#and i have a red flannel shirt and i am in shadows a little

[princesademian]

Castiel is going back and forth on the tree’s swing. All he can hear is the soft singing of the birds on the backyard.

Suddenly, tearing the silence, Cas hears tires on the asphalt. He smiles fondly and gets up, heading to the interior of the house. As he walks to the door, the whistle of his name becomes clearer. Once again, a soft, but even happier smile appears on his face.

The blue-eyed man opens the door and standing there, carefree, is a pair of beautiful green eyes. “Whistling my name”, he thinks.

— Cas.

— Dean. — He responds and let the new arriver come in.

So familiarized with the place, Dean walks directly to the kitchen and grabs a beer.

Cas in standing on the door frame, watching him.

— COD? — Dean asks, to what Cas agrees.

Both of them are on the living room, Cas on the sofa and Dean right on his feet drinking his long neck.

Castiel is wearing a cyan polo shirt, which matches his livid eyes. He pays attention in the game, trying to understand, for the fifth time, how exactly it works.

Dean, otherwise, wears a red flannel shirt and heavy boots.

They are so used to it. Meeting every afternoon. Waking up and the other’s face being the first thing they see in the day. Talking until the sleep beats them.

The sun is so hot outside; it’s one of these summers. However, a fresh breeze runs into the house and the tree’s shadows make the place a little bit cooler.

Cas is flushing as he watches Dean’s neck and hair. And he blushes even more when suddenly Deans leans back to kiss him, pushing Cas to the floor with him.

— I won. — Dean says happily.

— You are the best! — Cas whispers as he puts his hands on Dean’s back, trying to stand up.

— I am, right!?

One second before he closes his eyes for eternity, Cas dreams.

[…]

— It's you, it's you. — Cas says all at once. — It’s all for you… everything I do. — He points to his own chest.

In the next moment, Dean’s face is in between Cas’s hands.

The green-eyed man looks so fragile and exposed. So weak, differently from his usual.

— I tell you all the time. — Cas whines.

It is so hard for the angel to understand the feelings of the Earth’s man. He knows he loves him; so what is the big deal?

He can’t tell but, looking in those green eyes, which usually looks clear but now seen insurmountable, Castiel feels that there is something he can’t change.

And this makes him want to cry; he can change so many things, he can create and destroy. He can save people from hell. But why he can’t make someone loves him? No, it is not that, he thinks, why he can’t admit what he feels?

— Heaven is a place on Earth with you.

And this make Dean cries.

Because our hands are always almost touching, Cas thinks, but we never hold them. And we both know, honey pie, we both know;

— I have fallen from grace because of you, Dean. I gave everything for you!

“They say the word was made for two”, Castiel heard this from a singer named Carmen on his first days on Earth. He didn’t understood it and got even more confused when she added, in a low drunk tone, only worth living if somebody is loving you.

“How could it be?”, he thought back then, that living is only worth it if there is love?

And then it happened. And he got it. Deep on his heart, soul and mind. In every corner of his body, in every material that composed him.

The earthly Dean Winchester.

The nights hunting things, “family business”, Dean used to say. An important job, he said. But, oh, what he truly loved were the easy nights singing in old bars, playing pool and wild darts. All those posters of old stars, blurred by the time; how nostalgic he felt. It matched him, he thought.

Dean would stare at these posters in some fucked up dreamy way. As if he would, or wanted to, die young and this is how people would see and remember him: a beautiful happy smile frozen in time. Still beautiful, still Dean Winchester, people would think.

For Cas, otherwise, it was about how content Dean was. The half hugs, while drunk, that Dean gaved him. Oh, Cas looking up the skies — thinking of his old home, trying to see it — and him came, hugged him from back and told him to go back inside. And Castiel went, always.

(…)

And then, Dean was looking so confused while listening to Cas’s speech.

— Why does this sound like a goodbye?

He couldn’t shed a tear for how disassociated he was. It was not happening and it couldn’t be a goodbye.

— Because it is. — And, in Cas eyes, there where tears.

“This can’t be happening”, Dean thinks as in a pray.

— I love you.

Total silence. Dean’s mind is blank; but his whole body is cold and weak. “I love you too”, a tiny, but convinced voice, says inside of Dean.

But it is too late, he is already on the floor and a disgusting black goop is revolving Castiel. The last thing he does is smile fondly at Dean.

(…)

The flames are consuming his body.

And he sees nothing.

(…)

There is blood coming out from his mouth; and a huge pain on his chest.

Carmen’s voice echoes softly in his head:

They say that the world was built for two

Only worth living if somebody is loving you

And, baby, now you do.

He closes his eyes for the last time.

[inplateaus]

i have of picture of myself that i really like

[haruhey]

Point Of View

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Word count: 4.5k

Established Relationship Fluff !! | Smut | Filth February Prompt 1

You’re self-conscious about the weight you’ve gained since coming to Alexandria. Daryl endeavours to change that.

or

i wrote this on my period and was in my feels. i will not apologize for who i am. this is just a warning.

or

I wanna love me  The way that you love me For all of my pretty And all of my ugly too I'd love to see me from your point of view

It’s been a while.

It’s been a while since anything normal, really.

It’s just been survival for all you can remember, but it’s not anymore.

You don’t need to survive anymore. You can live now. There are children running around on the sun-heated concrete, garden plots lined with lettuce heads and vines that hang with ripe red tomatoes. Daryl - your Daryl, with his rough hands that hold you like an expensive china - hunts almost every day, bringing Aaron to fill the silence of buzzing cicadas, and returns with his rope miled long with caught squirrels.

And sometimes, on the off-chance Denise gives in to Daryl’s subtle persuasion, he brings you beneath the expanse of pine and birch, stealing kisses in the peace between the shots you let out from his crossbow. You’re his rabbit’s foot, he’d told you, body leant forward with the effort of carrying a dead hulking elk you’d pinned between the eyes, and the next time you went with him, you did it again.

Lightning never struck the same place twice, but you’re pretty damn lucky, all things considered.

It’s been good. And maybe - just… maybe - it’s even been a little too good.

You’ve got a bed - it makes your heart swell, too, knowing you get to share it with Daryl - hot water, home-cooked food, and you don’t have to be on your feet all the time anymore. You don’t have to risk your life finding supplies, run for miles to escape a hoard or less-than-friendly people, and your body is starting to show it.

It’s been a while since you’d had thoughts like these.

Standing in front of the mirror, you take in the sight of the woman staring back at you. She’s dressed like you are - one of Daryl’s shirts drops loose along her shoulders, her skin shining and shadowing underneath the moonlight - and you watch as she bunches the soft flannel in her hands, lifting it from her body until it exposes the overhang of her belly.

She’s not you. You don’t look like that.

She can’t be.

But she is, because when you drop one of your hands to the flesh there and take it between your fingers, she does it too, and you can see the same lump form in her throat at the warmth of skin which bulges between her thumb and forefinger. Letting go, you swallow down your dejection, spreading your palm over your stomach and sucking in, watching it recede to the state you’re so much more used to seeing it in.

“What’re ya doin’, sunshine? ‘S late.”

Whipping your head to the sleep-slurred voice, you drop the flannel from your grasp, smoothing it over your stomach and wiping your hands on your thighs before easing a smile on your face. Daryl’s standing lent along the doorframe, one arm propped up on it to keep his head from meeting the angular wood, and you can’t help but think of how perfect he looks.

His hair is a mess of hickory - stuck at odd angles from his slumber just moments ago - but his body looks like it was carved by Bernini himself. Why had he chosen you when anyone would have fallen for his wide shoulders and muscular torso? When his lips could be so soft and his work-weathered fingers could be so kind?

“Noth- nothing. Just go back to bed.”

You can’t see the way his eyes narrow at the stutter, but it doesn’t matter as he rubs the sleep from them and walks over to you, his long legs tapering out from the loose boxers that still manage to fit snug around his thick thighs. Daryl stands behind you, sliding his arms around your body to link at the front, and even still a little tired, he doesn’t miss the way you lift slightly to keep his body from resting flush against yours.

“Y’sure nothin’s wrong? ‘Sides, can’t sleep without ya.”

Grabbing his hands, you link your fingers in his, running your thumb over his knuckles before turning around and pressing a kiss to his lips. You feel good - you always do, sweet like he’s never been able to experience before - but he can tell something is off. You’re woven so deep into his being that he could recognize your uncertainty even if he was slurred drunk.

“Yeah. It’s- don’t worry about it.”

When you go to pull away, Daryl only holds you tighter, digging his head into the crook of your neck and kissing lightly, hoping to crumble your built wall of uncertainty with the careful constellation he outlines with his lips. You melt for him, but still, you squirm as his hands rest on your stomach, and when he feels you try to press your palms into his - feels you try to pull focus from the soft give of flesh he loves to feel - that’s when it clicks in his brain.

“Hey, y’know you can tell me anythin’, right? Whatever’s goin’ on, I can tell it ain’t just nothin’. Ya don’t lose sleep over ‘nothin’’.”

And he just sounds so safe to you. Like you could tell him all your deepest secrets, and the only thing he’d do would be absolve you - like he would drink your confessions down and turn them into something that only blossoms into adoration. You hate it, the fact you want to tell him despite you knowing your thoughts lean more towards stupid than not, but his blue eyes are home to you and they’re just so warm as they look at you from the reflection in the mirror.

“Do you- do you think I’m pretty?”

You sound smaller than you expect, but Daryl responds almost immediately, stepping in front of you and blocking you from the sight of the mirror. He hates the way you’re looking at yourself - hates the way your question drops from you as if he would think you were anything but perfect - and he takes your face into his hands, running his thumb along your cheek before speaking.

“I think you’re beautiful, sunshine. Thought you were the prettiest person in the damn world when I first saw ya. An’ I still do.”

Swallowing, you look down from his face, your arm sliding across your torso and bunching the shirt that now fits better than it did when you first took it in your hands, lifting it just under your chest and looking back up at him.

“Even… even with, uh, this? ‘Cause, before, when- when we first met, I know I wasn’t-“

Your words are cut from your throat when he takes your hand and places it against his half-hard cock, making your whole body stutter for a second with the way he rasps out an answer.

“This answer your question?”

The contact isn’t unwelcome. Daryl loves with his whole being: heart, body and soul, and he’s physical - your touch is his heaven as his is yours. It causes a rush of heat to lick up your body, and when he presses your hand harsher against his, you can’t help but go to grab at him, his length hardening in the warmth of your palm.

“Jesus, sunshine. You’re talkin’ like y’ain’t been all I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout since the prison.”

His hand is still gripped around your wrist as he speaks, and he tugs it slightly as he walks forward, each step backing you into the counter behind you. When your lower back bumps against the granite, it similarly knocks the breath from your lungs despite the contact being so soft.  

“Been all I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout since we got to Alexandria.”

It knocks the breath from you, and his whisper is almost a pure heat that lights you up. Daryl pushes his hips forward, advancing and advancing until there’s no space separating the heat of your body from his. It knocks the breath from you because he slips his fingers from your palm, and his greedy hands slide underneath your shirt, unbuttoning and throwing it onto the counter before he returns in a desperate search to touch every inch of your body.

“You’re so damn beautiful it hurts sometimes.”

His face dips then, words weighing heavy with their reverence, and yours heats up at his persistent attention. His fingers spread flush against your back and he pulls you into him, your head flustering from the onslaught of feeling as you steady yourself, and your hands clip like magnets to the bare front of his body, the pressure of your momentary hold making him groan.

“Let me show ya.”

