. you stared at his side, his tank top dirty with grease and sticky with sweat. how long had he been working since you got here?

you'd get mad at him for not taking a break later. right now? you were admiring the view. who wouldn't?

"hey leo?"

he hummed in response, still hyper-focused on the engine.

"how does all that work, exactly?" you were never one for machines—good thing you have a mechanic boyfriend!

he looks to you, a happy glimmer in his eyes. "you really wanna know? so basically— this part connects to that part and then..."

you don't know how long you've been zoned out, too busy staring at his perfect

"y/n?" he finally realizes you haven't been paying attention. "you with me, now?" he raises an eyebrow with a grin on his face.

"huh? what?" you straightened up, fumbling over your words. "yeah! why wouldn't i be?" you tried to act as if you weren't just ogling him seconds before.

"oh y'know.. cause you were checking me out." he winked, leaning back against the engine as he put himself on display. "i mean, you obviously couldn't help it. i mean, look at me!"

someone humble him

its not like he doesn't do the same tho

if he accidentally walks in on you he'd be like "oh my gods-! sorry!" and cover his eyes with his hands, but his fingers are parted so he could still look through. literally the 🫣 emoji

"GET OUT!"

"OKAY I'M GOING DON'T HIT ME- OW!"

he is SUPER ticklish and you WILL use this to your advantage

esp his ears

one time you touched them out of curiosity cause theyre pointer than average and he was like "eek!"

pause

"aww i didn't know you could make that sound!" you poked some more fun at him because that was adorable

"shut up!"

another time he's laying on you, ruining your plans of getting up early and being active. you tried rolling out from underneath him but his arms snake around you like a vice, squeezing a groan out of you.

"leo get off!" you tried shoving him off, but that didn't work either. he simply buried his face into your neck, mumbling a tired no.

you really had shit to do, so you resorted to the last possible tactic. "i didn't wanna have to do this..." you warned. (you so wanted to do this)

you slipped your hands under his shirt and started tickling his stomach, effectively getting him writhing off you with laughter.

"stop-! that tickles!" he tried doing the same back, but he was squirming far too much.

ok real talk now

love loves staying up late with you until its past midnight and you guys are just rambling about random topics. he's just so relaxed with you, his heart feels so full and there's no space anymore, so his bottled up emotions spill out

which is usually a closely-guarded secret because he's just the funny guy of the group, right?

what does he know about feelings? isn't it his job to just keep everyone else happy? joking about everything will take away the pain, won't it?

(it doesn't)

"i don't know, i just- feel like i don't really fit in with everyone. they all have these cool powers, and i'm just.. me." he laughed dryly, face devoid of his usual happiness as he stared at the ceiling. "sometimes, i feel like you could do so much better. but at the same time?" his voice lowered as he rolled onto his side, staring into your eyes. "i want to keep you to myself. i really, really don't want to lose you."

you were glad he finally opened up to you, but your heart ached at the way he thought of himself. how could he not see how highly everyone thought of him, especially you?

"just you? leo, you're the coolest person i know. you're so, so smart, you can fix just about anything, you're funny, you're kind, you can cook; what's not to love?" you smiled softly. you could go on and on about this man. for him to think that he was the lucky one? it was quite the opposite.

"and you don't have to worry," you whispered, cuddling closer to him and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "i'll always be with you."

[hemmingshouse]

you’re not my pizza pt 2 / chris sturniolo

summary: you and chris show each other that there’s more feelings than just hatred.

warnings: usage of petnames, fingering, making out, sex, sub!chris (sorta)

pt. 1

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a/n: HAPPY STURNIOLO FRIDAY MY DARLINGS! here’s part two my loves! thank you all so much for the love on the first part 🥹 hope you enjoy this one, mwah x

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“when did you put on lip gloss?”

his question caught you off guard, your head slowly turning to meet his curious gaze and raised eyebrows. you were so confused as to what chris meant until he reached his hand upwards to brush some pizza grease from your upper lip.

“oh!” you let out a loud laugh, “chris what the fuck,” you shook your head, “that’s fuckin’ pizza grease, bro.”

chris’s mouth dropped agape at your answer, hands letting go of the pepperoni slice as his eyes widened and a string of giggles fell from his mouth. “oh,” he nodded his head, “yeah well- i was like when the fuck did she even put on lipgloss because you weren’t wearing it when i tried to- when i tried to kiss you.”

the way he noticed small details about today made your heard race slightly, not expecting this come out at all when you let him into your apartment to explain himself.

you chuckled at his statement before putting the slice back into the carton pizza box, placing it onto the coffee table before looking back at chris. the way his unruly hair was messily laying on top of his head, his crystal blue eyes looking back at you with a hint of playfulness in them - he got you hooked for real.

there was no denying the fact that you always found chris extremely attractive (until he opened his mouth and spat snarky remarks your way) and now that he was chilling on your couch it had only downed on you way more. his dark grey oversized tracksuit cozily covered his body, white tank underneath and the thin chain around his neck caused your cheeks to heat up. chris had also caught onto you eyeing him up and down, a slight smirk dancing on his lips. “are you checking me out, ma?”

you gazed into his eyes as a breath left your mouth, “it’s the first time i can actually look at you without being scolded at - ‘m just enjoying the view.”

a loud laugh escaped chris as after he swallowed some of his pizza slice, chucking the crust back into the box. “it’s okay, i fuckin’ love the view too.”

“shut the fuck uuuup,” you whined with a breathy laugh, letting your hands cover your face when you felt your cheeks heat up at his complement. “i ain’t used to you talking to me like this, tone it down a bit.”

chris found himself grinning at your joking remark, leaning forward to grab your hands in his own and pull you forward slightly. “thank you for dinner,” he joked, raising your tangled hands to press a kiss onto the back of yours. “didn’t know you were such an amazing chef.”

you were quick to playfully roll your eyes at him, loving the way his thumbs were brushing the back of your hands. “there’s a whole lot of things you don’t know about me, chris,” you challenged, ticking your head to the side.

he clicked his tongue before he let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling with a shit eating grin on his lips, “good god, the things you do to me,,” chris muttered under his breath, tugging your hands to try and get you closer to him. “c’mon, come here, mamas.”

without any hesitation but a bit of insecurity, your knees dug themselves into the soft plush of your couch as you lowered your body to sit on chris’s lap - hands still intertwined. he looked at you and sent you a soft and warm smile, “there you go,” he spoke quietly, “you were so far away.”

you chuckled and felt how he untangled his fingers from yours as he freed one hand, reaching it upwards to brush his thumb across your lips once again. “hi,” he mumbled with a small grin, eyes scanning every inch of your beautiful face.

“hi,” you chuckled, brushing some wavy hair from his eyes before sitting up straight - trying to get rid of the aching feeling you got going on because of how tense your body was. chris let his hands rest on the small of your back to try and support your body slightly, pulling you closer to him.

“you alright?” he asked you as concern was clear in his voice, “tell me what you need.”

his words hit you like a truck, even if there wasn’t any sexual meaning behind it- yet. you let out a sigh and adjusted yourself on his lap, carefully arching your back to ease the heavy feeling. as you did so, chris’s eyes concentrated on your face - the scrunch of your nose and furrow of your eyebrows slightly worrying him.

“i’m okay,” you smiled softly, playing with the silver zipper of his zip up hoodie, “i just- i need you to try that kissing thing again, like- now.”

a smirk danced on his lips as his fingertips softly dug into your waist. he clicked his tongue as he felt how you leaned forward and tried to stop squirming around on his lap - much to his dislike. “ma,” chris mumbled, pushing your hips down onto him and letting your body slowly roll against his. “c’mere. now.”

you let out a breathy laugh at the needy tone in his voice as your hands found his jaw, cupping it as you let your lips brush against his in a teasing manner. he wasn’t buying your bullshit and grabbed the back of your neck to bring you in for a deeper kiss, his tongue quick to search for yours.

never in a million years you thought you’d be sitting on chris’s lap whilst hungrily making out with him, but it surely felt so comfortable as it was happening in this right exact moment. a whimper left your mouth as his hands found your ass, slowly guiding you to rock your hips once again.

“mhm,” he hummed, “that’s it baby, look at you.”

your fingers fiddled with the zipper of his hoodie, sliding it down his shoulders before helping chris get rid of the unnecessary piece of clothing. with a quick glance and a nod of approval from you, chris took off your oversized shirt and threw it somewhere beside you on the floor.

his thumbs ran along the white cotton of your bra as he let out a huff, shaking his head in disbelief. the way you were currently sitting on his lap without a shirt and in your extremely short pyjama shorts made him realise that this was all he could ever wish for.

“are you going to do someting or just stare at my tits while you’re daydreaming away?”

your voice caused him to laugh and sit up straight, tightly holding onto you as chris got off the couch and walked you two to what he guessed was your bedroom. placing you down onto your made bed caused you both to smile, chris’ hand trailing up your leg until he met the waistband of your flimsy shorts. curling his fingers around the elastic, he took them off as well as your matching white thong - hungry to touch you and make you feel so good.

“tonight’s all about you baby,” he told you sincerely as he started peppering light kisses onto your thigh, trailing upwards to your core. “let me show you how fuckin’ good i can be for you.”

“please,” you breathed, feeling how his fingers were working against your pussy, slowly dragging through your folds. “chris- my god-”

when he noticed how worked up he got you by just kissing you and rocking you onto his lap, he opened your legs a bit wider before slipping his middle finger into you. “fuck ma,” chris sighed contentedly, “you’re so wet for me, huh? i fuckin’ love that.”

your moans started to fill the bedroom as chris added another finger and started pumping them in and out of you, adoring the way your voice sounded when it was projected into moans. “i love that, please- oh fuck!”

chris could hear how your breaths got quicker and noticed how your hips were bucking into his touch, signaling to him that you were close to your orgasm. “god you look so beautiful,” he told you sincerely, speeding up his fingers even more. “you gonna come for me?”

“chris!” you moaned loudly, nails digging into his bicep as he guided you through you first orgasm of the night. your blown out pupils looked back at him as his fingers slid out of you, a content sigh leaving your mouth. “oh my god,” you giggled softly.

chris leaned forward to kiss you on the lips, backing away after a few seconds. his hard on accidentally brushed your thigh as he sat up straighter and it caused him to slip out a moan, a chuckle following afterwards. “fuck,” he laughed, “you ready for round two?”

you rolled your eyes playfully, hands playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “fully only let you into my apartment in the hopes you’d apologise and fuck me dumb,” you teased, one of your hands slowly palming him through his sweats. “so yeah, i am more than ready for round two.”

his mouth fell agape with a loud groan following as a loud laugh escaped your lips, hands pulling him by the back of his neck to capture your lips in a kiss once again.

chris loved the way you two were still playful and teasing each other like you had been the entire night, it made him feel like you were actually interested in him and enjoyed it as much as he did.

“okay okay,” chris groaned, loving the way your fingers worked on him through the fabric of his sweats, “as much as i’d love to shut you up by shoving my dick in your mouth,” he announced, “i’d rather hear you scream my name instead, that alright with you mrs. big mouth?”

he had you nodding your head with a laugh as you watched the boy get rid of the sweats and his boxers all in one go. chris found his way back to you super quick, not wanting to waste any time with you. you nodded as you noticed chris leaning forward and spreading your legs a bit wider, dragging the tip of his cock through your folds.