Pressing his lips against the column of your neck, Daryl’s voice lingers in your head, his deep gravel dragging deliciously against each and every groove of your brain, and you tilt your head away, giving him more space in a selfish hope he’ll keep lavishing you.

“Ya gon’ let me show ya, huh, sunshine?”

You swallow the lump of lust in your throat just so you can speak, rewarding his efforts of leaving you a love-slick neck with nods of your head, each one more fervent than the last. His desire swells for you - makes other parts of him swell, too - and when you whine your permission in that voice which must be temptation itself, he hooks his hands beneath your thighs, uncaring of the counter’s ledge which roughs against his knuckles like a jealous lover.

He can’t care when he hoists you into the air, making a show of his strength with how little effort it takes for him to hold you as you press your face to the hiding spot of his neck, because he’s too busy basking in the way your arms tighten on either side of his body as he walks you both to bed. The night’s not young - he’ll have to take a nap tomorrow afternoon to make up for the sleep he’ll lose waking up for his usual morning hunt - but it’s all fucking worth it if he gets to spend it with you.

The second his knees hit the wooden bed frame, he leans forward, letting your back hit the dull gray sheets of your shared comforter before he’s clawing at your underwear. There’s a feral look in his eye - a lust so deep you’re scared you’ll drown in it if you watch him for too long - and in a second, he’s pulling off the cotton, the fabric lying limp in his palm as if it knew this was to be its fate, thrown away in a torrent of lust-fueled movements.

“Can I touch ya like this?”

You nod, an instinctual spread of your legs - an invite, extended from you to him only, a declaration of your trust and vulnerability - surging forward without the need of his question.

“Please.”

Just that word is enough to make him need for you, and right now, Daryl’s pretty damn happy his body woke up at the emptiness he’d felt from your side of the bed. Right now, he’s pretty damn happy he’d had half the sense to walk in silent search of you instead of calling your name. Right now, he’s pretty damn happy he’d admired you from the door and watched you lift his shirt, exposing each tantalizingly soft curve of your midsection despite the fact he felt just the littlest bit like a peeping Tom at the way his cock stirred from the sight because you’re letting him touch you.

Beneath the brown of his uncut bangs - you’d have to take some scissors to them soon, since they hide too much of his handsome face from you - he smiles at you, shaking the hair from covering his eyes before holding you apart for him and kneeling at the foot of the bed, his joints cracking at the movement. You giggle at the sound, receiving a playfully annoyed glare from him before you feel your thighs being pulled by his large hands.

Your back drags along your cotton sheets until the edge of the mattress is resting just below your ass, and his beard tickles your skin as his lips map out the length of your legs. Each one of his kisses are so familiar - each one is so comforting and affectionate despite the burn of lust in his eyes - and he slides his hands up the sides of your anticipation-squirming body, his mouth pressing messily against your inner thigh.

“I’m gon’ make ya feel good. Gon’ show ya how much I love your body. Gon’ make sure y’ain’t never doubtin’ how pretty ya are.”

Daryl’s voice rumbles against your skin, deeply-woven determination making you buck your hips up to him in offering, and he takes both your hands, linking his fingers in yours before burying his head between your legs. His tongue spears and laps, flattens against you and laves as it satiates the way he starves for you, and it's too dextrous, too practiced to the preference of your body. You’re sensitive - the overwhelming emotions from feeling wanted making your body cry out for him - and you repeat his name like a prayer, tightening your hold on his hands and clenching around him.

Though his jaw is cramping up and his tongue isn’t long enough to hit that spot he knows makes you gush around him, he doesn’t want to unlace his fingers from yours. Not when you hold him like a tether to reality and you’re soaking down his chin as he tries his best to lap all of you up, but when you whimper for him, begging him to fill the emptiness you’re desperate to not feel anymore, nobody can say Daryl Dixon doesn’t treat you right.

His touch is immediate, rubbing and massaging open your soft thighs which have warmed each side of his head, and they slip into you when you plead him for it, one hand gripping the unruly locks atop his head. He curls them then, thick fingers reducing you to a puddle with the press against those sensitive spots you can’t quite reach with your own.

It’s always him, the only one who can do this to you, and it’s always you, the only one he’s ever wanted to do this to.

Your climax is near, your flexing abdomen is telling you so, and when he pulls away to encourage you, his voice like a liquor you drink yourself drunk with, you hit it full-force, pulling at his hair with your trembling hands. It’s so intense - you can feel the way he pours the depths of what he feels for you into treating you right - and even through it’s lust that lies heavy in the air, affection swirls through his actions, drawing out the sickeningly saccharine feeling of adoration from your chest.

Crying out Daryl’s name, you tug at him again, trying to pull his skillful tongue from the way he laves and laps, but his eyes harden, squinting and obeying you only enough to speak.

“Want me to fuck ya, sunshine?”

The gruff swear of him and how serious he sounds draws out a sharp breath from you, and it makes your body light up again, telling him your answer with a flutter around his fingers before he sees you nodding.

“Please- please, Daryl.”

Your voice is hoarse when it hits his ears, and he takes the hand clasped in his, sliding it down and opening it until your hand rests flush against your tummy. His rests flush on the top of yours, and you can feel the way your body reacts to the slow pump of his fingers. You’re climbing already, still sensitive from your last release and the fact he’d never really let you settle from it, and you can hear him shuffling, knees knocking against your bare floors as he tries to press as close as physically possible despite the wood of the bedframe pressing into his chest.

“Then gimme one more. Wanna see one more from your beautiful body.”

And before you can even processes the first five syllables, you’re rutting up into his face, the force of your climax almost pushing his fingers out of you at the waves of molten fire rolling across your body, but he’s persistent, resting his palm against you when his tongue returns to gather all you have to offer. He groans at the way your hand grips at your stomach for reprieve, a pang of wet hot arousal making his cock throb pathetically in his boxers from the sight of the flesh gathering between your fingers and spilling over, and he wants desperately for his mouth to replace your hands.

He wants to kiss your flexing stomach - he wants to give you enough attention there and more until there’s no doubt in that pretty little mind of yours that you’re nothing less than perfect to him - and when you whine for him to fuck you, he sticks his fingers in his mouth and licks them clean before pushing up onto his feet and kneeling back onto bed. The mattress dips with his weight, and your release-muddled brain only registers that he’s on it when he takes both your hands in his and presses his lips up against both of them.

You want to kiss him - want to taste yourself on him, his touch against even your fingers make your desire tenfold - but Daryl’s moving you up the bed, comforter thrown askew on his side from when he’d awoken to the cold emptiness you were supposed to be occupying, and you maneuver with his urgings, the need to be full of him taking over your thinking.

He gets off the bed for only a second, and as you watch him strip from his boxers, you spread your legs, propping yourself on your elbows and swallowing down your saliva when he takes his cock into his hand, running himself in a stroke and blowing out a breath when your spit and arousal slick thighs shine with the moonlight streaming in through the windows. He loses himself in his staring, admiring your body on display for him, and it takes you calling out to him to break him out of his reverie, softly chucking out a response before he joins you on bed.

“Sorry, sunshine. Was jus’ admirin’ the view. Can’t help it. Looks perfect, y’know that?”

He presses a kiss against one of your knees then, watching the way you fluster from his compliment and your eyes scramble from his, and he bends down, lying heavy on your thigh in order to grab your chin lightly and tilt your face to look at his.

“Think I’d lie to ya?”

You know he doesn’t - Daryl knows you know he doesn’t - and it just makes him… angry at the fact you don’t believe his words. Not at you. No, never at you, but at the world, he supposes. It’s not your fault the it wasn’t kind to you even before all this, and he hates that he can’t make you change your mind about yourself.

But he’d promised to show you how much he loves you - body and all, whether you weighed a buck 25 soaking wet or not - and he’s determined to do so.

“I think you’re gorgeous. An’ I ain’t never gon’ stop thinkin’ that. I’d be an idiot if I did.”

Pressing a sloppy kiss against your lips, he swallows down your whine as his thumb slides over your cheek and other hand notches himself at your entrance. When he pulls away, your hands thread through his hair, holding him to you as your voice pleads for more of him, and he watches your face contort when he pushes.

Inch by inch, he pushes into you, and his gaze never falters from the way your mouth falls agape and your eyes screw shut at the stretch. When his hips rest flush against yours - it was slow, it always is. He doesn’t want to hurt you, and your heart swells with love for him - he slides his hand up your body, and when they make contact with the flesh you were scrutinizing, he slowly starts to massage. You want to go and stop him, that voice of insecurity making you think the action makes Daryl want to grimace, but a little part of you wants him to keep going.

“Open your eyes, sunshine. Want- want ya to see what I’m seein’. Want ya to see how much of a good girl ya are for me.”

He’s moving now, a careful in and out making you writhe against the bedsheets with his words, and he groans at the way you tighten around him, your wet warmth making his brain fall deeper into enamour with you. Pulling his upper body up, Daryl rests your thighs around his waist and bites his lip at the sight of you, sweat-slick and so fucking responsive to each heavy push of him. He’s kneeling - fitting, since you look like a damn goddess spread out for him - and when he looks down at the mess the two of you are where you meet, he swears and bucks forward, a stutter throwing off his rhythm for just a few haphazard thrusts.

You want to see him, too. You want to watch the way his cock disappears into you and see the erotic sight of how you take him into yourself, but when you look down, the flesh of your stomach is moving with each drive of his hips against yours, and you don’t want to see that. He notices - with every sense of himself heightened, how could he not? - and he grabs your chin again, sliding his thumb across your lips in a gentle urge to let your eyes follow his, and when you do, the sight of his desperate shove makes you whimper.

“You’re perfect, sunshine. Don’t ever forget that.”

And despite everything - how lecherous and salacious right now is - your heart wells up in a crashing wave of love, and you claw at his forearm, fingers barely enough to wrap around the muscle lined bone. You nod along to his words because when he says it like that, so reverent in his belief, you can’t help but trust him.

“Can’t- can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout ya, y’know? Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout- ‘bout this.”

He moves both your hands to your abdomen, his grip spreading your fingers open so you can feel your own body move from each shove of him, and you whine Daryl’s name, you arch your back. Pressing your stomach into your own palm, he groans at the give of your softness, and he’s speaking before he can even think, sliding his thumb across you and firing alight at the way you indent.

“Can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout how- how safe ya are. Eatin’ everyday an’- an’ sleepin’ comfy in my arms.”

There’s a possession in his voice that makes you hazy - an obvious desire for you that clouds your thoughts - and when he brings his hand up to your mouth, pressing his thumb against your open lips, you slide your tongue across it, wetting it with your saliva before he pulls it away and brings it to swirl at where he meets you.

You keen then, bucking your hips up to his and gripping his forearm with both your hands, and he leans down, his thighs flexing in order to keep him stable enough for him to press his face closer to yours while still being able to draw those sloppy circles that make the two of you almost boil over.

“Don’t gotta get hurt no more. Don’t gotta- don’t gotta go on runs if ya don’ wanna. You’re safe, an’- an’ I love it. Safe an’ wit’ me.”

He presses his lips to yours then, kissing you with the greed of a lush downing his third nightcap, and you can feel the heat crawling up your neck, almost asphyxiating you. Daryl’s everywhere - his hands chase your skin, his tongue chases yours - and just one more wet shove of him has you clawing at his back, falling apart with a gasped moan that he can feel spreading down the length of his throat.

He drinks it down and hauls himself away, your legs threatening to trap him in you, but he knows he has to pull out. It’s dangerous - another shake of your body makes him burn - and in a second, he has his cock in his hand, the length of him coated in the remnants of your climax as he tugs to reach the same euphoria you’d reached already. You still clench as you watch him because he’s so frantic with each movement. He’s so hungry for it, and the moan of your name chokes off when he folds forward, covering your abdomen in spurt after spurt of him as his flexes, the amount never seeming to end.

Panting, you both take the time to catch your breaths, sticky skin pressed up against each other when he kisses you with the same awe he did the he first felt your lips, and he caresses your beautiful tummy, smiling into you when your hands just rest at his sides and don’t surge forward to move his.

“This is what ya do to me, y’know that? You’re ruinin’ me ‘cause I jus’ wanna do this all day.”

He whispers against you, lips traveling to your cheek before he tilts his head up and just takes in the sight of you - just adores you.

“So don’t think that shit, alright? Else I gotta bring ya here and remind ya the best I can.”

But you wouldn’t mind that. And neither would he.

You and Daryl both know his release rests on the flesh he'd caught you scrutinizing, but in an odd way, it’s perfect. It’s perfect, and when he presses one more kiss to your collarbone in that well-practiced signal to tell you he’ll clean you up, your hands thread through his hair and you feel like you could cry from the way he’s looking at you when you speak.

“I love you, Daryl. I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone.”

He blushes then - reds from chest up despite what had just occurred between the sheets of your shared bed - and he dips down to kiss you just one last time. He wants to stay here with you. He wants to worship you with his hands and mouth all over again, but he knows it’ll get uncomfortable, the spend of him on your skin. He always feels an odd sense of pride and guilt when he sees you like this, and despite the fact you always tell him that he doesn’t need to and that you like to feel him like that, he still whispers apologies into your ear, carefully wiping until your skin returns to that perfect shade of you.

It’s been a while since you’d had these types of thoughts, sure, but with your softly snoring Daryl curled around you, both your bodies wiped clean and feeling like jelly, you know it’ll be a while until he’ll ever let them pop up again.

»»———— ⊱

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[katymacsupernatural]

Not My Reality Final

Jensen Ackles x Reader

Story Summary: Y/N wakes up in a nightmare. Is it her new reality, or can she figure out how to fix it. How can she get pack to her husband Jensen?

Catch Up Here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Rain began to fall about two hours outside of Lawrence. Heavy, torrential rain quickly covered the road and made it hard to see. The SUV’s windshield wipers could barely keep up with the downpour. 

Everyone was quiet in the vehicle while Jensen’s full focus was keeping the SUV on the road. Lightning flashed in the sky, lighting up the surrounding landscape quickly before turning pitch black once again. Thunder quickly followed, loud enough to shake the glass windows.

“I’m not sure if we should keep going,” Jensen muttered, his shoulders tense, his energy drink forgotten beside him as he fought to keep the SUV from sliding off the road. “This storm is ridiculous.”

As much as you wanted to keep going, you had to agree with him. This storm was dangerous, and it wasn’t worth putting you at risk. But you had no idea where you were exactly, or if there was anywhere safe enough to pull over. 

“Any idea where we are?” Jared asked, holding his phone up. “I’ve got no service.”

Jensen tossed his phone to Jared, who shook his head. “No service. No idea where we are. I guess we just go slow.” 

He had the SUV going at a snail’s pace, but it still fishtailed on the flooded road. Lightning flashed over the car, thunder immediately following. This was the worst storm you had ever been in, and you couldn’t help but be a little scared.

Jensen was a talented driver, but you could tell this storm was affecting him also. His jaw was clenched as he glanced over to Jared again. “How far away from Lawrence do you think we are?”

For a moment, it felt as if you were once again back in an episode of Supernatural. Jensen manning the steering wheel as Dean, Jared giving directions, sitting in the passenger seat. Your character, in her spot in the backseat. If only this was the Impala and not the SUV.

“I have no idea. Maybe half an hour or so.” Jared didn’t seem very convinced about his answer.

The air inside and out of the SUV was charged with electricity. The hair on your arms stood straight up, your heart starting to race. Your vision started to blur, and you called out to Jensen, not liking what was going on. “Jensen, please,” you pleaded, feeling as if your heart wanted to beat right out of your chest.

“Y/N, I’m a little busy keeping us on the road. Can’t it wait,” he muttered, not even glancing back. Jared turned as you leaned forward, his eyes widening. 

“Y/N are you feeling okay?” He asked as another flash of thunder filled the car. “You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Shaking your head, you tried unbuckling your car, but your arm refused to move. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’m scared.”

“Damn it,” Jensen exclaimed, suddenly pulling over and stopping the car. “What is it?”

Turning the cab lights on, his mouth opened and shut. Speechless. “What is it?” You asked. “Why can’t I feel my arms?”

“I can’t see them,” he whispered. “Y/N, you’re turning translucent.”

Peering down, you could see the seat straight through where your arm had just been. Terrified, you turned your attention back to Jensen. “What’s going on?”

“Maybe you’re going home,” Jared suggested. “Maybe this a good thing.”

That did put a smile to your face. “I hope so. I’m ready to see my Jensen.”

Turning in his seat, Jensen started to reach out when he remembered he couldn’t grasp your hand. “I know that your Jensen is really lucky to have you. I wish you all the best.”

With tears in your eyes, you gave in to the energy flowing through your system. Closing your eyes, you felt yourself drift away. Seconds ticked by before the weight of your body had you opening your eyes.

Two pairs of eyes stared at you. Beautiful hazel eyes shadowed by a long flop of hair. Then the familiar pine green eyes that you loved so much. Full of so much confusion. “Jensen? Is that really you?”

“Jensen? What the hell,” he muttered, his voice so much deeper, gravelly than normal. As your nerves settled slightly, you could notice the maroon flannel shirt he was wearing, the black t-shirt underneath. You were no longer in the SUV, and the sounds of the storm were no longer hurting your ears. 

“Where am I?” You asked, completely dismayed. Here you had been hoping to find yourself back in your Vancouver apartment.

“Emma, are  you okay?” They both asked again, using your character’s name.  Instead of answering, you stared past them, noticing the familiar design of the Bunker. The bookcases were completely full of empty texts. The prop knives and materials placed on top. You were sitting at one of the wooden tables. 

Cautiously peering up, you were expecting to see the open ceiling, the lights, and the bars of the sound stage. Instead, you were met with smooth plaster ceilings, completely meshed with the walls. “Not again,” you whispered, tears filling your eyes as your hopes dashed. 

Who you had thought of as Jensen, but was Dean, came crouching even closer, rubbing the back of his hand against your cheek. “Emma sweetheart, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost. Please, tell me. What’s wrong?”

Hastily brushing away tears, you gave him a slight smile. “You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try us,” Sam answered, scooting his chair closer. 

“I’m not Emma!” You blurted out. “My name is Y/N, and I play Emma. I’m married to Jensen. My Jensen and not that other one. But I was torn from my Jensen, tossed to the other Jensen, only to be thrown here. I have no idea what’s going on, I just know that I’m so tired. Of it, and of everything. I just want to go to sleep, and wake up and have everything be okay.”

Tears streamed down your face. Tears of frustration and despair. Of heartache and fear. Fear that you would never see your Jensen again. Or your house and the life you had made.

Dean pulled you into his arms, and while it wasn’t exactly the same as Jensen’s, it was still comforting. “Slow down, tell us everything.”

So you did. About your marriage to Jensen, and how everything had been perfect before being pulled away and thrown into utter chaos. You told him about somehow waking up in Austin, and finding out the person you were there was utterly horrible. You told them about driving towards Lawrence and the storm, and how you had slowly disappeared before Jared and Jensen’s eyes.

“Why don’t you go lay down and try to relax?” Dean suggested, eyeing his brother cautiously. “We’ll figure things out, I promise.”

Nodding, you let him guide you out of the library, and down the hallway. A hallway you had walked so many times before. But not as yourself, but as Emma. It felt so much different now. Slightly chilly, the marble tile cool and real under your fingers. “You can sleep in here for right now,” Dean guided you into his bedroom. Reaching into one of the drawers, he pulled out a ratty T-shirt and shorts. What your character normally wore to bed. “I’ll be back to talk in a little bit.”

Smiling at him, you clutched the clothes as he quietly shut the door behind him. 

The bed smelled of Dean, a deep musk mixed with gunpowder and whiskey. It was a mixture that you had always loved. Breathing deeply, you snuggled in, the scent lulling you to a much-needed sleep.

“We need to tell her,” you heard hush arguing as you slowly woke up. “She deserves to know.”

“Yeah, that’s a great awakening,” Dean muttered sarcastically. “But I do agree that she needs to know. Speaking of which, have you heard from Emma? It would be pretty awkward for her to show up, and see another version of herself sitting here.”

“No, nothing. It’s not like her to stay this quiet,” Sam answered. “You don’t think…,”

You opened your eyes to see both brothers in the corner of the room standing close together as they tried to whisper. “I don’t know what to think!” Dean raised his voice, glancing at you to see that you were awake.

“What are you talking about?” You yawned. “Is everything okay?”

Sam patted Dean on the shoulder. “I’ll leave this one up to you.”

He left the room, and Dean slowly came to stand by the bed while you slid up to a sitting position. “Can I sit?” He asked, nervously tugging on the red and grey plaid he had changed into. Nodding, you scooted your legs up, giving him room to sit on the comfortable mattress. “Is it about Emma? Is she okay?”

“We’re not sure,” he answered, his green eyes searched your face. “But that’s not our biggest problem.”

You could feel nervous energy settle through your system as you waited for the bad news to fall. It had to be bad news, that was the only reason he would be this unsure. You stayed quiet, waiting for him to talk, not sure if you wanted to hear anything. 

“This is the third reality you’ve been in,” he started. “Your original one, then the one with another Jensen and Jared. And finally, this one. Each place being an alternate reality of what Sam and I believe is this one.”

“That makes sense, I think,” you were having trouble wrapping your mind around it. “But…,”

He held up his hand and you let him continue. “We’re not sure why you’ve been transported between the three. Why you, and no one else. We’re also not sure if Emma switched places with you. We haven’t been able to get a hold of her for a good 36 hours now. And that’s not a good sign.”

You could see how that news was heartbreaking to him. Instinctively you reached out, threading your fingers through his. “This is what we do know,” his stared straight into your eyes as he continued. “Chuck is super annoyed with us right now.”

“Chuck?”

“I’m not sure what episode of our lives your filming,” he muttered sarcastically. “But here Chuck is now the big bad guy. Killing people, ruining everything. And right now, he is destroying things. Entire worlds.”

“Entire realities?” You gulped. “Including mine.”

“That’s what we’re thinking,” he answered softly. “I’m so sorry Y/N. I know that’s not the news you were hoping for.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, another one quickly joining. “And my Jensen?”

The pained smile on his face was all the answer you needed. Tears streamed down your face, your entire heart shattering in an instant. Dean pulled you into his arms, giving you as much comfort as he was taking for himself. “Do you think he’s dead?” You asked, sniffling. 

“I believe so,” he answered. “Chuck wasn’t gentle. And as much as it hurts now, there has to be a reason you were saved.”

You rested your hand on your belly, Dean’s gaze following it before his eyes widened. “Maybe that’s the reason.”