“oh chris,” you moaned softly, loving the way he responded to your body almost immediately. “feels so good.”

the boy hummed at your statement, sending you a quick glance to make sure you were ready for him to get to work. the way a rosy blush was spread onto your cheeks and your lips were red from biting them too often told him that you were so down for what was about to happen next.

chris slowly pushed himself into you as he kept track of how you responded to him, your back arching as he pulled back and slid back into you once again to get himself wet with your arousal. “you’re so fuckin’ tight, ma,” he moaned as his hips continued to work their magic, “fuck, i ain’t gonna last long with the way you’re clenching around me.”

you cupped his chin with one hand to get him to look at you, purposefully clenching your walls around his cock as you looked him dead in the eyes. “i don’t see a problem with that.”

chris let out a laugh after he groaned, “oh for fuck’s sake,” he shook his head as he continued to thrust into you, hands holding your waist to keep your body down onto the bed. “if i would’ve known your pussy was so good i would’ve dropped the hate act and fuck you sooner.”

you let out a moan as chris sat up slightly and he hit your g-spot continuously. “chris- oh f- oh my god, keep doing that,” you told him, toes curling as you felt your second orgasm nearing. “mhm, god, you fuck me so well.”

“and you’re taking me so well,” he praised you, feeling the knot in his stomach tighten, “fuck fuck fuck- where do you want me, ma?”

the way his words repeated themselves inside your head made it so easy for you to get close to your second orgasm, and the way chris was now rubbing your clit to get you over the edge made your head fuzzy. “fuck,” you breathed shakily, “just inside me, please.”

it didn’t take long for chris to climax, the strain of grunts and ‘fuck’s leaving his mouth causing you to come undone as well. he looked so hot keeping himself hovering above you as he slid out, a hiss and a content sigh causing you to let out a giggle.

“oh my god,” chris mumbled as he took a look at you, sending you a big grin when he noticed the sexed out look on you - your hair was a mess and your pupils were larger than usual. he still found you absolutely stunning - and once he noticed his cum dripping out of you he couldn’t help but moan once again. “where d’ya keep the towels, babe?”

the petname caused you to blush even more, him using it randomly and not during intimacy made you think that from now on, you and chris were finally able to get along.

“bottom drawer,” you answered chris after you saw him walk into the bathroom, returning just a second later with a damp towel. “who would’ve thought i’d have you this whipped huh?”

he let out a laugh as he carefully cleaned you up, “you have me whipped?” chris shook his head, “you were the one that undressed me with your eyes when we were having dinner, sweetheart. i just used the pizza grease as an excuse to set the tone.”

“so you fucking knew that wasn’t lipgloss?” you groaned, throwing your head back as chris grabbed a shirt from your floor and let you raise your arms so he was able to put it on you.

he clicked his tongue before leaning forward to press a kiss onto your lips, “nah,” he grinned, “i’m stupid, but not that stupid, baby.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

taglist: @mattsturniololoverr @matthewsturniolosgirlfriend101 @satvisfavetoodles @bernardsbendystraws @sturnsxplr-25 @sturnioloxlver @pinkishpearls @leahsbussy @sturniololover-09 (@isasturns i couldn’t tag you love i’m sorry!)

[urdreamgirls-dreamgirl]

September 1986

It’s a Saturday when they finally make it up to Bloomington. Steve had to bribe Robin into taking his afternoon shift by promising he’d take three of her Monday mornings in a row. It sucked, but looking over at Eddie in his passenger’s seat, hair whipping around him as he head bangs to whatever music he’s got playing on Steve’s car radio, he thinks it’s probably worth it. 

It takes them an hour to get there and once they reach the city limits, Steve has to turn down the music so Eddie can direct him to the store he’s been coming to for the last ten years.

“Used to come here as a kid, when I first moved in with Wayne,” Eddie tells him as he gestures for Steve to make a left at the light. “The guy who owns the place—Greg—is an old friend from, like, World War II or whatever. You know, that homoerotic male bonding trauma shit.” Eddie nudges Steve with his elbow, winking when Steve looks over. “Wayne’s the one who taught me to play, did I tell you that?” Steve shakes his head. “Well, he thought it’d be a good way to get out all that energy, I guess.” Eddie grins. “Greg used to give me these tapes of the local music scene, stuff he’d been able to record at live shows or people renting out his booth in the back. There was some fucking awesome stuff in there, some of the bands have even made it pretty big. Oh, take a right here and then another right at the stop sign.” Steve sees it before Eddie points it out, a big red guitar on the sign. “That parking lot there, Stevie.” Eddie makes a big show of pointing, practically leaning out of the passenger’s side window like a dog, as if Steve needs the help at all.

Steve pulls into a spot right in front of the store and puts the car in park. Eddie practically leaps from his seat, slamming the door behind him and bounding up to the double glass doors, not even waiting for Steve to climb out of the car himself before he’s pulling the door open and rushing inside. Steve just rolls his eyes, locking the car doors before he follows.

The place is exactly what Steve expected. A little bell twinkles overhead as he passes through the entrance. It’s a little dimly lit, due to the way the storefront is arranged, but Steve can clearly see the rows of guitars hanging from the walls, the bins of sheet music underneath. There are other instruments, too, a couple of upright pianos near the counter in the back, some electric keyboards, a whole section of violins. He can’t help but think about how Robin would love this place and makes a mental note to suggest they all come up here together sometime. Steve follows Eddie’s voice to the glass counter where the register sits, harmonicas lined up on shelves lined in velvet in the case below it.

“—my friend Steve,” Eddie’s saying, gesturing towards Steve as Steve comes to stand beside him. Steve looks up at the man he assumes is Greg. He’s older, maybe a little older than Wayne even, laugh lines around his mouth and an easy smile on his lips. He’s got a long grey ponytail to match his long grey beard. A green flannel hangs off his skinny frame. Eddie smiles at Steve, his hand brushing along Steve’s bicep as he turns to introduce him. “Steve, this is Greg.”

“Hey, Steve,” Greg reaches his hand out for a shake and Steve takes it. Greg’s hand is warm and dry, eyes sparkling, friendly. Steve feels safe here. “Eddie says he’s teaching you to play guitar. Not sure how much you’re gonna learn from ol’ butterfingers here.” He points his thumb at Eddie.

“Hey!” Eddie yells in mock offense. 

Greg laughs. “When Eddie was first learning, he’d try to snack and play at the same time. Always the same thing, those Bugles, you know?” He holds his hands up in front of him, wiggling his fingertips. Steve nods, grinning. “Hands full of grease, couldn’t get a grip on anything.” 

Steve’s grin widens when Eddie rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, okay, old man.” He lifts himself from where he’d been leaning on the counter, tapping is own fingertips along the glass. “How about you make yourself useful and do your job? Steve’s looking for a new guitar.”

“Awesome, man, first one?” Greg asks Steve.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been borrowing a friend’s, but I’d like to get one of my own.” Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Nothing too fancy, I don’t know much about anything really.”

Greg grins again. “A real newbie, I love that.” He walks across to the front left corner of the store. “Obviously you want an acoustic, easier to learn on, especially if this dumbass is the one teaching you.” Eddie lets out a sound of offense. “These are your best bet. No bells and whistles, nothing fancy. You can get fancier once you know more.” Greg turns toward Steve. “Wanna try some out?”

Steve nods and Greg slides a stool over, gesturing for Steve to sit. He pulls the first guitar off its hook and hands it to Steve. Steve strums a few chords.

“How’s it feel?” Greg asks.

“It’s good,” Steve says hesitantly.

“Good but not great, right?” Steve nods. “Yeah, I could tell. That’s okay. You’ll know when you feel it.” Greg takes the guitar back from Steve, handing him a new one.

After about four or five rounds, Greg pulls the last one off the wall. It looks a little like Robin’s, but the wood’s a little darker, almost red, and the finish is a little shinier. Steve’s fingertips are buzzing when he takes it from Greg and feels the smooth strings under his fingers. 

“That’s it, right?” Greg asks, smiling.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “This is it.” He returns Greg’s smile.

Eddie meets them back up at the counter, wandering over from where he’d been sifting through the sheet music. 

“Find one?” Eddie nods toward the case on the counter. 

“Found a real good one,” Greg tells him, snapping the lid of the case open to show him.

Eddie grins, dimples on full display. “Wow, Stevie.” Eddie looks over at Steve, face soft. “Looks great. Very metal.” 

Steve’s not entirely sure why that makes him blush.

read the new chapter of all of me changed like midnight. posted now

[flamingtouya]

𝐜𝐚𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 — 𝐝𝐚𝐛𝐢/𝐭𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐲𝐚

word count: 1262

cw: none other than dabi's foul language

summary: dabi encounters a cat. i continue to spoon-feed this man happiness. based on this prompt by the lovely @scarlettcryptid ♡

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Clicking his tongue, saying - whispering - “Here, stupid fucking kitty”, because god forbid someone hears. Slowly putting his hand out, some more ‘Pss-pss’-ing - anything that had worked on the neighbours’ cats when Fuyumi did it.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

The concrete is cold underneath his palm. Dabi welcomes April’s spring breeze, a strand of jet black hair tickling his cheek as he pulls the strings of his hoodie tighter. The dewy scent of the morning air is overtaken by the intense smell of steaming hot Yakitori, fresh off the grill, bought - not stolen - bought with his own, hard-earned cash money. (That, admittedly, he had stolen.)

You’ve got to indulge, the vendor had shouted, in the little pleasures! Treat yourself to life's delectable delights! Two plus two, Weekday special! Don’t miss out on-

“Screw you,” he’d told her, shoving the money on the little silver tray next to the register, scowling when she still served him with a bright smile, one that reminded him of Fuyumi’s excited grin every time she’d successfully pulled off a trick on her beautifully painted Kendama. Fuyumi would be so upset, he thinks, if she knew where he gets his food from these days.

He pulls the first skewer from the paper box, diligently inspecting a grain of Szechuan pepper. Dabi hasn’t laid eyes upon a spice in months - especially not one this pricey.

No, ever since he’s made a temporary home in the outer area of the city, it’s been nothing but dumpster diving and collecting restaurant leftovers for him. Stale bread. Expired cookies. Plain rice, cooked in an old bean can. Salted butter. Some Chili powder on top of his potatoes, if the old man at the soup kitchen was feeling generous.

Compared to the barely digestible nutrients his body runs on, the sight mere inches from his face is a divine gift.

After turning it over once more he finally takes a small bite, careful to pull the piece of chicken off the skewer with his front teeth. He’s become even more sensitive to temperature lately, and his teeth are the most annoying aspect. Not the sizzling of his flesh when he overuses his quirk, not the burn behind his eyes as they go dry. Those he’s gotten used to rather quickly. But when most of the food you eat is either cold or poorly reheated, the sensation of something hot is bound to cause major discomfort.

It’s not as bad as he expects. Neither the temperature sensitivity nor the taste. He begins to chew more boldly, savouring the harmonious balance between onion and garlic, sea salt and pepper, topped with tare sauce and just a hint of lemon. Say about the outskirt markets what you will, but those street food vendors do know how to grill a chicken.

Dabi doesn’t notice how quiet it’s gotten until something chirps behind him.

A cat.

A rather well-fed cat.

A cat that technically isn’t overweight, but its thick fur coat still makes it look a little fat.

Black with a white tummy and some spots of orange near its paws, sitting two arms’ lengths away. Its eyes follow the skewer as he moves it to one side, then the other, then dangles it upside down. Some grease drips onto the grass of the porch he’s sitting on. He finishes the remaining pieces of chicken and pulls out the second skewer, eyes shifting between his precious meal and the overly attentive cat.

Finally, he decides to pinch off a small piece, chewing at the spiced crust until it’s gone. He tosses the plain chicken towards the cat but to his surprise, it flinches and retreats behind a large flower pot.

The little fucker.

Wasted half a bite of perfectly good food.

Dabi turns his attention back towards his steaming Yakitori. Some time passes. He doesn’t know if it’s seconds or minutes that he zones out looking at the flowering apricot tree in the distance, but he’s pulled back to reality by soft chewing noises. Careful not to make another sudden movement he shifts a bit, just enough to look over his shoulder. Sure enough, the feline is greedily nibbling at the slice of meat. The two of them make brief eye contact before turning their attention back to their respective meals.

The sound behind him subsides shortly after and is replaced by a soft purring, one that he knows isn’t directed at him. He lets the cat have another piece from his third skewer nonetheless, this time giving it a gentle toss so it lands a few inches closer.

Still visibly tense, it takes a few steps forward and sniffs at the chicken before gulping it down in a few bites. Greedy shit, Dabi thinks, as he sacrifices yet another precious piece. He puts it down at his side, rubbing his fingers together. The cat’s attention is on the meat immediately, ears twitching as it courageously inches closer towards Dabi. He finishes the last of his Yakitori, never breaking eye contact with the cowardly little furball next to him.

Before he knows it, a quiet ‘Pss-pss-pss’ leaves his lips.

He tries it all.

Clicking his tongue, saying - whispering - “Here, stupid fucking kitty”, because god forbid someone hears. Slowly putting his hand out, some more ‘Pss-pss’-ing - anything that had worked on the neighbours’ cats when Fuyumi did it.

Here he sits; Todoroki Touya, a man stripped of all dignity at the sight of a fat cat.

After a thorough standoff, the cat’s curiosity gets the better of it. It keeps its stomach low as it sneaks across the ground, stretching its long neck to sniff at the finger that Dabi used to pull the Yakitori off the skewer earlier.

“If you bite me, I’m sending you to the coat factory.”

As if that theory was being tested, Dabi feels a sudden nip at his fingers. Cursing, he pulls back slightly, only to see the mischievous fucker’s pupils go wider. He wipes the bits of chicken grease off in the dewy grass and offers his palm again, checking both sides of the street to make sure nobody’s looking.

As if to taunt him, the little furball pounces and takes a swipe at Dabi’s hand before he can turn his attention back to the porch. It chatters in surprise when the man pulls away just in time.

Fucker, as Dabi decides to dub this newfound enemy of his, darts toward his other hand where he’s drawing lazy patterns on the concrete. With its claws half out and its tail puffed up, it races toward the wall, around the flower pot and jumps back onto the lawn to take another playful swing at Dabi’s limbs. Minutes later, he’s got the little menace chasing his fingers in circles, losing balance here and there and rolling over ever so often.

He’s focused, eagerly following the cat’s every move, trying to predict its attacks by the flick of its tail, an ear twitch, pupils that narrow ever so slightly before it leaps forward.

He’ll never admit it. That for once, there’s a sudden lack of grief in his heart.

Only when the first ray of sunshine hits the outer edge of the garden does he let himself fall backwards. The cat is but a purring weight on his thigh, stretching its paws across his lap with the softest ‘Meow’. Eyes closed and arms stretched out, he inhales slowly and holds his breath until he feels his pulse slow down. Dabi doesn’t care that his hair is getting a little wet, doesn’t care that the grass tickling his ears stings a little, doesn’t care that he’ll probably have red marks on his hands for a while.

If he shuts his eyes hard enough, he might still be able to convince himself that Touya is dead.

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Fifteen

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader )

BOOT WORSHIP / SPANKING / LACTATION/BREASTFEEDING

Summary: After wanting to spank you for months, Frankie finally shares his desire.

Day Fifteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober list.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, spanking, hair pulling, Dom!Frankie turns Soft!Frankie, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2k

If he’s ever given the opportunity, Frankie’s hand will meet your ass and you give him too many opportunities to count. He thought you would have realised by now that he was an ass man but apparently not.

He pats you on the butt while you wait for your coffee, holding onto the counter top, bleary eyed. When the boys are over and you climb over their splayed legs to take a seat, he has a playful swat. He grabs handfuls upon handfuls of you when things heat up between the pair of you.

And it’s not that you haven’t notice, you just haven’t said anything, the notion has always felt somewhat loving.

There was one time however where he wasn’t so gentle.

You were on your hands and knees, searching for something under your bed. He clocked you, ass up in those ridiculously short pyjama bottoms and the temptation was too strong. You weren’t even aware he was in the room until the heavy handed smack. The force sent you forward, the shock causing you to hit your head on the slats.

“Francisco!”

That’s when he learned you only called him by his full name when you were pissed. He’d already bolted from the room when you managed to worm your way from under the bed. You rubbed your butt.

Sure it hurt but fuck, did it turn you on.

There was always an anticipation in you when his hand came to your ass, yet a slap like that never happened again.

“You missed a good fight,” he let you go in the house first.

“You all keep telling me that but I can’t watch him get beat up like that.”

The scrapping, the kicks and the punches were fine at first but the more time you spent with Benny, the more it hurt to watch him in the cage. Instead you waited outside or in the locker room for everything to be over.

Frankie plucks off his cap, throwing it aside with his jacket.

“He’s a big boy,” he cups your cheeks, “he can handle it.”

“I know. I just don’t like seeing him get hurt.”

He let you wrap your arms around him where you press your ear against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He kisses the crown of your head.

You yawn.

“Tired, querida?”

“No, just in need of a pick me up,” you stretch, walking away from him. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Want a late night snack?”

“I’m ok, thanks babe.”

You’d started to get into the habit of calling them all babe, he still wasn’t used to it.

After your shower, you gravitate towards his wardrobe, flicking through his shirts to choose which one to wear. You always went for the softest, the one that had clung onto his sandalwood scent even though he’d washed it hundreds of times before.

He’d just thrown the last piece of a grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth and was sucking the grease from his thick fingers when you join him. He looks you up and down, taking his finger out with a pop as he puts the empty plate on the table.

“So you’re the one who keeps stealing my favourite shirt.”

It was obviously you.

You pout, “Don’t you think it looks better on me?”

He watched as you smoothed the fabric over your figure, purposefully showing glimpses of the bare skin hidden underneath. You turn around just so you can lift the hemline enough for him to see the curve of your ass, no knickers in sight.

He leans back, arms blocking his chest.

“Of course it does.”

His eyes focus back on the television.

Playing with the cuffs in your fingers, you tentatively join him on the couch, knees to your chest.

“Are you mad with me?”

He looks at your doe eyes.

“A little…”

Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All I want to do is throw you over my leg and spank you but you don’t want that.”

Your heart skips a beat, the thought of it pooling in your belly and spreading between your thighs.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t,” he took his hand away from his face. “When I smacked you on the ass a couple of months back, you weren’t pleased.”

You take his other hand, “Frankie, that was just bad timing.”

“It was? You seemed angry.”

“It was the shock and the head bump. If I’m honest, I’ve kinda been waiting for you to do it again.”

His mouth was hanging open, brows knotted, “Really?”

You hum, nodding, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“Huh.”

He stops talking, his mind working to formulate his next move.

The expectancy was tortuous, the passing seconds making you squirm then suddenly, everything went fast.

Frankie grabbed you firmly around the waist and hauled your body off the cushions. Intuitively, you went limp and allowed him to position you on his legs, your stomach pressing into bone. The shirt had already ridden up, the chill wafting onto your warm pussy and once you’ve caught your breath, you lift your head to look at him.

He stares at you hungrily.

His broad palm rubs gently, getting you used to the feel of his hand on your ass though you were pretty used to it being there. He waited for you to settle before he slaps you a few times but you barely flinch.

“You can go harder.”

He starts rubbing again.

“This is just the prep,” he gives some more slaps before groping, sinking his nails into the meat of your ass. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You scoff, “I thought that was the point?”

“Put it this way, I want you to be able to sit tomorrow.”

That you could agree with.

There’s a couple of final swats before he soothes you one last time. You swallow as you hear him take a deep breath, his hand no longer on the flaring skin of your ass. Closing your eyes, the impact comes fast and you yelp in response.

“You alright?”

His hand relaxed.

You nod enthusiastically, rearranging your position a little to get your ass up higher. He smirked at your eagerness, his other hand running up your spine and he watches the shiver take your whole body.

Then he gives another, then another over and over.

You happily take every welt, the heaviness rippling through your ass and your juices begin to flow. Each slap is met with a honeyed moan, your toes beginning to curl as your desire rushes through you.

Frankie is relishing in it.

How dutiful you are, taking it as hard as he’s giving.

As he continues, your nails claw into his jeans as you try to steady against the brunt, your head lulling as your head fills with nothing but him. The air as it’s puffed from his nostrils, his eyes observing every minuscule response and making the hair at the back of you neck stand on end, his cock growing and hardening into the side of your chest.

His next smack hits different.

It stings, the prickle spreading across your ass cheeks.

“Fuck,” you say through gritted teeth.

He does it again and you gasp, your chest shuddering as you breath.

“You good?”

You nod but he doesn’t see it.

Instead, his free hand trails towards your neck, fingers locking into a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head back and you feel the strain in your neck, you mewl.

“Querida?”

“Yeah,” you say breathily. “I’m good.”

You look to him out of the corner of your eye, heavy lids. He has to smile at how you appear, cheeks flushed, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth, drunk off his dominance.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You hum.

He slaps your ass and watches your facial features go slack.

Carrying on his thrashing, he can see how your legs splay, how your pussy glistens, twitching as the ache travels. He knows you’re enjoying this yet your ass is beginning to disagree. It’s scorching under his touch, handprints blending into the same raised mark that spreads the width of your ass cheeks.

Your scalp was tingling as his fingers still pulled, the sensation flooding your back. It dispersed, vibrating through your limbs until you were vibrating.

The next spank hurt, your senses overwhelmed and then the next.

“Stop.”

He raises his hand but doesn’t swing.

“Stop,” you tap his leg, “stop, please.”

His hand loosens on your head and you turn to jelly, legs buckling as you fall onto your knees, forehead pressed to the outside of his leg. He lets you catch your breath, stroking your hair delicately.

You took your time, your presence coming back to the room, to him.

When you look up at him, he’s already gazing down out you, straight lipped but soft behind his brown eyes.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles, “You might not be thanking me later.”

You smile, knowing that that wasn’t going to happen.

Helping you up off the floor, he lays you out across the couch and tucks himself in behind you. He props up on an elbow, his other hand, running up and down your side in a soothing manner. You could go to sleep, if it wasn’t for a raging boner.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Ignore it,” he grumbles.

“It’s pretty hard to ignore.”

“That sounds like a bad pun.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

You work a hand behind your back, cupping his bulge through his jeans. 

He groans, eyelids fluttering shut as he felt your fingers pull at the zipper. You coil a hand through the opening and knead his length, a spot already present on his underwear.

“Fuck me, Frankie.”

It’s what he needed to hear.

Opening his eyes, his hand fights to undo his belt and unfasten his button. He frees his cock from his briefs before hooking your leg over his, spreading you wide. Shuffling, he lines himself up, taking his cock in his fingers and pushing through your folds. He slowly rolls his hips and fills you to the hilt.

You sigh.

He slides back with ease, your juices helping him glide through your walls. He takes his time, thrusting you at a languished pace. Two of his fingers dance across your navel before pressing on your clit, your head falling back and he delivers kisses underneath your jaw.

Your hands come to the back of his head and you kiss him squarely in the lips, nudging your chin for entry. His tongue slips into yours before you get chance, stealing the moan that escaped you. Your tongues twist and curl together, chasing the taste of each other.

He circles your clit in rhythm to his thrusts, the bundle of nerves pulsating to your inner walls that clench around his length.