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82​ @acreativelydifferentlove​ @adoptdontshoppets​ @a-girl-who-loves-disney​ @akshi8278​   @bi-danvers0  @cap-just-said-language​ @colette2537​   @deansgirl215​  @flamencodiva​ @hamiltrash1411​ @its-not-a-tulpa​ @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​ @justanotherwinchester​ @just-another-winchester​ @karouwinchester​ @keikoraventeller​  @krys198478 @librarygeekery​ @magssteenkamp​ @misspygmypie​ @mlovesstories​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​  @mrspeacem1nusone​ @nothinbuttrouble2​ @ria132love​ @ruprecht0420​  @screechingartisancashbailiff​   @sortaathief​ @superseejay721517​ @squirrelnotsam​ @team-free-will-you-idjiot​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @torn-and-frayed​ @tricksterdean​ @wonderfulworldofwinchester​ @woodworthti666​ @beabutterfly987​ @pink-sparkly-witch​ @sexyvixen7​ @alwaysananglophile @supernatural3002​

Not My Reality Tags: @infinityspaceuniverse @supernatural3002 @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @thevelvetseries @lexeeehhh @erule

Forever Tags: @aditimukul @alexwinchester23 @algudaodoce03-blog @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove   @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @cpag7 @chelsea072498  @closetspngirl @deanwanddamons @caswinchester2000 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280   @tatted-trina6 @foxyjwls007 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek  @heartislubbingdubbing @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99blog @imsuperawkward @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @justsomedreaming @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice   @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @mogaruke @monkeymcpoopoo @musiclovinchic93  @nanie5   @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25   @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing  @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman   @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek   @thewinchesterchronicles​ @valsworldofcreativity @vvinch3st3r  @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes​ @zombiewerewolfqueen

[coconutstars]

Walking Away Part III

Part I  part II

Pairing: Stiles + reader   Summary: After having ignored all his calls, reader finally decides to hear Stiles out. The inspiration for this fic came from Wilson1128

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL AND THANK YOU FOR THE WONDERFUL RESPONSE! I’m literally a living crying emoji right now <3.  I’ve finally finished part 3. This part was supposed to involve smut but I’ve decided to post that separately incase there’s anybody out there that, you know, wants to end this story here. A little angsty, a little fluffy. Each to their own, am I right? So, to clarify, THE SMUTTY MAKE-UP SCENE WILL BE IN A SEPARATE NSFW PART.4. That is, if y’all are even interested in that?? Let me know.

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There was no escape. You needed your books and there was no way that was going to happen without Stiles seeing you. Partly because the hallway was practically empty but mainly because he was leaned up against your locker, head ducked down, anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists. You hadn’t properly looked at him since the night you walked away from him. You’d avoid his gaze in the hallway, advert your eyes whenever he walked into a room and looked in any direction but his during your shared classes.  But you were looking at him now. Really looking and it struck you how vulnerable he seemed. Almost defeated. A part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him. Pull him close, bury your face in the familiar curve of his neck and whisper that everything was okay.

But everything wasn’t okay. And Stiles wasn’t yours to comfort anymore.

Reluctantly you made your way over to your locker. As soon as he saw you, Stiles straightened up.

“Y/N” He sounded shocked, almost like he was surprised to see you. “What are you doing here?” you asked flatly, folding your arms over your chest. For a moment your eyes met, and a wave of emotions started seeping into your system. Hurt, longing, anger, comfort. You quickly fixed your eyes on a random mark on the wall. “I’ve tried to call you” he said in a low but clear tone. You shifted your bag from one shoulder to the other. “I know” “yeah, course...” his voice trailed off as he started drumming his fingers against his pants. That was usually a sign that he was trying to restrain himself from doing something he may end up regretting.

“Yeah, it’s just...” he began, really trying to hold it in but ultimately failing “when someone calls like… a thousand times, they probably have something important to say, you know?” There was so much frustration, despair and anxiousness in his voice you were genuinely taken aback. “Perhaps.” you said after a moment of silence. “but they might not deserve to be heard out”. Your tone was a lot harsher than you’d intended. Stiles looked wounded but nodded his head, it was a fair shot, and he knew it. “All I’m asking for is a chance Y/N.”

You thought for a moment. He’d tried to contact you so many times through texts, calls and notes you’d lost count. Ignoring him was hard. A part of you really missed him and it hurt like hell every time you had to delete a message or ignore yet another call. Perhaps if you talked to him, he would stop. All contact would end, and you could both move on. It’d be good for you. You’d eventually heal and meet someone new. Someone who could love you as much as you loved them. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. In reality you knew getting over Stiles would be impossible. You’d given him a piece of your heart and it would always be his, regardless if he wanted it or not.

Stiles was waiting for you to reply. You let out a sigh, already convinced you were making a huge mistake. “Fine, come over at eight”

Stiles showed up at 7.54. Although, you had a feeling he’d arrived on your street even earlier. Most likely parked somewhere out of sight, tapping the steering wheel restlessly as he waited for the digits on his watch to change.

He was wearing the dark red flannel he knew you loved, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans. “Hey” he said simply as you opened the door. You nodded in response and moved over to let him in before leading him up the stairs and into your room. You were standing across from each other, you with folded arms by the window and Stiles with his hands still stuck in his pockets by the door. 

“What do you want Stiles?”  He took a step forward.  “I want to apologize”. His honey-colored eyes were looking right at you, his gaze so intense you had to shift yours. “Okay” you replied shortly with a shrug, you were trying your best to sound unaffected but, on the inside, you were dying. It had just hit you that this could be the last time the two of you spoke to each other. You needed to wrap this up quickly or you’d start bawling your eyes out in front of him and that was not an option.   “Anything else? If not, I really have some homework to do” You snapped, feeling the familiar ache in your chest.  He took another step closer.  “I know you heard about what happened with Lydia at the party and-” You heart rate skyrocketed. There was no way in hell you were about to listen to him talking about hooking up with Lydia. You’d quite frankly rather stuff your ears with gravel and superglue them shut. “Yupp, Awesome. Good for you.” You interrupted, already on your way to usher him out of your room. “I wish you a both lifetime of happiness, thanks for stopping by” you rambled in distress, grabbing ahold of the handle. He placed his hands on your arms and spun you around. “Y/N shut up!” he said loudly in your face. 

You silenced in sheer surprise. “Nothing happened between Lydia and me! Nothing!” Like a deflated balloon, you let out a breath and looked up at Stiles, the panic now turning into confusion. “She kissed me and for a moment, yeah, I kissed her back-” You opened your mouth to say something but closed it again just as quickly. You weren’t sure what was happening right now. Your state of emotion had shifted way to quickly for your thoughts and mind to adjust. “-But nothing happened” Your brows knitted in confusion. How could he say nothing happened if he clearly just admitted to kissing her back? You wondered if this was some kind of poorly thought up method to soften the blow of being dumped. “That doesn’t make sense” you said with a headshake. “Stiles, you don’t have to have explain. I get it. You want to be with Lydia.” It really killed you to admit the last part. You couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to get the words out. You’d barely been able to think it, so to actually say it? You had a feeling you’d pay for it later though. You’d probably end up under the covers ugly crying until your head hurt and your skin burned from all the salty tears spilling from your eyes. “Can you please just go now?” your voice was barely a whisper.

Stiles ignored your request and shook his head in frustration. “I don’t want her Y/N. I don’t want Lydia.” This time when you looked up at him your eyes were narrowed in skepticism. What was this? What was he trying to do? “I don’t want Lydia because I want you” he clarified. Your mind still refused to understand what was going on. “No, Stiles. You chose her, you chose Lydia” His face twisted in frustration, his hands gesturing to emphasize his words. “Uh. No. You might not remember this, but you left me. I didn’t choose because there was no choice to make!” He practically yelled the last sentence. “you literally just told me I loved Lydia and broke up with me” You broke out into a laugh that lacked even the slightest trace of humor. Your emotional range now consisted solely of annoyed and angry. “So, you’re honestly going to tell me that you didn’t want to reply to that text?” Stiles practically exploded. “No! I didn’t and if you hadn’t been ignoring me for the past 100 years you would’ve known that”  “I’ve been ignoring you” you hissed through clenched teeth. “because you CHOSE LYDIA” 

Stiles shook his head in annoyance and turned around as if to talk to an invisible audience. “Nice, awesome. I see we’re really getting somewhere in this conversation” He took a deep breath before turning back to you. “No” he said, his tone and gestures slow and clear as if he were talking to a child. “I do not want Lydia because I want you. I love you Y/N Y/L/N” This time it was your turn to look away. You were literally screaming inside. This was all you’d wanted to hear since the two of you broke up. A part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until your lips hurt. But a part of you was scared. The pain you’d felt lately was something you never ever wanted to feel again. Despite if he’d meant it or not, Stiles had hurt you. He’d hidden the text from you. He kissed Lydia, and even if he insisted it’d meant nothing it still happened. And it could  happen again You thought about what he just said. I love you. You knew you loved him without a shadow of a doubt, but did he really feel the same? “Are you so sure about that?” you whispered, your anger being replaced with insecurity.

Stiles closed the distance between you, his gaze practically boring into you. Letting out a breath through your nose, you reluctantly lifted your eyes to meet his. His gaze flickered down to your lips before turning back to your eyes. “yeah, I’d say so” His voice was soft and raspy, like honey spiced scotch. You loved his voice. Always had. But there was something special about this particular tone. It was so smooth it automatically sent a warm tingle down your spine. His brow lifted slightly, his face only inches from yours.

“So, are we done fighting?”  

Grabbing a handful of his shirt you pulled him to you, your lips grazing his.

“You tell me Stilinski”

His arms wrapped around your waist, a grin curling his lips before hungrily crashing against yours. 

“Hell yeah” 

Taglist: @maggiecc @lola-bunny-00 @classyunknownlover

[jay-and-dean]

Firefly Chapter 9 : Twenty eight years old, Come what may

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary :  40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 5900

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it.

Firefly Masterlist

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

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9. Twenty years old : Come what may

Reader’s Pov

She opened her eyes in a gasp, almost like she had slept holding her breath. She put her hand on her chest and immediately, the smell of the bunker calmed her.

This was no Hell, and even if it had been, the Winchesters had made sure Hell would never be what it was before : No Lilith or Alastair, no Lucifer, no knight of Hell…

She let go of the pillow she was holding like she once used to hold Mister Teddy bear; and looked around at the grey room. A little smile appeared on her lips : Everything was perfect.

She didn’t own anything, since Lucifer didn’t really let her pack before locking her back in Hell, but Dean had made sure that her room was welcoming enough. A little alarm clock on the nightstand, next to her glass of water and little bag of candies, a few books behind her bed, because she had always loved books so much ; he had also given her a few extra pillows.

She looked at her open closet, smiling at the memory of going to buy clothes with Dean on the second day. He didn’t want to take the risk to take her far, so they went to the closest store in Lebanon, a tiny store, where only one pair of jeans suited her, so she had bought two of them, two shirts, a few underwears, and a pair of sneakers. But her perfect items were the one Dean had given her. She really didn’t need anything else.

She sat and looked down at her wrists, they were now healed from the deep wounds caused by years of tugging at the chains but a mark was left, a scar. She rubbed her thumb on it, wondering if it would stay, thinking of the books she had read about those people who suffered slavery, their scars couldn’t disappear…

Her eyes wandered in the dark, and the red light of the alarm made her frown, she shivered. 

6:28 am.

That meant the bunker would probably be silent... And silence wasn’t her favorite sound.

She got up on her tiptoes, tugging at Dean’s t-shirt to cover her panties. And, as discreet as she used to leave her princess room with her teddy bear in her hand, she sneaked out.

No blood all over the corridors and no scream anywhere. Dean wasn’t being tortured, he was sound asleep in a bed, not even too cold or too hot, just perfectly surrounded by pillows and safe. 

A sound caught her attention in the kitchen, the calming, already familiar sound of the coffee machine in the morning, and the intoxicating smell that came with it. 

A light smile on her face, still on her tiptoes, she walked to the kitchen to see who was at the origin of that comforting morning sound.