You chase his lips when he takes them away but your easily distracted when he snaps his hips a fraction harder. You cry and he only smiles, eyes dark with heavy lids. He drops his hand from his head and works it under your neck, hand slipping underneath his shirt to your breast. Your head falls back as he squeezes your breast and clit in unison.

You cry, eye screwing shut and you feel his breath hot by your ear.

He shushes you, holds you while your body convulses in orgasm, his t-shirt bundling in your hand.

Your cunt contracts around his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he says gruffly, working against your walls.

With your tightness, he was far from finding release himself. A couple more deep thrusts and he felt his balls recede as he pumped into you, filling you with every last drop of his seed.

Sinking into the couch, his body loosens.

You scramble to unbutton the shirt and throw it open to feel the cooler air hit your skin, your stomach rising and falling as you catch your breath. The pair of you lay there, lost for words, unable to move in the afterglow.

After a while, he nudges his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Love you, querida.”

“Love you too.”

Frankie kissed your shoulder, his hand skimming your body before coming to rest on your ass.

[jays-bonnie-on-the-side]

𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟕

PAIRING : dean winchester x original female character

STORY SUMMARY : in series masterlist

CHAPTER WARNINGS : age-gap. lust. flirting. pining. overprotective dean. angel possessed sam. vulnerable ofc.

A/N : thank you to all who follow along with this story, your patience and support means so much. hope you enjoy 💛

Maricela’s POV

"Sam!" Dean shouts from the Command Room. His voice echoed down the hallway, reaching me before I entered the room. "You here?"

"Damn, did you forget about me already?" I quip.

With a coffee cup in hand, Dean turned and fixed his gaze on me. The sheer temptation of running my fingers through his immaculate hair was almost too powerful to withstand. His black t-shirt and matching boxers peeked behind the long, gray robe with the embroidered red initials 'T.E.P.,' on its chest pocket. It opened just enough to display his perfectly imperfect bowed legs. I bite my cheek, imagining myself walking over to Dean, knocking the cup from his hand before jumping to staddle his body, then pulling his face towards mine so our lips lock in a fervent kiss. My heart beats faster as I fantasize about him returning the passion, carrying me towards the Map Table to sit me on the edge before sliding his hands underneath my shirt as I run my fingers through his hair and down to his—

"Nice robe," I lace my compliment with sarcasm, attempting to distract myself before my thoughts go from PG-13 to Rated R.

"Nice hair."

My locks had tangled after a night's rest, resembling my bed head to a lion's mane. Other than flattening it with my bare hands, I didn't bother to run a brush through my hair, knowing it would only double the size it was now. My eyes roll at his remark as I cross my arms over my unsupported chest. The loose-fitted shirt concealed my small breasts, ones that never seemed to draw Dean's attention. The door above us opens and in walks Sam.

"Hey. Morning," he greets.

Dean checks his watch as Sam comes down the stairs. "You been outside already?"

"Yeah. Woke up, went for a run. Beautiful sunrise," Dean and I stared at the energetic man as he explained his early start. "Anyways, cleaned up. Went and got breakfast. Grabbed you guys real bacon and eggs, extra grease. Not even gonna argue."

"Mm, perfect." I hummed as we sat at the Map Table.

Dean passes a to-go box and plastic utensil my way. I open the container, and once the smell hits my nose, my stomach rumbles. Sam pulls a bag from his jacket pocket and tosses it beside my food. A smile lights up my tired face. Sam remembered to ask for ketchup packets, knowing I wouldn't eat my eggs without the condiment. He folds his jacket before setting it on the table as Dean questions him.

"Wait. You went running?"

"What? Why do you look so worried?"

"Let's see. There's Cas, who I told to haul ass here. That was days ago. He's still out there. Um, there's you."

"Me?" Sam scoffs. "I feel great."

"I'm sure you do, but Sam, you went through the trials. Okay, that put a big strain on you. I just think it's better if you took it easy, you know, and didn't act like you were—"

Sam straightens his posture, his eyes glowing before interrupting Dean, finishing with, "Possessed by an angel."

The eldest Winchester and I stare at Sam—or rather Ezekiel—taken aback by the sudden change.

"And he does feel better. A work in progress, of course, but I am slowly healing him." The angel assures us.

I put my fork down, adding, "That's great. Um, but—"

"I have news. I've picked up chatter among the angels. Not all are wandering around in confusion."

"Yeah, some of 'em are after Cas," Dean states.

"There is a faction that is rapidly organizing and finding human vessels to contain them."

"Led by Naomi?"

"I have not heard that name, no. But it is this faction's leadership who want Castiel found. You see, Dean, I can be useful."

"So can my brother. So, why don't you go check your e-mail, and if I need your help, I'll let you know."

"Dean," Zeke tries before the hunter repeats himself.

"I said I'll let you know."

As told, the angel goes back into hibernation. His eyes glow before Sam continues where he left off.

"I mean, you know, Cas is human now. It's gonna take him a lot longer to travel."

"I'm gonna get whiplash," I mumble to myself, prompting Sam to question my comment. "Nothing."

Dean clears his throat before directing the attention away from me. "Um, all right, so I was thinking that if the angels are organizing, then that makes them a lot more dangerous than we thought."

Yet, he only makes it worse.

"Why do you think they're organizing?" Sam asks, confused at the sudden, out-of-the-blue, and newfound information.

Dean stares at this brother, realizing his mistake. He hesitates, attempting to come up with a plausible explanation for the intel provided by Ezekiel just moments before.

"It makes sense," I add before biting into my bacon.

"My point is, is that the more of them that are after Cas, the worse it is, so... we got to find him." Dean finishes.

Sam nods. "I'll grab my laptop."

After breakfast, we agreed to meet in the library. Dean stood next to Sam, focused on the project before him. His attention quickly shifts as I walk in. The man's eyes scanned me from head to toe before a smirk emerged on his face. My stomach dropped, not sure whether to be insecure or elated underneath his intense gaze.

"What?" I ask, halting beside him.

"I didn't think you'd be able to tame all that hair," Dean gestures to my double-Dutch braids. "It's surprising, really."

"Shut up!" I playfully shove his torso, failing to stifle my laughter.

His flawless smile makes its limited appearance as he laughs. I shook my head as our laughter began to die, hoping to keep the blush at bay. My eyes wander past Dean and over to Sam. He wears a knowing smile, eyes flickering between his brother and me. The blush I was trying to avoid slowly rises to my cheeks, and Sam is to blame.

I tear my gaze from the Winchesters and focus on the map that's spread across the table. Three red circles, each bigger than the last, were drawn over The Centennial State. Dean traced my stare back to the map before leaning over it.

"All right, so this is where Cas called from on Tuesday—Longmont, Colorado." He began, explaining the map's context. With the tip of a closed, black Sharpie, he traces each ring for emphasis. "Each circle is how far he might have gotten in one, two, and three days out."

"Okay. Here we go," said Sam, capturing our attention. We hover over his shoulder, seeing that he hacked into the city’s police database. "The same day he called from Longmont, weird murder, same town. Cops said it was like the girl was blasted from the inside out."

"Angel kill," Dean recognized their signature killing style. "They might have just missed Cas."

"Unless they got him," I mutter.

For a moment, it was silent as we feared the worst. Sam returned to his laptop and clicked the attached news article to the report. The caption read 'TWO PRIESTS FOUND OUTSIDE ST. ANNE'S CATHEDRAL IN GRISLY MURDER.'

"You got an Emory Park, Iowa?" Sam asks his brother.

"Emory Park, Emory Park. I just saw that." Dean runs his finger along the map, searching for the town. "Yeah, a couple days outside of Longmont."

"Okay, because two priests were murdered there Thursday. Eyes blown out, evidence of torture. They were impaled on posts."

"Torture?" Dean asks aloud, resulting in Sam to assure he heard correctly.

"Angels are looking for info," I say, piecing the puzzle together.

"Man, if they get to him before we do..." Dean trails off. Sam and I reply with a 'yeah,' understanding what Dean didn't finish.

*Longmont, Colorado*

We arrived at St. Anne's Cathedral by four p.m. I exited the backseat of the Impala once Dean parked the car, not bothering to wait for whoever decided to tag along. Just as I was about to walk towards the Cathedral, a group of groundskeepers caught my eye. They gardened beside the church and near the cemetery. I cursed to myself, knowing my high heels would surely sink into the ground.

Dean stops beside me and glances in the direction I was looking at. I voice, "I think we should start with them."

"Lead the way."

His words manipulated my lips into a smile. For the first time, Dean allowed me to take the lead. No second-guessing, no doubting, no arguing. Just trust. And with that, I began my journey along the patchy grass and uneven stone walkway leading into the garden.

As we walked down the path, I spotted a man in a brown suede jacket unlocking the gated graveyard. He pulled the gates open, watching as we approached. Dean and I flash our FBI badges, introducing ourselves. Without any pushback, we asked if he recognized Castiel based on his physical description. The stranger pondered silently before entering the cemetery with us following behind.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I know this guy you're talking about," He said, taking his white and blue gardening gloves off. "Sounds like Clarence."

"Clarence?" Dean and I ask in unison.

He nods, explaining, "The church—it runs a shelter in town, and we work here. We earn our keep. Clarence spent a couple nights and then had to move on."

"And he left the day the bodies were found?" The hunter in disguise questions.

"Matter of fact… Oh, man, those poor guys were a mess. They must have suffered bad." The man spoke with despondency before cheering up. "But at least now they're with the angels."

Dean averted his eyes towards the ground before muttering, "I sure as hell hope not."

I nudged his arm as the stranger's face fell upon hearing Dean's remark.

"Clarence happen to mention where he was headed?" I ask, getting back on topic.

"No. He just said he always had to keep going."

We thanked the helpful individual before Dean began to head back to the car. I reach into my purse and pull out $40, handing it to the man who stood before me. His eyes widen before shaking his head, denying the gift. My hand reaches out again as I take a step closer.

"Please, take it. I know it isn't much, but I appreciate your help. Take it."

He hesitates but takes the twenties from my outstretched arm. Uttering his thanks, the man offers a small smile as a gesture of gratitude. I smile back and turn to leave. My eyes find Dean standing just beyond the cemetery gates, watching and waiting for me. I walk with my head down, avoiding the hunter's eyes while trying to maintain a balance between the grass and widely spaced stones.

"That was nice," said Dean.

"You sound surprised."

"No, I just—it was a nice gesture."

I shrugged, "No big deal."

Silence fell between us. I could feel his hesitation before finally asking, "Why'd you do it?"

My own hesitance to answer the loaded question stopped me in my tracks. The function in my legs returns, and I walk again as if my body didn't just slam on its emergency brakes. Memories flashed across my eyes, reminding me of the tough times I had endured as a child. I could still feel the muggy heat that nearly suffocated me, unable to cool from an air conditioner or box fan from the lack of unpaid electricity bills many Julys ago. My bones can still recount how harsh the winter air had been as we moved all our belongings from our house due to the court-ordered eviction.

"I know what it's like to be in his position, to struggle—to live day to day," I say, my head hung with embarrassment. "I remember standing in line at our local church, just waiting to be handed our share of groceries for the week. My parents had just divorced—they worked hard to provide for us, but sometimes it wasn't enough. They did their best, though. Things got better after a while. We were fortunate enough to bounce back. So, when I see those in similar situations, I don't know—I guess it hits home more than I want it to."

Dean halts once my confession is complete. I shift my gaze from the ground to meet his forest-green eyes.

"Sorry, I didn't know," he murmured.

"I didn't expect you to." I gave the hunter a small smile. "We all have a past. It shapes us into who we are. Right?"

He nods, "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Thankfully, you won't find mine online. Can't say the same about yours, though." I taunt, my smile growing wider as Dean's face drops.

"You didn't..."