“Hi Sam” she smiled, when he appeared in her field of vision.

“Oh, hi Firefly” he said, immediately correcting himself. “Y/n.”

“You can call me that” she smiled sincerely, earning an awkward chuckle from him. “Is Dean still sleeping ?”

Sam nodded and handed her a coffee, she took it and started blowing on it. The feeling of the flavored steam on her face was one of the things she loved so much about life. One of the million things. 

“D-Dean told me about what you’ve been through to lock Lucifer, and save us all, and me, from his cruelty” she started hesitantly. “I know it isn't worth much next to what you had to live but… Thank you. Thank you so much.”

His eyebrows raised a little, and he looked down while nodding. 

“No, it- it means a lot actually” he said. “Thank you for helping my brother in Hell.”

“I didn’t” she answered right away. “I tried. But he still got tortured everyday, he still had to bleed to death on that concrete floor; cold as death or hot enough to make the blood puddles boil… And I still slept in a bed.”

Sam frowned, biting the inside of his cheek once or twice. 

“You…” he finally spoke. “You had more than your share of horrors. You can’t blame yourself.”

She smiled kindly, she wasn’t ready to stop blaming herself, and as long as she would hate her kind, or at least half her kind that much, she couldn’t really forgive herself. But she had tried, and she was holding on to this.

“I’m going to get back to bed, with Dean” she stated. “Unless you need me for anything.”

“O-okay” he said, surprised, blinking a few times. “No, I dont… Be careful though, Dean is an angry sleeper.”

“He wasn’t angry last morning” she shrugged and left the kitchen still on her tiptoes, her mug close to her face.

She pushed the 11 door slowly, immediately smiling at the strong smell of Dean filling the room. He had been sweating, the room was a little warmer than the corridor, like his body had created a lot of heat during the night.

He was sleeping on his back, the covers crumpled next to him, his black t-shirt bunched up, slightly showing his lower stomach.

She entered slowly, carefully closing the door behind her. She walked to the nightstand to put her coffee there, Dean loved the smell of coffee waking him. 

Then she put one knee on the bed, then the other, to join him in the middle of it. 

“It’s me” she whispered when he reacted in his sleep to her movements. “It’s me Dean.”

She laid next to him , not daring to touch, just enjoying him being so close.

“Morning Firefly” he grunted, stretching his arm to reach the first part of her he could.

His hand landed on her bare thigh, grasping it to bring her closer.

Her hand flattened on his chest and her leg snuggled above his, his soft blond hair tickling her ankle. She looked up at the side of his face, her lips against his shoulder.

“I’m going to get up” he said sleepily. 

“You don’t have too” she whispered, lifting her arm to stroke the hair on his temple. 

She had held him so often, she had stroked his hair countless times… But now that it wasn’t to escort him to his millionth death, everything was different, a true Heaven.

“Yeah…” he said, wrapping his arm around her. “So tell me more about Sue.”

She smiled wide. For once, she also had stories to tell, she could finally debate about the best songs of Led Zeppelin -she hadn’t forgotten one- and tell him what food she liked the most. 

 Dean’s pov

  The bar was not too busy, and just the good, enveloping amount of loud. 

Sam kept looking around worriedly, like some monster was going to show up to hurt them because he had recognized her. But Dean was unfazed, sipping at his beer, his arm on the back of her chair. He had seen her power, and now he was sure of something : Not much could really hurt her, and if anyone tried, he would just rip them like he did Death, Abaddon and Lucifer. Nothing would stop him.

“I was so drunk !” she laughed out loud, telling her story, joy lighting up her whole face, her entire body living her words.

He smiled, engrossed by the sparking in her eyes.

“Sounds like a great evening” Sam nodded.

“Yeah” she said. “It was the first night I knew exactly where I was going to sleep” she added with a serious shadow on her face. 

Dean wrapped his arm around her and used his big hand to put her head on his shoulder. She sighed in content and put a hand on his chest.

They stayed like this for a few moments before she got up.

“I need to pee, Jesus beer !” she said before she left.

Dean watched her leave, drinking a sip of his beer. His flannel made her look small, he remembered how her dresses used to make her so tall.

“You just let her go by herself ?” Sam asked.

“What ?” Dean gave him a mocking face. “I know she is not a big fan of loneliness but I’m pretty sure she likes to be there alone.”

“Someone could recognize her” Sam insisted, ignoring his brother’s comment.

“I gave her a phone, a necklace with sigils to keep her hidden, put a tracking chip in her shoe… You heard what Billie said, no one can recognize her, she learned to vanish into the crowd when she faked her death, her powers are hiding themselves” he stated in a deep voice. “She has been a prisoner all her life, give her a break.”

“I know, I’m… I’m worried sometimes” Sam said. “I really like her, but there are moments when you seem blinded by her, Dean.”

He didn’t answer and leaned to the back of his chair, looking at the restroom door to see her come back.

Dean was not blinded by her. He knew what everyone was thinking. 

They were not hating her, and, after they met her and saw the light within her soul, they even grew pretty fond of her, who wouldn’t ? 

They just didn’t understand that bond Dean and her had, no one did. 

And Dean himself knew it was strange. He had seen her grow, and she had seen him die a thousand times. They had fought and hoped together, and they had suffered. What she had seen all of him, kneeling in his guts to hold his hand… No one could really understand that.

Having her in his home, in his life, was confusing, scary and disturbing. Thinking so much about Hell was unbearable the first three days, and at some point he really feared that it would stay insufferable. And so he stayed occupied, buying her clothes and some girl products, reading on Cambions, interrogating Demons and Angels… Even Billie. 

But Firefly was not the darkness of Hell, she was the light out of it.

The next three days became easier. He felt relieved, like somehow, his hope being alive was a closure for him. A way to give some of his memories more sense and to let go of a part of it. 

And so their bond grew. He remembered their kiss, so long ago, and spent a few hours in his bed wondering if their connection was this kind of bond, or not. And obviously, he had no idea. Of course she was pretty, beautiful even, and had the most radiant smile… But for now all he could really think, was that he needed her there, and that she needed to live for real.

He was confused, and, the more he was failing, for once, to find the right words to explain to his family why she could sit in the driver seat of Baby and turn on the engine without a flinch of him ; why she would always know when he was cold or hot, hungry or bothered before he even noticed ; how well she could know every details of his story… The more their bond made everyone wonder.

Castiel had been the most suspicious, his too serious frown hiding almost entirely the blue of his eyes. He had stared at her, and warned the brothers a hundred times about what a Cambion could do. Sam had reassured him like he could to avoid any poor choice from the angel, and Dean had just ignored him. 

But when Firefly jumped in the angel's arms, her big eyes wet, thanking him a thousand times for freeing Dean, taking his hand to kiss his knuckles… even Castiel didn’t seem so sure of her dangerosity after all.

Sam was trying his best to understand what was going on, to hide his worry behind his usual kindness. Firefly coming to their life was even more disturbing than Jack’s birth, because it wasn’t new the same way for both brothers. 

But once again, each time he felt slightly threatened by the connection between the young woman and his brother, she said or did something that showed how admirative she was of him, and how much she was ready to work on earning his trust, and possibly his friendship.

Jack was never worried, but curious, somehow craving answers about himself in the being that was both so opposed and so close to what he was.

She finally came out, meeting his eyes the second she passed the door and grinned at the music playing. She stopped in the middle of the bar, slowly swinging on the blues notes of guitars, her now shortened but still pretty wild hair nonchalantly moving on the red and black flannel, her hips moved by invisible waves…

And that’s when Dean knew the bond was indeed Love, and that, even if she needed freedom and to leave for other men, he would never stop being desperately in love with his Firefly.   

While his heart was pounding at the realisation, she came closer and took his hand. 

“Dance with me” she asked him.

Dean gave her an awkward chuckle and he could see his brother smirking in the corner of his eye.

“I don’t really da-” he cut off his own sentence and stared at her smile, who was he to put a damper on her mood, how could he resist that smile of hers ? 

With a little groan he got up from his seat and grasped her hand tighter.

“Of course” he went with her to the jukebox, leaning down to her ear and whispering. “What song do you want, sweetheart ?” he stood behind her with his hands on her hips, feeling her move underneath his palms. 

“This one” she put in a coin and as the song started to play. 

Dean turned her around to guide her to the middle of the floor.

“Elvis Presley ?” he questioned,amused, as she put one hand on his chest and another on his shoulder. 

“Yes” she murmured.”I love this song” 

Her head came resting against his chest, making a small smile form on his face at the sweet gesture. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, enjoying the feeling of her against him, ignoring Sam’s look, and some other people glare on them. He knew perfectly well how silly they looked, like a prom in the middle of a small town bar. And he didn’t care the slightest.

They swayed slowly to the song, held by each other, floating in the song. And after a little while, Dean couldn’t help but whisper the lyrics in her ear.

“Take my hand. Take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you” his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, his nose in her hair. 

His heart was beating fast, he was even a little afraid she would hear it.

And when she looked up at him, he just fell harder for her. Her beautiful Y/E/C eyes shone in the dim light of the bar, those eyes that could make anything bearable, her smell surrounded him and at that moment it was just the two of them, all he could feel was her and that’s all he ever wanted to feel from now.

By the time the song slowly came to its end, they both had stopped moving, lost in each other. 

He cleared his throat and let her go with a slightly awkward smile.

“We should head home” he said with a hoarse voice, his eyes having a hard time not looking at her lips.

“Yes, home” she smiled as she said it, like she was testing out the word for the first time and liked how it sounded.

And Dean would be wrong if he didn’t admit he loved the way it sounded from her lips.

 Reader Pov

 Dean parked the impala back in the silent garage. They all got out and made their way inside.

“Thank you for tonight, I really enjoyed it” she told the brothers as her hand rested on the doorknob of her room.

“Yeah it was fun” Dean said as he looked at her, his tongue peeked out to lick at his lips, so Y/n knew something was making him a little nervous. 

“Yeah, it was” Sam repeated, his eyes flickering between his brother and Y/n. 

She could see a faint smile on his lips when he wished them a goodnight as he rounded the corner to his room.

“So…” Dean started. “You think you will sleep okay, Firefly ?” he asked.

“I will Dean, you too ?” she kept her hand on his chest, the need to touch him and have him close all the time was so strong.

He nodded, smiling at her worried face, his hand pushing a stray hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah, I will” he whispered. “No one is going to hurt me, or you.”

She gave him a small smile, reached up on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. 

“Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Firefly.”

She entered her room, her cheeks hurting from smiling. The entire night she couldn’t stop thinking of that one time they kissed, in Hell. It was so long ago and in the heat of the moment, but she cherished that memory like her most precious gift, it had sheltered her from being depressed in the street, and it had kept her sane in the cage. 

She had been in love with him for so long, she didn’t even remember not loving him with all her heart…  but did he like her that way ? Could he look past the fact she wasn’t human ? That she could, like Castiel said, be dangerous… 

She crawled into her bed with all these questions turning over in her head.

_______________________

A familiar scream woke her.

“N-No stop !” she heard.

Dean.

She jumped up and ran to the room next to hers. She could hear his whimpers through the door, her heart aching at those familiar gasps of pain, she carefully opened it and went inside.

He was sweating, his hands tugging at the sheets, panting and a worried frown on his face. She couldn’t stand to see him like this.

She made her way to his bed, sitting next to him to stroke his hair out of his sweaty forehead.

“Dean, it’s okay you’re safe.” 

She sat up against the headboard and pulled him into her the best she could, his face immediately nuzzled into her chest, looking for safety. Her hand came up to stroke the back of his head, he was shaking. She started humming the song they danced to earlier, and when she did, his hands let go of the sheets and wrapped around her, holding her tight against him as his breathing slowed down.

She could feel his eyelashes brush against her neck as he slowly woke up.

“You’re safe Dean, I got you. No one is going to hurt you” she whispered to the top of his head.

“T-Thank you” his voice sounded just like it did when he was in Hell, right after his body was healed but his mind couldn’t yet process what had happened.

“It was Hell” she stated, she didn’t need to ask, she knew how it sounded, she had grown up with it after all.

“Yeah, and then purgatory, Micheal,...” he sighed. 

She angled her head back to look at him, she could see the weight in his eyes, the horrors he had seen. Knowing he had been freed from Hell was her biggest joy, but knowing he had known more horrors in his life made her both desperately sad, and raging with anger.

“Life has been impossibly hard on you” she said as she stroked the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Yeah, you can say that… I did some stupid things too” he said with a defeated voice.

“If you do them for the right reasons it’s not stupid Dean” she told him.

“I… I killed people, I used to have this mark, The Mark of Cain” he swallowed hard. “It turned me into a demon” he whispered.

Her throat closed up for a second, she knew of the mark, she read about it when she was looking for a way out of Hell.

“A demon ?” she asked, a little shocked.

“A knight of Hell actually” he said. “I thought of you when I was… I- I was horrible, I hurt so many people… I was the very thing I hunt” he whispered. 

“It wasn’t the real you, Dean” she said. 

“I know, Sammy cured me. He saved my ass so many times” he scoffed.

“I’m so glad you have him. You protect each other...” she inched down the bed to lay next to him, their noses almost touching.

It was just that easy, being with him, that comfortable. He didn’t move, he didn’t look away, his lips so close to hers that she almost could feel them, his glistening freckled skin roamed by shivers. 

“I’m sorry I thought you weren’t real… If I had known I-I would have looked for you, Firefly” his voice wavered with emotion. 

She put her hand on his cheek.

Dean needed comfort and tenderness, he was carrying so much, he always had been so brave… Maybe he didn’t want any of the tenderness she could give, but maybe, just maybe, what she was craving to give him would actually be a great comfort for him.

“Dean. We found each other. I’m never losing you again” she whispered against his lips.

“I’m never letting you go either” he moved his face closer to hers, his lips brushing hers.

 The tips of her hair started floating a little in anticipation, she could feel the rage she had always contained in herself fall totally silent for the first time, and her powers slightly vibrate at his touch. Her eyes were flicking from his to his lips.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she could feel his, and all of him, whole and alive under her touch. 

How many times she had dreamed of holding him like this, just not to hold him together, to keep his head out of his own blood, but just to feel his hair and his skin. 

He let his tongue run on his lips, like he did so often, and she thought about kissing him so hard her lips trembled. She thought about the things she experienced without him, even if he never left her mind.

When his beloved lips caught hers in a tender kiss, she closed her eyes again, like she had the first time, to focus on the heavenly feeling of him. But Dean didn't give her time to draw it out.

He moved above her, claiming her mouth deeply, his burning tongue taking advantage of a moan escaping her to find hers. He was so tall and big, his body on hers looked like an eclipse. His broad shoulders rolling to support the weight of his back, giving this man, who already was the most noble, something feline. 

“Firefly, I…” he stopped, panting above her. “That’s probably not a good idea.”

He was afraid of breaking her heart, she knew it, he was afraid of making their relationship blurry. He was probably disturbed by their common past. She knew he was troubled, but she wasn’t.

“I think we both need this” she stated calmly. “It’s a harsh night in the middle of a harsh life, Dean. Let’s just make it softer. Tomorrow, come what may.”

“Come what may” he repeated, leaning to kiss her again, his hungry mouth drifting to her jaw and the pulsating vein on her neck.

And Y/n had a thought for that guy she had slept with the first time, how his kisses felt weird and his desire uncomfortable… This was different, and new. 

“Why are you smiling like that ?” Dean’s soft voice brought her back from her mind. 

“I’m just experiencing something new” she whispered, her hands going under his shirt on his lower back to feel the delicious curve here.

“I…” he stiffed a little. “You told me you had already had sex.”

“Yes, I wasn’t talking about that” she smiled, but his questioning frown didn’t fade right away, his body and mind were still on alert from his nightmare. “You won’t let a smile stop you, will you ?”

“No” he almost growled, bending to nibble at her neck again. 

Her hands slipped inside the back of his pajama pants, happy to find no underwear on her way. She pushed him down on her a little by his ass cheek, fingers digging in his muscles there, earning a low moan against her chest when his hips met hers, and his cock got trapped between them.

His body was desperate, hands trying to touch everything at once, grazing her neck and collarbones, grasping her sides, seizing one of her breasts through her shirt… Her eyes opened on the ceiling, and she noticed a few tiny stars floating in the air.

She gasped when she felt his cock twitching, calling for attention on her pelvis, growing between them. That man she had loved for so long, the Prince Charming Sue wished she would find, her Dean… feeling desire for her.

Trying to spread her legs for him, she realized her too large pants, the one Dean had given her, was stuck under his strong and heavy knee.

“Dean…” she whined trying to get free.

“What is it ?” he lifted his head, his warm green eyes searching her face.

“My pants” she started but he didn’t let her finish, moving above her to tug at her pants, taking them off all the way. 

She smiled looking down, he was kissing up her legs. Her hands reached his head, pushing her fingers through his still sweaty locks. Once again, his hands couldn’t have enough, short nails digging in her thighs and going up to meet her panties.

He flattened his large palm on her underwear, covering it totally with a smirk she didn’t know yet on his face. She felt small, he felt even bigger.

“Can I touch you ?” he almost groaned against the shivering skin of her thigh.

“Please do” she nodded, shyly spreading her legs.

Of course he was talking about this part of her, he had already touched all the rest….

His hand didn’t leave her panties going down between her thighs when he could, feeling her folds through the white fabric. 

And the little stars multiplied. 

She arched her back, her core tightening in an exquisite pressure. She gasped in a jerk of her thighs, surprised that touches so soft could bring a pleasure so intense. She had never known that. She was aware of everything that was Dean on her, all her senses high on him, and her body reacting to the electricity roaming her whole body.

Love, she thought. It was love making her insides burst in such delicious flames. 

“Oh wow” he groaned. “You’re soaking those poor panties.”

And the new grin she had just discovered appeared on his lips again. The tiny stars were now numerous enough to make the ceiling look like a clear summer night.

His lips travelled up to her lower stomach, his nose tickling the skin here while his lips feisted on it. 

“Firefly…” he whispered before his bright white teeth caught the hem of her underwear, to drag it down with him.

She needed him. She painfully needed to feel him, close wasn’t enough, he had to be inside of her. 

So she sat with her legs on both sides of his strong thighs, making him sit back on his ankles, his knees digging on the mattress, and grabbed his face to kiss him, to feel her hero anywhere she could. He seemed to need the same thing : his arms grasped her ass cheek, carrying her up his thighs to rest on his crotch.

She moaned loud when she felt him, so hard, pressed against her bare folds. 

“I need you” she whined. “Dean, I need you so much.”

“I got you” his voice was deep and warm, his parted lips leaving a layer of steam all over her neck.

They were both too eager to wait a second more.

Dean held her strongly with one arm while he almost got on his knees, pushing his pajama pants down with the other hand before he sat on his ankles again. 

She looked down, her delicate hand reaching between them to wrap around him. He was hard and twitching, but his skin was soft.

“Yes…” he moaned. 

“I need you” she just repeated while he was panting against her shoulder. 

Saying that, she lifted her hips slightly and lined him with her to slowly sink on him.

“Fuck…” he groaned when the head of his cock entered her and kept gasping and moaning as she took more and more of him.

She hummed at the stretch of him inside of her, her walls throbbing softly to adjust.

The little stars started to fill the room a little more, like hundreds of fireflies surrounding them. But, even if they acknowledged them, they both were too engrossed in each other to really pay attention.

Y/n breathed out in relief, like she had needed Dean inside of her as much as she had needed air all this time. Her head fell back when her pelvis reached his, filled so completely by him.

“Firefly” he moaned, like it was now the only word he knew.

His hands, still holding her ass cheek, grasped her tighter and moved her on him, making her grind on him hard.

“AH !” she cried out at the pressure on her clit mixed with his cock moving against her walls. 

Her hips started to move along with his hands, in back and forth moves, in circles, until he started trusting up in a trail of growls and she couldn’t move anymore, holding on to him, kissing and licking his neck with a raging hunger.

Hearing his groans and moans, she looked up to look at him, to actually see what pleasure looked like on a man she had seen suffer beyond everything. And it was beautiful.

More than the stars and the sea, more than snow in the trees… It was more beautiful than all she had dreamed of when longing for life. 

The expression on his face could have been confused with pain, but Y/n knew better. His mouth was open and his eyebrows were up above his nose, and the little stars were reflecting in his eyes.

Bending on her, he caught her lips, trying to kiss her during their speeding dance, and failing to just pant loudly in her mouth.

Her whole body was shaking with pleasure, she could feel every inch of him deep inside of her, and her body react to it. Her skin was on fire. In a loud whimper, she let her head fall on his shoulder, her fingers sliding along his sweaty neck.

“Look at me” he said. “Firefly, look at me.”

With great effort, she looked up, resting her forehead on his, unable to focus on anything else than the orgasm preparing to hit like lightning inside her core. 

She had felt pleasure before, and even came a few times, but what was growing inside of her was way more powerful than anything she had known… 

And when it blew up, she silently screamed, her whole body falling back on the mattress as she clenched around Dean, her thighs shaking, her arms limply falling above her head. He was still trusting inside of her, holding her hips up on him.

“OH FUCK” he groaned after a few sharper thrusts.

His hips jerked and his stomach and thighs trembled when he came, falling too above her. He caught his body on his arm to avoid crushing her, keeping her up on his lap with the other hand to not slip out of her body just yet.

“Firefly” he murmured again, in the aftershock of his own orgasm.

“Dean” she answered in her high.

Her fingers went up, wiping the golden dust, vestiges of the little stars’s explosion, off his shoulder, a lazy smile on her face. 

After a minute, he carefully moved next to her in a grunt, slipping out to lay on his side toward her. She stayed on her back, in the same position she had fallen too, only her head turned to him to give him a large smile.

“You’re covered in gold” he chuckled softly.

“You too” she reached his head to shuffle his hair, but it was too wet and she only spreaded the dust on it. “Oh oops.”

His eyes were glowing with joy, roaming her face, a small smile hanging on his lips.

She enjoyed every second of this peaceful moment, knowing too well that it couldn’t last. Dean was a complex man, hurt and abandoned too often, he wouldn’t let go to a peaceful tenderness so easily. 

What she hadn’t anticipated was how fast his defences would grow back… His smile faded and the bliss vanished from his face. Something she didn’t like shadowed his features : Guilt.

“Firefly…” he sighed.

“I know, Dean” she cut him. “This was one time. This was to feel better. A good moment in a harsh life.”

She didn’t want him to feel guilty because of her. He cupped her face and pecked her lips before he grabbed the band of his pants to put it up.

“Do you want me to leave ?” she asked very low.

“No” he shook his head right away. “No stay… I didn’t say that to… you know, but just so you don’t imagine that I… I just… can’t really be with someone, and you… We… are complicated.”

She nodded and turned to her side to take him in her arms, nuzzling on his chest. She could wait for him all her life, she could even wait for something that would never come, that didn’t frighten her.

“Fall back asleep” she said. “I’m chasing the demons.”