"I haven't had a chance yet. We've been pretty busy."

"How did you find them?" I shrug nonchalantly, feeling the weight of his penetrating gaze on me. My eyes drifted from his narrow, intense stare as he figured out which bird sang. "It was Charlie, wasn't it?"

"What? Charlie—no, no. I don't even remember the last time I talked to her." I lie, hoping to save my friend from an unfortunate phone call.

"Uh huh," Dean grunts, clearly unconvinced.

Finally, the Impala was within eye distance. The urge to kick off my heels and complete the stretch barefoot was strong. Suddenly, as if my heels knew of my desired betrayal, my foot slipped on one of the stepping stones. My other foot quickly moved to support my balance but failed as my heel sunk into the grass. A tiny squeal left my throat, and with my eyes tightly shut, my body began to fall backward.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, my heart quickening as I free fall towards the ground. The last thing I expected was a strong pair of arms saving me from an embarrassing tumble. As if it was possible, my heart races faster. I open my eyes slowly, worried I'd be in the arms of another and not the man I loved. But when I saw his handsome face, a profound sense of relief swept through my body.

Dean leaned over me, his arm encircling my shoulders while the other supported my lower back, his eyes scanning every inch of my countenance. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." I breathed out, enarmed by the way he held me so close.

He pulls me back to my feet and grins. "Think you can manage walking back to Baby without breaking your ankles, or do I need to carry you?"

"Shut up." I crouched down to retrieve the heel that had slipped off during my stumble, dislodging it from the grass. "I'd love to see you walk in my shoes—literally."

The Winchester graciously allowed me to lean against his body as I balanced on one heel to put on the other. I try ignoring the thrill of our closeness, but his cologne fills my nose, making my head spin with a longing I’m all too familiar with. His hand resting on my hip distracts my yearning for surprise. I stand tall, and despite the added height that my heels provide, Dean still towers over me. My eyes find his own before his trail to my lips. He wouldn’t… And as I predicted, his hand falls to his side and he takes a step back.

Clearing his throat, he begins, “We should, uh…”

“Yeah,” I nod.

"All right," Dean draws his brother's attention. "Well, he's definitely been here. Good news is he's getting cagey. He's using a fake name—Clarence."

Sam amusingly scoffs, "That's what Meg used to call him. Of course, he doesn't get that's the name of a pretty famous angel."

"What?" asks Dean.

"'It's A Wonderful Life.'" Dean shakes his head, the ends of his mouth frowning, still clueless. "Dude, seriously?"

The younger Winchester looks at me for backup. "Sorry, Sammy, I'm with Dean on this one."

"Typical," he mutters under his breath.

"What'd you come up with?" Dean challenges.

"Another angel kill, outside a town called Lafayette about a day's travel east of here."

"What is that, Indiana?"

"Yeah. Body was found in a homeless camp. Insides barbecued, the whole nine."

"Homeless guy?" I ask as I lean forward and look over Sam's shoulder to read the article he had pulled up.

"No, a pharmacist from Dayton."

"Huh," Dean and I say in unison before he turns the engine to begin our trip East.

*Lafayette, Indiana*

The elevator chimed before opening on the ground floor. The lead detective steps off first, and we follow behind.

"Damnedest thing I ever saw. Vic had a stab wound, but it's not what killed him. It's like his insides were—"

"Vaporized?" Dean finishes. The detective stares at him, stunned that he hit the nail on the head. "It's been going around."

As we approach the door beside the reception desk, an officer buzzes us in. Dean holds open the door for me, and I mumble a small 'thanks' before trying to keep up with the fast men. The investigator leads us into the office space, past other detectives and officers, towards the back.

"So, this guy was a pharmacist from Ohio?" Sam asks.

"Apparently. Total family man, religious. One day, just hops in the S.U.V., takes off, dies under a bridge here from God knows what." The confident man stops near an empty desk, taking the bags of evidence from one to another. "This is his stuff. Help yourselves."

We thank the investigator as he walks around the Winchesters, and before he leaves us, he halts beside me.

"If you need anything, and I mean anything—" The detective emphasizes, a smug smile pulling at his lips while his eyes cascade down my body. "Let me know."

"I'm good." I rolled my eyes at this man's cockiness before stepping between the boys.

Sam picks up a bag of evidence as I grab the other, and we dump its contents onto the desk. I reached for the Bible, seeing if the victim wrote any clues within the margins. Dean scoffs, grabbing Sam's and my attention. He wore a scowl on his face, aiming it towards the detective. Sam and I furrowed our brows in confusion over Dean's sudden sulkiness.

"Can you believe that guy?" The eldest Winchester asks, shaking his head.

"What?" Sam inquiries.

"Did you not hear what he said to her? The man's sick. She's only 19!" Dean whisper-yells over me.

"I'm right here, D."

His eyes cut to me. They were a darker shade than usual. Somehow, it only made him sexier. He narrowed them at me, asking, "And?"

"And, I can handle some guy hitting on me."

"Well, you shouldn't have to. And I won't let it happen, not anymore."

"So what? You plan to cock block me from now on?"

"Yes!" My eyes widen at his quick response. He takes a deep breath, calming himself before saying, “You're too young to be having sex anyway."

"Dean, you started having sex at 16. You're the last person to lecture anyone about having sex too young. Leave her alone." Sam butts in.

Dean rolls his eyes, knowing if he talked anymore on the subject, he'd be a hypocrite. Without another word, he snatches the victim's phone from the desk. He begins to look through it as Sammy and I look at each other and smile in triumph. I flip through the small Bible but find nothing out of the ordinary. As I placed it back on the desk, I couldn't help but wonder why Dean cared so much.

"Anything?" The youngest Winchester asks the oldest as he walks around the desk and sits in the chair.

"Nothing weird," He continues to search while making his conclusions. "Crappy music, a lot of podcasts, all the same one. Reverend Buddy Boyle's 'Goin' For Glory Hour.'"

"Cop said he was religious."

Dean leans toward Sam and plays the video. I walk around the desk and watch with the boys.

"Join me in a heapin' helpin' of glory, friends. When you're in the presence of the divine, you'll know it. And if you let yourself, you'll hear it." The man's Southern accent cuts as Dean impatiently fast-forwards. "So, remember, when angels come a-knocking, let 'em on in."

The video ends. We look at one another, getting the very clear message the preacher was trying to convey.

"Angels can't possess a human without permission, right?" Sam asks.

"Yep." Dean answers, aggravated.

"So, what, they're using this guy to find vessels?"

"It's a willing audience," I point out.

"They're all religious types like our pharmacist here. Buddy Boyle was telling them to let the angels take them over."

"Like body snatchers," says Sam.

"How big a reach does this Boyle guy have?" I ask, prompting Sam to use the computer in front of him.

He clicks on the link: Buddy Boyle's Influence, world wide. It brought us to the Reverend's web page, displaying a world map. Red beacons were scattered across every continent, serving as markers for his loyal followers.

"Pretty much the entire planet," Sam answers.

Our eyes were wide, not expecting such a wide demographic. Without another word, we walk out of the police station.

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[whohasthecards]

Work and Distractions (Ch 2)

Ch1 (Diners and Late Nights)/Ch 2

“You called me in, Admiral?” Seresin said, standing at attention in front of his desk.

“At ease, Lieutenant, you’re not in trouble,” Cyclone said watching the kid, moving the papers he was looking at to the side.

“Didn’t think I was, sir,” Hangman drawled.

Cocky brat.

Despite that, the sharp line on his shoulders softened.

“Due to scheduling conflicts, the earliest we can deploy you is a month from now,” he said, watching the younger man who gave no indication whether or not he was disappointed. “However, your instructors say that you’re eager to work, much more so than whatever your paperwork implies. Additionally, it seems like you have aspirations to move up the ranks.”

“I like having something to do, sir, being higher in the ranks allows that and prohibits that at the same time,” Hangman said evenly. “I love flying, sir, but I understand that I can not do that all the time, might as well do something else between that.”

Smart kid.

“Well, Top Gun is empty right now. Only you remain in the barracks. Everyone else is preparing for the next batch of Top Gun graduates, maintenance, and catching up on administrative tasks. Might as well make yourself useful,” Cyclone said, handing Hangman a folder. “The mechanics are doing maintenance on the jets, you know your jet based on the manual, but you’ve never delved deep inside of it, have you?”

“Not more than what was required of me, sir, the Navy wanted the mechanics to focus on that,” Seresin replied, opening the folder with details on what he would be doing for the day.

“Well, back in my day, pilots and backseaters were more involved in hands-on, plane maintenance. Are you going to let us old timers be better than you at that?” Cyclone drawled out, staring at Hangman in the eye.

Seresin’s brow furrowed before he snapped the folder shut and straightened up, “Back in your day you were flying what would be now considered a fossil, sir,” Hangman said smirking. “I’ll go report to the hangar.”

“Good man,” Cyclone said, the corner of his lip twitching when he noticed Seresin leaving the room with a little more bounce on his step.

—

“How did he do? Any trouble?” Cyclone asked, approaching Warrant Officer Walker who was watching the mechanics and Seresin from afar who seemed to be delving in underneath the jet.

Walker snorted, giving a small smile as he rubbed his chin, “Eh, he’s just like the other kids in these parts.”

“Oh?”

“Young, confident, full of shit, but a good kid, this one works hard,” Walker said, smiling at Cyclone. “I heard this one was the last winner of Top Gun, I gotta say I was a bit worried. I know those kids talk a lot of shit, but damn, did I almost think you assigned him to me as punishment.”

“Not like you to judge a man before meeting him,” Cyclone said, crossing his arms, brows furrowed.

Walker shrugged, “The rumor mill is a bit more crazier these days, or that kid just special. Plus, heard some of the comments he said to his classmates, well, the kid has a mouth on ‘im.”

That’s saying something considering they were all in the military.

“He still got that mouth, but it ain’t anythin’ bad, just the usual young men talking shit and making fun with one another. Nothing close to what little I heard from ‘im before,” Walker said.

He mostly supervised the cohort from afar, and the few times he was directly involved, was a few minutes, with the men all in their best behavior. However, he did read the reports, but reports are for report keeping, not for a reflection of real life.

“I see,” Cyclone said, frowning and crossing his arms.

He watched as Seresin crawled out from under the jet, arms of his flight suit tied at the waist, and white shirt covered in grease. He stood up and looked like he was pouting when he looked down at his grease covered hands. Hangman finally noticed Cyclone when he looked up, grinning and giving the Admiral a two-fingered salute.

Cyclone felt Walker’s eyes in the side of his head as Cyclone nodded at the boy to go help out the other mechanics.

“You like the kid, don’t ya?” Walker mused, before Cyclone could reply the other man clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. “Bring ‘im around whenever, I’ll look after ‘im.”

Cyclone patted Walker’s shoulder in response.

—

“Is it true that you got engine oil dunked in your hair when you were an ensign?” Hangman blurted out.

Cyclone slowly raised his head from the paper Seresin gave him to look at Seresin with a raised brow. It was a week after Hangman started working with the mechanics, and if he wasn’t doing that, he was studying the documents used at Top Gun with him at the office. He was helping him sort through survey data, and the report Seresin produced was much more impressive than he expected.

Seresin simply stared back, curiosity sparking in his eyes.

“Where in the rumor mill did you find that?” Cyclone drawled.

“Warrant Officer Walker, Admiral,” Hangman said dutifully.

The vein in Cyclone’s forehead twitched, he should have figured that sooner.

Goddammit Lucas.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you hear, Lieutenant Seresin,” Cyclone said looking back down at the paper.

“That’s why I’m confirming the facts with you, sir,” Hangman said, lips pressed tightly together to prevent it from twitching upwards.

“I can neither confirm nor deny those allegations,” Cyclone said drily, flipping the paper to the next page.

However, he couldn’t help but smile when he heard the hold back a snort, grinning brightly at him.

—

“-- You should hear about the time Simpson here wrote 10 pages of bullshit tryin’ to justify flyin’ in shitty weather for ‘practice’--”

“It worked didn’t it?” Cyclone said glaring at Walker who simply smiled at him in response.

“You grouch at all of the young’ins bein’ little shits, but you weren’t much different weren’t ya, Admiral?”

“And you grouch at your mechanics being lazy, but at least they haven’t been caught sleeping on top of a jet–”

“Hey, it was durin’ my lunch break! You know, the time we suppos’ to be relaxin’ ‘stead of doing all that dumb paperwork!” Walker said lightly bumping Cyclone’s shoulder laughing.

Seresin looked past one of the turbines of the jet he was working on and leaned over to Ben, an aircraft mechanic around his age. “They always like this?”

Ben snorted as he pulled at one of the wires, “I’ve only been here a few months, but the others say they’ve been at it for years. They tight, man.”

“Huh,” Hangman said curiously as he watched an Admiral get his hands dirty helping Walker with something with the engine.

“Anyways, come bring that ratchet and bring your ass down here, I’m gonna show you something–”

—

“Come on boys and gal! Your favourite Air Boss ‘ere buyin’ a round o’ drinks. Even Almighty Admirals lose bets from time to time, yeah?” Walker said grinning as he hooked an arm around Cyclone’s shoulder as he was walking towards the mechanics still working on planes.

Hangman has never seen the Admiral look so dishevelled, with grease all over his clothes, and an annoyed scowl on his face. He looked at Ben who simply shrugged at him in response, also unsure about what was happening.

“I’m going to make you buy us all a round once we get there, Lucas,” Simpson hissed as he pushed the other man away as Walker simply laughed in response.

“Maybe you’ll be buyin’ ‘nother round once we get there,” Walker said grinning.

“If it’s pool, the Admiral got you beat 4 times out of 5, Chief,” One of the older mechanics chipped in.

“20 push ups for that, sergeant,” Walker said, wagging a finger at him.

—

“What. The. Fuck.” Hangman said jaw dropping as Cyclone ran the table clean in a few minutes. The last shot brought the last two balls in their pocket at the same time.

Cyclone smirked at Walker, “Next round on you. Unless, best of 3 to make you feel better?”

Walker rolled his eyes, “Nah, don’t wanna ruin the good mood, prick, okay boys! Next round on me!”

Ben nudged Hangman’s on the shoulder, “I’m gonna get a beer, want another one?”

Hangman shook his head, “Nah, it feels like a Sprite kind of night.”

Ben snorted, “You get free drinks and you’re ordering one of the cheapest drinks on the menu.”

Hangman flashed a charming smile, “I’m a charitable man.”

Ben rolled his eyes before heading towards the bar.

Hangman took a sip of the beer he had.

“Enjoying yourself, Seresin?” Cyclone said approaching him, still holding the cue stick.

“It was a great show, sir, very impressive,” Hangman said, tipping his drink at him.

Cyclone smiled, “You play pool?”

Hangman shook his head, “Not really, Jav- Lieutenant Machado started teachin’ me when we first got here, but I barely get a straight shot in.”

“Want to play a round? Teach you a couple of things?” Cyclone asked, tilting his head towards the table.

Seresin took another sip of his beer, his feet shuffling a bit. Eyes darting towards his other coworkers before looking at the pool table. The bar was pretty crowded–

“Maybe next time, sir,” Hangman said. “Give me some time to practice, so at least I gotta chance against ya,” Seresin continued, giving his signature smirk.

Cyclone’s eyes softened, “I’ll hold you to that, Lieutenant,” he said patting his shoulder. “Go have fun with people your age, shoo.”

Hangman rolled his eyes, “Aye, aye.”

—

Cyclone set a cup of coffee and a paper bag on Hangman’s desk, making the younger man look up from his computer to narrow his eyes at the Admiral.

“Coffee and an apple pastry I got from out of base,” Cyclone said nonchalantly.

Hangman scowled, “What data am I gonna analyze this time?”

Cyclone smirked, “You’ll like this one, it’s survey data among the perspectives of both active, reserved, and retired naval aviators.” He watched as Hangman’s eyes briefly lit up as he handed the packet to him.

“I mean, I suppose this may not be as interestin’ as Chief Walker’s activities,” Hangman drawled. “But I guess I’ll make some time for this.”

Cyclone snorted, reaching out and ruffling the boy’s hair as he headed out, “Make sure to eat before you start!” He called out, ignoring the boy’s squawk of protest.

—

“--It may be beneficial to conduct focus group discussions or 1-1 interviews to get a more in depth analysis of the survey data, Admiral,” Hangman reported, as Cyclone skimmed through the file he was just given.

“Excellent point Lieutenant, are you interested in participating in said interviews?” Cyclone asked.

“As an interviewee? Yes, as an interviewer? Nah, I prefer being in the air rather than stuck behind a desk, sir, reading the perspectives is interestin’, don’t get me wrong, but not my main thing,” Hangman said, shrugging before slumping down on the chair in front of Beau’s desk.

Cyclone smiled at him.

“Good work, Lieutenant, I’ll go through it all tomorrow, and send it out to other sections for analysis.”

“Of course, sir,” Hangman said, giving a small smile. “Just,” Hangman paused and bit his lip, “Maybe get a couple of others to proofread it just in case, yeah?”

Cyclone’s eyes softened, “Of course, kid, but I’m sure they won’t find much wrong with it.”

Hangman turned away, a light blush rising up his neck.

“Anyways, are you free tonight?” Cyclone asked.

Hangman looked at him curiously, “Yes-?”

“Want to play pool?” Cyclone asked, watching Hangman’s conflicted expression. “I know a pool hall nearby, it’s not as crowded as the Hard Deck. I told you I was going to teach you a few things,” Cyclone mused before stopping. “It’s not an order, Seresin, just an open offer,” Cyclone said.

“I-sure, where is it?” Seresin asked.

Cyclone smiled and gave him the address and time.

“Don’t wear your uniform.”

—

“Uhhh, so I don’t exactly know all the rules.”

“Well, there are the base rules, and then some house rules, which can make a game of 8-ball slightly different–”

“Sounds complicated.”

“You fly jets for a living, you’ll be fine, kid. As long as you can tell whether the ball is solid or stripes, you’ll be alright.”

—

“Keep your elbow steady, don’t move upwards, until after the whole shot is done,” Beau said coaching from the side, watching the blond stare at the cue ball in concentration.

Seresin slid the cue forward, the cue slipping sideways on the bridge hand, barely hitting the cue ball making it spin sadly to the side, 6 inches from where it started.

Seresin groaned as he straightened up and pouted. Beau took pity on him and took the cue ball, placing it where it was before.

“Come on, kid, you can do it, chalk the tip and try again,” Beau said, handing him the chalk.

Hangman took a deep breath and readied himself again. His form was still tense, trying to get used to his footing. He hit the cue ball straight into the solid ball, making the shot. Hangman straightened up and gave a cheer.

He looked so young.

“Good job,” Beau said, smiling. “Now what’s your next shot?”

[rivaldreamer]

House of Malignant - CH 2

Crossover between House of Wax & Malignant

What happens when one pair of conjoined twins meet another?~

CHAPTERS:

CH1 , CH3

————————————

Driving up through the old town, Madison admired little old Ambrose. The quaint setting reminded her a lot of the rural areas where she and Sydney grew up, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. With this remote location, she didn’t feel as anxious about being recognized.

Throughout the rest of the car ride, Lester and Sydney had been happily chatting away. Madison smiled, especially noticing how Sydney blushed at Lester’s corny jokes.

However, the closer they got to town, the more Lester’s easygoing demeanor faded.

The truck came to a rickety stop beside a gas station.

“Well, thanks a bunch Lester,” Sydney said, beaming at him.

Lester’s grip tightened on the wheel. “Y-yeah…don’t mention it…” he turned to them, “l-listen, if ya want…I can just tow yar’ truck on’ down here. Save’s ya girls the trouble and all…ya can wait back where I found ya at…”

Madison felt an odd pit in her stomach.

Sydney frowned. “Lester… we’re already here though. We may as well have a look around,” she smiled softly, “I kinda wanna see your hometown.”

Lester’s ears went red.

Just then, Madison’s phone began to screech violently, everyone jumping at the ear splitting pitch.

“S-sorry!” Madison exclaimed, fumbling with her phone, casting a look Sydney’s way.

She put the phone to her ear, Gabriel’s voice rasped and static…

“Get out of the car…”

“What-? Gab-”

“Something doesn’t feel right. Get. Out. Now.”

Madison didn’t know what to think, her fight or flight instincts kicking up. Or was that feeling coming from Gabriel…?

Before she could even react, a hand slammed down by her window.

Madison yelped.

A man came into view, smiling beneath his cap. “Well’s… you must be the fine pair of ladies Lester called ahead about,” he spoke, his southern accent thick and suave, “I’m Bo, the one he told ya’ about.

He offered his hand to shake.

Madison hesitantly shook it. “Emily, nice to meet you.”

Bo tapped his hands on the car window. “Heard you were havin’ some car troubles up the road?” He opened Madison’s door for her.

“Uh…y-yeah…”

As Madison hopped out from the truck, she got a good look at Bo. He was tall, strong features, chiseled chin, curly tuffs of hair peeking out from underneath his cap and an all around charming smile.

Overall, he was very attractive, in spite of the grease stained mechanic suit he wore.

But something about how he carried himself, how he spoke, how he smiled, egocentric, domineering… reminded her of another monster from her past…

Gabriel watched through Madison’s eyes. He too felt an odd familiarity. He didn’t know this man, if they’d met him in the past, they’d remember.

It was than that Gabriel recalled a similar man…the first face he saw after waking up for the first time in 20 years…

A man that dared put a hand on his sister and whom became Gabriel’s first kill in his rampage.

Drawing connections, Gabriel already didn’t like Bo, making his disdain known by growling, Maddie’s phone and the truck’s radio blaring with jumbled static.

Madison jumped, reaching to the back of her head and desperately shushing them.

Bo furrowed his brow, looking over into the truck. “Hey Lester! Somethin’ wrong with ya radio there?”

Lester was in the middle of helping Sydney out from the driver’s side.

As the static blared, Lester moved to hear Bo. Sydney, who’d been using him as support to get down, yelped when the movement caused her to lose her footing, falling forward and causing both her and Lester to go tumbling down into the gravel.

Lester groaned looking up to find Sydney sprawled on top of him.

“Uh…” He went red and so did Sydney once she realized the position they were in.

A wolf whistle was heard, making them both turn to see a smirking Bo.

“Well, Lester, when’s ya get a little lady on the side?” He teased.

The two of them immediately scrambled up, apologizing and giving excuses, faces red and burning.

Madison was still desperately trying to get Gabriel to calm down.

“Gabe, CALM DOWN!” She hissed into her phone, feeling his emotions flare up.

“Something’s not right!”

“Gabriel, please, we can’t just start acting out. They haven’t even done anything.”

“Yet…”

Gabriel added with cynicism.

“Gabriel…” Madison sighed, a hand to her forehead, “Gabriel, I’m not gonna say your worries are unjustified. I’m worried too…”

“The filthy one, he’s acting suspicious and his brother…I don’t like him…he’s too much like… like…”

Madison flinched at the reminder.

“Sorry…”

“No…” She reached a hand to the back of her head, “I noticed too… but I’m not afraid. I’m stronger now…”

She smiled softly.