Dean’s Pov

He held her close as he watched her sleep. A little smile on his face as he was drawing patterns in the golden dust that covered her entire body. She was so precious to him. She was too good for this dark and rotten world.

She was too good for him…

He had never felt this way about someone, this intense feeling, as if all the little stars that flew over his head mere hours ago were now blooming in his chest. But this life didn’t allow those kinds of feelings.

A deep sigh left his mouth as he thought of all the people that used to be close to him. Charlie, Kevin, Bobby, Jo, Ellen,... so many of them had met a merciless fate because of him.

Because he was poisonous. He would never let that happen to her.

He looked down at her as he felt her nuzzle deeper in his chest. It was then that he promised himself he would do anything to protect his Firefly. Even if that meant breaking his own heart, because after all...

Wasn’t he the biggest danger for her ?

(Next and last chapter on @roonyxx​ blog last week)

________________________

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[skywalkerstyles]

Skin (Bakugou x OC!Reader insert)

Warnings: kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, quirkless AU, criminal Bakugou, robbery, hostage situation, anxiety, mysophobia

Summary: Katsuki Bakugou is a killer, hell bent on revenge. Hikaru Moshimoto is a college student with a dark and cloudy past. When Hikaru is taken hostage and forced to work with Bakugou in order to survive, will the be able to get passed their differences, and see the people behind the scars? A stalker seeks to finish something Hikaru started a long time ago. When they come head to head, will Bakugou protect her? Or will he add another victim to his list? 

Hikaru Moshimato felt sick when she woke up that chilly september morning. Monday, September fifteenth to be exact. It was a day she would never forget or get over. It changed the course of her life forever. 

It started out like any other morning, she got up, got dressed, had breakfast, fed her little cat Yoshi and headed out the door on her way to work. But there was a presence, it was dark and gloomy, and hung over her like a shadow. Something was coming, and she wasn't ready for it. At all. 

She pulled up to the little gas station by her job, it had a little convenience store attached, a place she could grab snacks and drinks before work, the vending machines there were usually way overpriced, so it was easier to just bring food with her. She got out of her car, locking the doors as she held her wallet close to her chest, tucked her head down and walked inside. 

She sighed, upon stepping into the cool air conditioned building, and instead of walking up to the counter and just paying for her gas she eyed the slushie station. She loved slushies,  and she could never pass one up. She smiled to herself thinking, fuck it, and strolled over to the slushie machine. There was a man standing to the side of the machine, where the fridges held the drinks, he had a Redbull in one hand and a smartwater in the other. He wore an unbuttoned, navy blue flannel with a black t shirt and grease stained blue jeans. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses and his hair was covered by a blue and white striped baseball cap. Hikaru was hyper aware of his presence, making sure to keep aware of her surroundings. She didn’t like the vibe she was getting from this guy. He scared her. Seemed like trouble.

But if he noticed her presence, he didn't show any signs of it.

So Hikaru relaxed her shoulders, shaking her head and began to ponder the flavor she’d get today. Hikaru had never been one for conversation anyway. She always kept to herself, due to some social anxieties and quirks she had, that made her ‘unapproachable’ as her mother had put it. But if you had a doctor mother who abused prescription medication and neglected you after your father’s death, you might have some fucked up issues too.

 Which is why she found it strange when she felt the man’s presence shift, he’d come closer to her, and she could feel him staring. She kept her eyes down, feeling her cheeks heat up as she pulled a cup from the slot and got ready to pour her syrupy drink into it.

 "What's your favorite flavour?" He asked suddenly, and the deep rough voice startled her. She twitched and peek at him curiously through her hair, that thankfully, covered most of her face.

 "Coke." she answered meekly. The man cracked a smile, his teeth were perfect and bright. It was almost, alluring. Definitely charming.

 “Really?” he asked, reaching out and taking the cup from her. She didn’t have time to react, before he plucked it from her hands and filled it with the drink of her choice. “I like blue raspberry best….sometimes cherry’s good too.” He handed her the drink and she took it hesitantly. He chuckled at her demeanor, cocking his head to the side, that ridiculously handsome smile still plastered to his face.

 “Thank you.” she managed after a moment, she placed a lid on her drink and grabbed a straw.

“No problem,” he replied, following her as she turned towards the cashier. She can feel the panic and the nerves rising within her. Why was he following her? As they stood in line, waiting for the other customers to leave, she could feel the man change, his whole demeanor took on a darker, more serious tone. She curled in on herself, hoping he wouldn’t try and follow her to her car. Hikaru hadn’t always been this way. Afraid of germs, afraid of touch….Basic human contact. No. If you looked at her high school yearbook, you wouldn’t even think it was the same person. She used to be bright, and outgoing, willing to chat it up with just about anybody, a regular teenage girl. Until Amano. And...Hina... She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand, get the drink. Get the gas. Go to work. She took a deep breath, she would complete her goals today.

 “Hi! How are you today?” a cheery red head smiled at Hikaru, she tried to smile back, and return the enthusiasm, but the feeling of dread was starting to creep back up on her and she couldn’t shake it off.

 “I’m fine thank you. Ten dollars on pump-”

 “Shut up.” Hikaru feels a strong hand wrap around her upper arm and tug her back, she looked up to see the man who had been by the slurpee machine, pulling her towards him, a pistol in his hand, pointed right at the cashier. Hikaru squeaked as the man pulls her into him, jabbing the gun into her side. “Give me all the money in the register, or you, and her die. Now!” Hikaru flinches at the last word, which he snarled at the cashier. She had her hands up, tears streaming down her face. “Move.” he ordered. The cashier slammed a metal grate down and an alarm began to sound. The man held onto Hikaru even harder, yanking her around as he turned to find an exit. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. Hikaru shifted, trying to wriggle free. He pulled her closer, he was big and intimidating. He reminded her of Amano. “You’re not going anywhere.” he said. “I need you. Come on.”

 Panic began to rise within Hikaru, she could feel her breath growing more ragged by the minute, all the things she needed to get done shooting through her head. The man dragged her towards the back of the store and into the warehouse, once inside, he shut and locked the door, shoving her from him and holding the gun to her. Surprisingly, the slushie hasn’t spilled. “Don’t move.” he said coldly. A sob escaped her throat, the bubble was rising, she could feel the panic getting ready to burst.

 “P-Please,” she rasped, her throat was closing, she couldn’t breathe.“I-I have money.”

 “I don’t want your money. We need to get out of here.” Hikaru looked at him confused.

 “W-we?” the man grabbed her again, yanking her towards the back of the warehouse.

 “Yeah. We. You’re my hostage,” fear filled her as the man’s lips curled into a confident smirk. He pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket and yanked her forward, cuffing her. “Don’t struggle. And you live.” She was about to faint. The alarm was blaring, but through the sound Hikaru could hear the doors bursting open. The same doors she had walked into only minutes ago, it seemed like hours now. The man cursed again, kicking the back exit door open and shoving her through.

________________

They hid behind a dumpster, he peaked out, looking around to see cops, flooding into the gas station, Hikaru shifted uncomfortably, the cuffs were tight on her wrists, digging into her skin. He didn’t seem to notice. “A-are you a criminal?” she asked. He didn’t even turn to look at her, inching forward slowly, his hand still gripping her tightly.

 "Yeah."that was it. No explanation. Just a straight no bull answer. As the cops go into the front of the store, the man gripped her tightly and yanked her towards an older Astro van. Hikaru pondered why no cops were looking over towards them, how no one could see he was taking her. But it would be just her luck. He threw the passenger door open, shoving her inside, before running around to the otherside and climbing in. The door shut with a slam and he pealed out and away, the cops just noticing as you leave the gas station. The sweet and tasty slushie, left on the floor of the warehouse.

 ____________

The van was loud. It sent deep rumbles of vibration all the way down to Hikaru’s bones. Like a  massage after the chaos back at the gas station. Her hands are still bound but the man had finally stowed the gun. There was no handle on the inside of the passenger door. She was stuck and she stayed quiet. Out of fear. The man drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, listening to a song on the radio. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t comfortable either. "Are you going to kill me?" she asked softly, so low he might not even hear her. He stopped drumming and turned to look at her for the first time since he’d taken her.

 "Wasn't planning on it." He replied. “I just needed some cash….but damn that cashier was quick on her feet. Taking you was the only way I would have gotten out of there alive.”

 “W-why do you say that?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. He cocked his eyebrow, finally taking off his glasses, his eyes were a deep blood red.

 “You...You don’t watch tv do you ?” she shook her head. The news gave her anxiety. The only time she left her dorm was for class or work. Necessities. She kept to herself. He chuckled and shook his head as he turned on his turn signal.

 “Why do you ask?” she asked a bit louder. She watched his adam’s apple bob and his eyes scan the road, searching for the right answer.

 “I uh, I’m in a business most don’t agree with.” he said.

 She decided to push a little further, “what do you do?”

 “I’m...I’ve killed people.” he said it solemnly. Like he wasn’t proud of it, but he had to do it. Hikaru feels the panic begin to rise again. He cleared his throat. “What’s your name?” he asked, changing the subject.

 “M-my…..it’s Hikaru.” she said, wishing she sounded braver than she felt. “Hikaru Moshimoto.”

 “I’m Bakugou, Bakugou Katsuki.” he responded, “You know, you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who didn’t know who I am.” he sighed, clicking his tongue, “You’re a weird girl.”

 “Says the man who just admitted to murder being his occupation.” he laughed, shaking his head. She didn’t want to admit it, but she liked his laugh.

 “Yeah, maybe we’re both just weird.” He paused and then said carefully, "I won’t hurt you."the tone of his voice is softer, calmer, and surprisingly soothing "Unless you make me." He added with emphasize on ‘make’.

 “H-How many…” Hikaru trailed off, unable to finish her question. It was strange, she could never talk and be this open with just anybody. She usually just kept quiet, and stayed in her lane. She wasn’t the type of person to make waves. Not since before…..

 “How many people have I killed?” Bakugou finished for her. She nodded, glad to have been pulled back from the darkness of her thoughts. He can tell that she’s got something going on. She looked so small and fragile. Like the china plates his mom used to collect. He really didn’t want to hurt her, and silently prayed he’d never have to. He bit his lip, trying to think of the right answer, “If I had to count….possibly sixty.” Hikaru’s mouth fell open in shock.

 “Oh my….” she instinctively moved further from him. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of rejection. She focused on her shoes, on the scuffs and the threads in the laces, anything to keep her from going crazy. They sat in silence for a long while. Bakugou began to twitch as it stretched, it was slight, barely noticeable. Except she saw it. "So where are you taking me?" Hikaru asked awkwardly, eyes darting to his before looking ahead again

 “I’m taking you to my family. You’re my hostage for now, but they’ll decide if you know too much or have seen too much.” Hikaru swallowed hard, wondering what that could possibly mean. He must have sensed her worry, because he reached out, only to pull his hand back when she flinched, with a sigh. “Just don’t worry….You seem harmless enough.”

 “Can you take the cuffs off? Please? They hurt.” Bakugou pulls off onto the side of the road.

 "Don't try anything, okay? I have a gun." Bakugou met her eyes as he shut off the van and turned to her, he looked down to her hands. He quickly unlocked the cuffs and sat back. She rubbed her swollen wrists and he started the car back up.

 “Are you scared?” he asked after a while. Hikaru looked up at him again. She noticed he had freckles, they were light and scattered across his cheeks...He’d be a good subject to draw.

 “I….” she bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed, “I’m terrified…..I know that mentally….But I guess I’ve shut down. I don’t really feeling anything.” 

“Why?” he asked, suddenly curious. Did he want her to be afraid. 