“…and I have you.”

Madison truly meant it. She felt safer and secure knowing that Gabriel was there, assured that no matter what happened that he would protect them. Her affectionate feelings travelled over to Gabriel.

A purring buzz came over the phone. Madison couldn’t help but laugh. “Gabe! Are you purring?”

“…shut up…”

She laughed even harder.

“Talkin’ to a boyfriend?”

Madison gasped, spinning around. Bo leaned against the truck, arms folded and one leg overlapping the other, a lazy smile on his face.

Madison felt her face warm.

“Uh…no…” she waved her phone, “just my brother…”

Bo inclined his head, arching a brow. “The two of ya must be pretty close huh?”

“Oh… you have no idea.”

Madison had to bite her bottom lip to keep the shit eating grin off her face.

Bo pushed off the truck. “Well, you and your sister can go have a look around the town. Town’s a little quiet at the moment, all other folks are attending a funeral down at the church. I suggest not disturbin’ em. I’ll have Lester head on back down the road and tow ya car in.”

Madison nodded. “Thank you…”

Sydney came stumbling into view.

“Oh Sydney, where have you-?”

Sydney, red faced, stumbled over and buried her face in Madison’s chest.

“Wha-?! Sydney?!”

“Kill me now…” Came Sydney’s muffled reply.

Madison furrowed her brows. “What…?”

Bo chuckled, getting Madison’s attention.

“Seems’ ya sister and mah’ baby brother ended up gettin’ real nice and acquainted with each other.”

Madison’s brows shot up. “What? Sydney-?!”

“It was an accideeeent…” Sydney whined, still hiding her face from view.

A fierce anger and protectiveness spurred from Gabriel’s end.

“WHAT-?!”

Gabriel’s voice screeched from the phone.

Both sisters jumped, immediately shushing him, sending panicked glances Bo’s way.

Bo rose a brow.

Madison nervously chuckled. “Ah heh… guess I didn’t end the call when I thought I did…”

She immediately shoved the phone into Sydney’s hands. “Explain, to our brother what happened young lady. You know how he gets…” she ordered, trying to play it off.

Sydney raised the phone to her ear, raising a brow. “Gabe? Since when were you concerned about my love life?”

A moment of silence passed, Sydney beginning to grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Aww! Is my big brother Gabby being overprotective?… oh you so are! Don’t deny it, ya big softie! And no I will not drop the nickname!”

Bo chuckled in amusement at the sight.

Madison let out a sigh of relief. He seems to have bought it. Then again, what else could he have expected in this situation? What are the odds someone’s going to suspect you for hiding your conjoined twin?

Bo turned to her, giving her a smile. “Seems ya brother’s a bit overprotective.”

Madison shrugged. “Would you believe it if I told you Gabriel didn’t really like her at first?”

“Not too surprisin’ ,” Bo stuffed his hands in his pockets, “most siblings don’t like it when a new one comes along, ends up stealin’ all the attention.”

She chuckled, shaking her head. “It’s a bit more complicated with Gabe and I…”

“Oh yeah? How come?”

“Well, the two of us, Gabriel and I are…twins…it’s-…It’s… a long story…”

Bo looked particularly interested at that.

“Hey…” he shook his head, “we got time, gonna be a while fore’ Lester finishes towin’ ya car in. Wanna have a drink? I got beers in the garage.”

Madison meekly smiled. “I’m… not much of an alcohol person…”

“I got colas, too?” Bo offered without even passing judgement.

Madison blinked, smiling awkwardly . “Oh… okay then…”

The two of them headed into the gas station, Lester passing them to talk to Sydney. Apparently, Lester’s arrival caused Gabriel to go into a tirade of threats, his voice blaring from the phone as he told Lester to keep his filthy hands off of his sister, and offering very graphic descriptions of where he will put those hands if Lester does not heed said warnings.

Bo opened a small cooler in the corner, passing an ice cold cola to Madison. Honestly, with the sweltering heat, a cola had never seemed more tantalizing. Madison did inspect the bottle though, still suspicious, but didn’t find it to be tampered with in any way, the cap sealed tight and good.

Before Bo could even so much as offer a bottle opener, he gawked as Madison effortlessly opened the cap with her bare hands.

“Well damn… I was not expectin’ that…” he pulled out a drink of his own, leaning against the counter as he opened it. “ya sure got a strong arm on ya, little lady.”

“Oh yeah, it… runs in the family,” she shrugged, taking a long deep and soul refreshing gulp.

Bo watched her intently as she drank.

“That hit the spot…” she sighed, “how much do I owe you for the drink?”

“Nothing, it’s on the house. But ya can pay me with a story. Mind tellin’ me about the whole situation with your brother?”

“Uh…well…” Maddie really had to choose her words carefully.

“Syd- I mean-…Sunny, she’s not our biological sister. Gabriel and I are orphans, our mum gave us up when we were still a baby.”

Bo looked down into his drink, particularly scowling at that. “Sounds like a real piece of work your mother…” he huffed, going to take a sip.

Maddie glared at him. “It wasn’t her fault, she had no say. She was just a child.”

Bo choked on his drink.

“Are you okay?!”

“Fine-!” He coughed, clearing his throat, “s-sorry…”

Madison gave a sad smile.

“It’s okay, you didn’t know…”

She looked down at her own bottle as well. As she told the story, Madison could feel Gabriel’s presence slink in, no longer preoccupied with the others outside.

She took a deep breath, whispering. “It’s going to be okay…”

Bo tilted his head. “What’d you say?”

“Oh uh- sorry. Still um…bit of a rough topic to talk about, especially for my brother…”

“Well, he ain’t here right now ain’t he?” Bo took a swig from his drink.

‘Oh if only you knew…’

Gabriel grew smug and Madison smiled to herself.

“Let’s just say… um…the two of us-… kinda…disconnected? As kids?” That was the best way she could phrase it to Bo.

Bo furrowed his brows, looking up her from under hooded eyelids, gaze calculating.

“Why’d ya do that? Ain’t twins supposed tah’ stick together? Ride or die as they say?”

Madison shook her head. “We didn’t have a choice in the matter…”

Bo nodded, seeming satisfied with that response. “But the two’s of ya seem pretty close now, from what I’ve heard. Ya said he ain’t like the little blondie outside much? The one currently chatting’ up mah’ baby brother?”

Madison snorted. “S- Sunny’s real friendly like that. As for Gabriel um-… well-…let’s just say my new family adopted ME but not HIM.” She intentionally emphasized the words.

A wave of hurt and loneliness drifted in from Gabriel’s side. Madison found herself unconsciously reaching back to comfort him.

“I guess-… with a new family and a new sibling, Gabriel…um-… he must felt like… like I had abandoned and replaced him…”

“So, while you were livin’ every orphan’s dream, where’d ya brother go off to?” Bo asked curiously.

“Well- Gabriel’s always been around? Just-…just not- ugh…” she rubbed a hand over her face.

Gabriel’s emotions and hers became jumbled and confused during the conversation, neither knowing which feelings belonged to who.

“Sorry, it’s just a lot and-… it’s-… honestly it…it turned into quite a big fucking mess when both of us reconnected. Recently actually!”

Bo leaned in, brow raised. “What type of mess?”

Maddie smiled weakly. “Like…blood being spilled type of mess?”

Bo blinked looking down at the floor.

Madison shook her head vigorously.

“Sorry, you must think we’re a real cheery pair…”

Madison’s fingers dug underneath her hair, Gabriel nuzzling into her palm.

Bo tapped his finger on the bottle contemplating, before looking back up.

“Nah, I get it. I got into my fair shares of fights with mah’ brother. When I tell’s ya, the two’s of us could get into some real nasty fist fights. Hell, couple of times, back when’s we was teens, both of us had to be rushed to the emergency room. Our momma just screamin’ at us. Mostly at me,” he chuckled wryly.

Madison tilted her head, confused. “Who? You and Lester? Don’t get me wrong, he’s a bit… eccentric. But my sister’s got a good eye for people. And well… he seems like such a sweeyheart…”

Bo chuckled, shaking his head. “No, no, Lester’s third in our family. Talkin’ about mah’ other brother, the two’s of us…well, let’s just say; we’re closer in age. Sometimes the bastard can really get on mah’ nerves,” he sighed exasperated, “…but all the same, I can’t just leave em’.”

He twirled the almost empty bottle in his hand. “Funny thing’ ain’t it? Family. They can do the most fucked up shit and yet we’re willin’ tah’ forgive and protect cuz’ of the blood we share? Blood is thicker than water and all that shit...”

Bo finished off the last of his drink.

Madison tilted her head. “That’s incorrect.”

“What’d you say?”

“That saying? ‘Blood is thicker than water’? It’s actually a cut out piece from the full phrase, which is; ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’ Basically, the bonds you make through life are supposed to be stronger than the family bonds you have,” Madison smiled to herself, “although, I only partially agree with that phrase.”

Bo smiled at her.

It was small, and for a moment, it seemed like the most sincere smile he gave her since they started talking.

“Huh… well, ain’t you a well educated little lady.”

Madison felt her cheeks become warm.

Bo pushed off the counter. “So… where exactly is this Gabriel? Does he know where ya at?”

“Oh he’s… around.” Madison brought the bottle to her lips.

‘Way closer than you think…’

“What about you? Will I get to meet this mysterious second brother while I’m in town?”

Bo smirked. “Oh ya know, he’s…around.”

Madison narrowed her eyes, smiling.

Bo looked out the window, seeing Lester still chatting away with Sydney, the younger Sinclair now showing off his Bowie knife as he twirled it around.

Bo rolled his eyes, heading to the door. “I better get that lazy ass to start doin’ his job instead of wastin’ time chit chattin’.”

Madison watched him go, raising a brow. “Isn’t that exactly what we’re doing?”

Bo was halfway out the door, leaning back in, grinning. “Hey, us wastin’ time had a point to it.”

“Which was?!” Madison called after him but he was already out the door.

“Hey idiot! Quite playin’ lover boy and git’ to work!”

Madison smiled wistfully.

A radio on the shelf blared to life, Gabriel’s voice speaking through.

“Don’t tell me you actually like that asshole…”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I don’t… but he was nice to talk to…”

She did find Bo incredibly attractive but Madison didn’t think she was ready for romance, especially after everything she’d been through.

Sydney ducked into the gas station, Madison noticing how behind her Bo and Lester seemed to be having a private conversation.

“Ugh! Cockblocked by another big brother and- HEY! You’re hoarding sodas? Gimme!” Sydney exclaimed, diving forward.

Madison smirked, allowing Gabriel control.

Gabriel with deft movements, swiped the bottle out of Sydney’s reach, shoving her back.

“Cockblocked? What I did was for your own good brat,” Gabriel chuckled, voice still coming from the radio.

Sydney jumped and grabbed in futile, scowling. “Gabriel, you embarrassed me and went totally overboard with the threats!”

“I only threatened him an adequate amount…”

“You said, and I quote; ‘Put a hand on her and I will shove your teeth so far down your throat you’ll have to stick your toothbrush up your ass to clean them’! Like, what the shit?! Who even says stuff like that?”

Madison laughed, watching the two bicker with each other.

Outside, Bo and Lester finished their talk.

Lester, gave one last guilty look Sydney’s way before hopping in his truck and driving away.

Bo turned his attention back to the station, watching the girls laugh and fool around inside.

He supposed maybe he could keep the girls around for awhile, especially keep around the blondie for Lester since his brother had clearly gotten too attached to their prey. Then again, Bo had to admit he got a little attached himself.

This Emily character was entertaining, a good conversationalist and overall a real cutie.

It’ll be a shame once they kill them but the brothers couldn’t just spare every pretty face that came by.

Bo took out his phone, calling a number.

“Hey Vince, ya got company comin’ your way…”

———————————

(One more Sinclair brother to go~)

[otherworldseekers]

FFXIVwrite2024 Day 1: Steer

WoL x Nero 534 words Domestic Fluff

“Bolt.”

Severia plucked the requisite article from the tray of the tool box and placed it in Nero’s outstretched palm. 

“Nut.”

She performed the procedure again and watched Nero’s arm disappear back underneath the Red Baron. It was time for the Baron’s annual maintenance (assuming it hadn’t needed maintenance before a year had passed, which was rare) and rather than invading a lingering Castrum to perform the operation (as they had last year), this time Nero had taken the time to build himself a huge repair installation in the yard of their new house in the Lavender Beds. (It had, naturally, required invading multiple Castrums to obtain all the materials, but he insisted it would save them time in the future.)

Severia wasn’t thrilled about it. The thing was huge and stood out like a giant Magitek construction in their otherwise peaceful and pleasantly arranged yard. And seeing it out of the corner of her eye when she was trying to enjoy her rock garden was perhaps not conducive to the serenity she was attempting to cultivate. But he had just been so incredibly excited about it.  And Twelve knew she was incapable of resisting him when he got like that. 

Nero emerged from the underside of the Red Baron futilely wiping his hands on an already grease stained rag. Her eyes were quickly drawn to the satisfied grin on his likewise grease stained face. 

“Finished?”

“Indeed.” He tossed the rag over his shoulder and stood back to survey his handiwork. “Good as new. Better, in fact. Shall we go for a joyride?”

“You do realize you’re absolutely filthy, right?”

He turned to her and smirked. “You’ve some rather adorable smudges yourself.”

Severia’s hands shot to her face.

“No, you’re just making it worse,” he told her with a chuckle. Nero grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him. And then booped her on the nose, laughing when her face scrunched up. “How about you steer yourself upstairs and run a bath for us. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve shut down the station.”

Severia couldn’t help her own smile. Soaking in the tub together was one of her favorite things. “All right.”

“And thank you for your help.”

“I hardly did anything.”

“Ridiculous. Having to emerge every time I need a new tool or part is the most tedious and frustrating part of repair work. And you never make a mistake. You always know what I need.”

“Well, it’s all very meticulously labeled.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Darling.” He leaned down and bumped their noses together. “You know how I feel about that.”

“Sorry,” she said and truly meant it. He was always going out of his way to show his appreciation for her. Perhaps because he knew how it felt to not be appreciated and he never wanted her to feel that way. “I enjoyed helping.”

Which was true. She loved being able to help him. And she loved watching him happily working and humming to himself. 

“All right then,” Nero said and gave her a quick pat on the behind. “Off to the bath with you.”

“Don’t be long.”

“And miss the part where you take your shirt off? Never.”

Thanks for reading!

[mirkwoodshewolf]

Creepy crawlies; Jack Kline x reader

*Author’s note*

Okay so this is a cute little drabble/small fic requested to me just recently by an anon who wanted some Jack Kline fluff. Took me two days but I came to this idea in the end so I hope you enjoy it anon as well as the rest of my lovely readers.

Warnings: Fluff, bugs, mentions of SPN episode 1x08 BUGS (that episode STILL gives me the heebie-jeebies). 

Taglist:

@plethora-of-things​

@waddles03​

@psychosupernatural​

@jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels​

@queen-paladin​

@queensdivas​

@gay-and-ready-to-cry​

_________________________________________________________

It was that time of year, well the first time we ever had to deal with something like this.  And of course Sam and Dean had to bail out on a ‘case’ but I knew my brothers just wanted to get out of doing the one thing that everyone does.

Spring cleaning.

Ever since we found the Bunker and decided to make it our permanent home, this place needed a serious scrub down and clean up. Cobwebs, dust, new bed sheets, incense (mainly for me) to be put up to get rid of the ancient smell.  So every spring, I try to ensure that this bunker doesn’t end up like it was when we first found it.

Of course that means my brothers always try to get out of it (mainly Dean I just think Sam prefers to do the minor cleaning instead of what I have in mind).  And Cass…..well he chooses to go up to heaven every time I say it’s time clean up the bunker. The only person kind enough to help out around here is my beau Jack.

Using my powers, the bookshelf glowed blue and I lifted it up allowing Jack to vacuum underneath it while I brought in a swifer to swipe off each and every book from any dust bunnies.

“I don’t see why my brothers and Cas always try to bail out on Spring cleaning. I’m the one doing the heavy lifting.”

“I’ve noticed a trend that most people don’t enjoy spring cleaning because it’s so boring to do. That unlike normal cleaning, there’s an expectation for things to be so clean, that you’re supposed to see yourself in the floor. Which I don’t get.” Jack told me as he continued his vacuuming.

“I maybe a neat freak but I’m not Danny Tanner level of tidiness. All I want is to make sure we don’t neglect this place and end up in a dust field again. Seriously Jack you cannot begin to understand just how quickly my allergies began to act up when the guys and I first found this place. Bedridden for over a week, and that was before I got these powers.”

“I’m sorry baby. Had I been born yet, I would’ve stayed at your side to take care of you.”

“And that’s why I love you soo much Jackie-bear. You’re too sweet.” After dusting off the last book and once Jack was done vacuuming, he moved out of the way and I set the bookshelf back in it’s place.  I turned and with a snap of my fingers and all the books, notes, files and even Dean’s plates he had left since breakfast all raised up into the air and went to their original places.

“You’re like Mary Poppins.” He said with a smile.

“Well if I am, then that makes you my Burt. Come on, let’s head for the kitchen. Lord knows Dean forgot to do the dishes, again.” He followed behind me and right as we got to the kitchen, there I saw dishes upon dishes stacked in the sink, frying pans still on the oven covered in left over eggs and grease.  “That man never learns.”

“Why does he leave his dishes out like that?”

“Cause he’s lazy. Do you mind stacking the dishwasher while I deal with the grease pans and the oven?”

“Not at all baby.” I pecked his cheek while I walked over and wish a twist of my wrist, the frying pans lifted off the oven while the cleaning supplies came out from the top shelf cabinet on the island counter.  

While the spray bottle filled with Clorox bleach squirted out a few good sprays and the rag did a throughout wipe down, I focused my attention on cleaning the frying pans of the oils and grease from the bacon and sausages Dean had made for breakfast and tossed the leftover egg crumbs into the trash.

“Do you know when the last time Sam took the trash out?” I asked Jack.

“I believe I saw him collect all the trash last night.”

“Well at least he can keep up with the chores. I swear maybe I could use these powers to control Dean and make him scrub all the toilets in this bunker.”

“As funny as that would be to see, I know you’d never use your powers against your brothers.” He said as he dried off one of my good cups with a towel and set it alongside the rack we had for the special dishware.

“Yeah, yeah. But for real, he should at least have the decency to at least rinse off his pans after breakfast. Grease that sits out for too long stains these types of pans, and it’s a hassle to clean up later.”

“I believe you (Y/n).”

“But at least I’m getting it done, otherwise it’d never—” I paused mid-sentence as my body completely froze.  My heart raced and my eyes widened as I stared directly at it. It’s many legs all splayed out making it look like a living dust bunny on pointy legs.

The pots and cleaning supplies fell to the ground with a loud bang and I let out a scream and levitated myself into the air trying to get as far away from the little demon as possible.

“What?! What is it (Y/n)? Are you okay!?”

“Kill it quick!” I yelled at Jack.

“Kill what? Where is it? Is it a demon?”

“Yes now quickly before it gets away!”

“Where is it?”

“Over there!” Jack’s eyes soon glowed and he turned to where I was pointing but as he raised his hand, his eyes went back to normal color as he looked around confused.

“Where did you say it was?”

“What are you blind babe!? I told you over there on top of the oven! Kill it with your powers! Torch it! Torture it I don’t care just get rid of it!” he looked around until he seemed to have found what it was. He walked closer to it and he reached out his finger toward it.

“You mean this? But it looks like a dust bunny or a…..” but quickly it began to move and I let out another scream as I shot myself against the corner of the kitchen.

“Don’t touch it! Those bastards are fast now kill it hurry!”

“What is it exactly?” he asked me.

“A house centipede! Jack I’m not playing anymore please just kill it hurry!” I watched as the demonic centipede stopped crawling and was now just short of reaching a hiding spot behind the fridge.  Jack looked between me and the house centipede and a smile came across his face before he started to laugh.

He was laughing. My own boyfriend was laughing at my own misery!?

“Jack Kline stop laughing!” I demanded.

“I’m sorry. Really I am but…..(Y/n), you have fought against real demons, archangels, werewolves, vampires, even my own grandfather. And you’re terrified of a tiny little thing like him?”

“Tiny? Tiny!? Do you see the legs on that monstrosity!? Now for the last time get rid of it before it touches me!”

“Okay, okay.” He went over to grab a cup as well as paper towel.

“What are you doing?!” I hissed.

“Getting rid of it like you asked.”

“Not like that! You can’t show mercy to those little bastards! Use your powers and kill the son of a bitch!” I hissed quietly.

“But you told me that all living creatures deserve a chance at life, didn’t you?” I groaned.

“Well yes but that doesn’t include bugs, arachnids, snakes, or any other kind of creepy crawlies!” Jack rolled his eyes and successfully captured the house centipede and he left the kitchen with it between the cup and paper towel.

A few minutes later he came back and he told me it was gone.

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes, I even took him away from the bunker before releasing him. Now can you please come down?” I let out a soft whimper but lowered myself back to the ground.  He came over to me and wrapped his arms around me in a hug, allowing me to rest my head on his shoulder.  “I still can’t believe you’re scared of bugs. How did I not know of this?”

“Don’t mock me! Besides you weren’t even there when it happened.” I shuddered remembering that day all too well.

“When what happened?” I took in a shaky breath before telling him.

“A long time ago, long before we knew that angels and God were even real, my brothers and I took a case in some realtor development spot. A neighborhood was being built on sacred Native American grounds. Workers were being picked off one by one, at first we thought it was ghostly activity but it was far worse. The entire place was cursed, and the curse was affecting all the insects in the town. By night fall, a swarm of bees had surrounded the family that was responsible for building the neighborhood over the sacred lands. I—I had never seen so many bees in my life. We had no way of escaping, we were completely trapped and had to last the rest of the night being stung and swarmed by bees. Ever since that day, I even see the shape of an insect and I just go back to that day. A defenseless, frightened child being stung and swarmed by bees and no way of escaping.”

Jack listened intently at every word I had to say.  For months after that day, I had continuous nightmares of what happened. Even dreamt that it was other bugs attacking me from wasps, locusts, even spiders and ants.  Ever since then I’ve been absolutely terrified of any and every bug in the world.

“Wow, I—I had no idea. I’m so sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry for teasing you about it. I promise I won’t ever bring it up again.”

“Thanks Jackie-babe.”

“Anything I can do to help you?”

“I could go for some ice cream with chocolate syrup and some cuddles on the couch while we watch the Princess Bride.”

“As you wish.” He said quoting the movie before giving me a peck on the nose.  I left the kitchen and brought out the blankets and changed my clothes to my comfy pjs while searching for the movie on one of the many streaming services we got.

When Jack came back with my ice cream, we cuddled up on the couch together, my back resting against his chest with his arms wrapped around my stomach and his head buried into my neck.  I ate the ice cream as the movie began, I even offered a couple of bites to Jack as we lay there and watched my favorite comfort movie.  Forgetting all about the demon-legged creature that traumatized me moments ago.