“I’ve been in….I’ve been in a lot worse situations,” he scoffed at that, disbelievingly.

 “You’re my hostage. I had you at gunpoint. I’m kidnapping you and you’ve been in worse situations?” she smiles at how ludicrous it sounds.

 “It does sound crazy but….I don’t know. I have a lot of anxiety disorders and I’ve been struggling with depression so I….maybe this was too much and my body is protecting itself.” he pursed his lips together.

 “How old are you?”

 “22.”

 Shit. He thought. She’s just a kid. “I’m sorry it had to be you.” she gave him a questioning look. “In the store. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have taken you.” she nodded, not quite accepting his apology, but understanding, that he knew, she had been through some shit.

 “I haven’t…..I haven’t left this town my entire life.” she said quietly, changing the subject. Bakugou picked up her switch in demeanor and followed it, trying to lighten the mood.

 “Yeah?” she tried to smile, it was small and tight, but she could feel the uneasiness begin to grow again.

 “Yeah….where is your family?”

 “You’ll see,” he said, flashing her a grin. “You’ll like it better than this dump.” he snorted as they passed the ‘Leaving Town’ sign.

 “Why did you come here?” she asked before she could stop herself.

 “Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” she nodded, sinking back into her seat. Bakugou cleared his throat and turned the radio back up. “Better settle in. We got a long drive…..what kind of music do you like?”

 ________

He shut the door behind him. The dorm room was quiet and he couldn’t feel her presence as he looked around. Everything was in it’s rightful place, meticulous and germ freak as ever. He missed her so much. He walked over to Hikaru’s desk and lifted the sketchbook that sat open on it, he touched the lines of the person she drew, imagining the way she drew it, the way her hands moved. His heart was racing. It was 4pm and she should have been home now. She didn’t have any friends.

 Where was she?

 Where was the girl he’d been searching for for so long?

 He was dying to see her again…….

[missdawnandherdusk]

Country Girl

Muggle!Reader X Draco 

London Boy

Summary: Draco has your heart and you have his, a muggle and a wizard, but what happens when you take him home... to America, to your very muggle parents, and your very muggle small town? 

A/n: As promised here is some ridiculous fluff and shenanigans between these two dorks. Also, this gets very southern very quickly, so as a disclaimer: none of this is meant to offend anyone at all, it’s just simple writing fun. I know a lot of you come to Tumblr to destress from the news, so this is free from current events and can even be seen written around circa 2010 if you want. I love you all and let me know what you think because I love being validated your comments and reblogs

“Um, do you maybe want to come with me back home?” The question was timid as it left my lips.

“To America?” He raised an eyebrow looking up from his workstation where he was currently brewing Amorentia—not that he used it, but it brought comfort to me and worked surpassingly well in a diffuser.

“To put it broadly, yes.” I smiled, knowing he had no idea how expansive America really was. “I’m off for the summer and my parents have been nagging me nonstop to meet you, and well it’s home,” Shrugging I hopped up on his desk and he eyed me warily, moving some things out of my way.

“How long?”

“Well I suppose you could apparate back any time you like, but...”

“How long?” He pressed again.

“A week?” I was almost afraid of his reaction.

Not that I was afraid of him, but I knew him well. He liked order. He like routine. Everything had a place and he preferred it if it stayed in that place. Which included him, in London.

“I understand if you don’t want to. I know it’s a lot. Muggle parents, Muggle girlfriend, America...” I trailed off looking down. “Just thought I’d offer.”

“Love,” he tilted my chin up. “If you want me to go with you to meet your parents, I suppose I can manage a week,” he smiled.

Happiness fluttered in my chest as I threw my arms around him.

“Careful dear,” he scolded, easily pulling me into his arms, carrying me. “This stuff takes forever to wear off and I’d rather not have you drugged for the next few hours.”

“Could be fun,” I giggled, nuzzling into his neck.

“You say that now,” he chided, a smile evident on his face. 

_____________________________

“Now, they don’t know that you’re a wiz,” You reminded him. “And I’d rather not have to obliviate my parents, so if you could— “

“You act like I’m a teenager Y/n, I’m not stupid,” Draco rolled his eyes. 

You raised an eyebrow at him. A challenge.

“And, a very fair warning: I am very...posh compared to my parents,”

Draco laughed; the word so unfamiliar to your lips and your American accent. Nor could he imagine in any way that someone would regard you as posh. He loved you, of course, but a lady was something you were not—not that he didn’t treat you like one, but that was beside the point.

But nothing you said could ever prepare him for what waited at your doorstep. Not the hours on a flight. Not the ride back in another muggle car. Not the songs on the radio. Not the conversations he had with Hermione and Harry unbeknownst to you.

“Pumpkin!” An older man in a buttoned-up flannel pulled you into his arms. His drawl was thick, making yours sound almost normal. “You are too pale darlin’ ain’t enough sun over there in England,” he chided, a huge smile on his face.

“Oh nonsense,” your mother replied, her drawl having more of a twang. “She’s just fine. Our little Georgia peach,” You face went a little pink as you blushed.

“Momma, Daddy, this is Draco,” he heard more of a drawl slip into your words and Merlin was he in trouble.

“The Brit,” your father scrutinized him for a moment before the smile returned. “Pleasure to meet you son,” he held out his hand.

“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” Draco almost purred, shaking your father’s hand. 

“Oh Lord, hear that accent,” your mother fawned. “No wonder you fell for him, Y/n,”

“Mom,” you whined, turning a shade of red.

“Well come in you two, you must be exhausted from the flight.”

Draco should have taken your warnings more seriously. Maybe you should have eased him into more. Because a very Muggle farmhouse in the middle of the country with your very American parents was something he was not prepared for.

The floorboards creaked under his socks—shoes left by the front door—as pictures hung on the wall, a lot of them of you in various childhood phases: fishing, in trees, driving your beloved Jeep, posing next to a dead stag—that one made Draco snort, if only Harry knew. There were also tiny little ‘t’s all over the wall that Draco just didn’t understand the meaning of. Were they to ward something off? Was it a collection? Did they stand for some name he wasn’t aware of?

“Y/n, you go on with your mom and fix up dinner,” Your father nodded you two off to the kitchen.

“Dad,” You warned, a familiar look in your eyes.

“You worry too much.” Your dad shook his head. “Now, go on,”

You paused a moment, your stubborn streak flaring before you disappeared into the house, leaving Draco alone with your father, feeling quite anxious.

“Come on in, boy, sit on down and tell me about yourself,” Your father beckoned him to sit on a well-worn leather sofa, a knitted afghan thrown over the back.

Draco knew how to keep light conversation—a perk of being a Malfoy—but this? This he had no idea how to do. Your father seemed to pick up on that as he chuckled.

“So, you like my daughter, do you now?” He asked, his eyes holding the same shade as yours. 

“Yes sir,” Draco nodded. “Very much,”

“Yeah, we think she's something else,” Your father shook his head, chuckling. “Her daddy's girl... mama's world.” His face became hardened, serious, “She deserves respect and that's what she'll get ain't it, son?”

“Y-yes, of course,” Draco stammered. “Always.”

The smile came back to your father’s face and Draco felt like he just passed some sort of test.

“Well, y'all, run along and have some fun while you’re here. Just keep her safe. She’s got a knack for trouble,”

“Oh, I’m aware,” Draco chuckled.

“Dinner!” Two voices called from somewhere else in the house.

“Comin’ darlin’,” Your father called back, standing. “Shall we?” He gestured for Draco to go first.

........................................

“Was that so bad?” You asked later that night as you got ready for bed. It was different, seeing you flit around the room with memorized paths and actions.

“One of the most bizarre things I have ever experienced,” he confessed. “But I have to admit, your mother is a brilliant cook,”

You laughed.

“Oh, tell her that tomorrow, she will love you to pieces,”

Your drawl was coming in thicker the longer you lingered home and Draco began to understand the fascination with his accent, because your drawl did something else to him. The small room you were in was yours. A true work of art that was merely shadowed by your room in London. The soft blue tone room was calming as fairy lights were strung and antique furniture filled the room. Dried flowers and various paintings and posters filled the room matching the quilt spread underneath him.

You came over to his sitting position on the bed, nestling between his legs. His hands slipped up the backs of your thighs and you swatted him.

“Behave,” you hissed. “You have no idea how long it took me to convince Daddy to let us stay in a room together. I’d like to not lose that battle on the first night.”

“You has to ask your dad for permission to sleep with your boyfriend, in your room, as an adult?” He raised an eyebrow. “And I thought my parents were strict.”

“Oh, you don’t know the meaning of the word, pretty boy,” you smiled and draped your arms around his neck.

“I think I quite like this side of you,” Draco grinned.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,”

“For the love of my sanity please use proper English,” Draco dismayed to your amusement.

“Fine.” You rolled your eyes. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” You dropped your drawl easily.

“You know what? Never mind,” Draco grinned, causing you to laugh harmoniously.

Never once had Draco ever seen you be a morning person, except now. The sun filtered in through the flowing curtains and your eyes fluttered open, landing on his.

“Mornin’,” You greeted.

“Good morning,”

“You ready?” There was a mischievous look in your eyes.

“For?”

“Well, I don’t think you’re quite ready to meet my friends, so I thought today we could go fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“Well, it’s not deer season so... we can’t exactly hunt. But it is fishing season.” 

“There are seasons for you to kill wildlife?” He asked, watching you get ready.

“Yeah?” You paused, looking over at him. “Helps keep the animals from being over hunted while still keeping up the sport and population down. Daddy and I do it more for the population, not the sport,” Your smile was soft. “And venison is to die for when momma cooks,”

After a breakfast that Draco would be craving for the rest of his life, you loaded up the Chevy pick-up truck (you had informed him) with bait and poles and against his better judgement, he got in.

_____________________________

“I’m gonna seriously have to thank Hermione for takin’ you shoppin’ beforehand,” You grinned, eyeing Draco in a short-sleeved Henley and khaki shorts. “Knowin’ you, you only own suits and dress pants.”

“I own t-shirts,” Draco refuted, clinging to the door handle for dear life as I meandered the backroads towards the lake.

I rolled my eyes and turned onto the trail that would take us to the docks. 

“This isn’t even a road!” Draco dismayed. “It’s barely dirt!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what four-wheel drive is for,” I grinned. “And honey, I fear the day someone takes you muddin’.”

“Mudding?” He asked skeptically.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” I smiled, chuckling darkly, imagining the pristine Draco Malfoy anywhere near a four wheeler or ATV.

Hopping into the boat, Draco eyed me, hesitant on the dock. 

“You can drive this too?” He narrowed his eyes at me.

“It’s barely anything to drive,” I rolled my eyes, throwing my hair up. “Now come on, city boy. A little country ain’t gonna kill you,”

“No,” Draco agreed, settling in the boat beside me. “But a country girl just might,” The purr of his voice had me blushing and fumbling to kill the engine and grab a fishing pole.

Draco absolutely refused to touch the live crawfish. His face scrunched up in disgust as he watched me cast my line in.

“Oh, like it’s any different than you and your potion’s ingredients,” I pointed out. 

“That’s different,” He pouted.

Smiling at his theatrics, the day consisted of Draco dismaying at just about everything. Including but not limited to: sunscreen, mosquitoes, not being able to hold my reeling hand, the heat, the sun, Oakley sunglasses—of which he looked absolutely stunning in and it wasn’t fair—baseball caps, live bass, me handling said bass, me handling a knife, the live crawfish again, the heat... again.

“Oh my God, Draco,” I huffed, not nearly as annoyed as I sounded.

“I’m sorry,” He drawled. “But this is absolutely absurd,”

I might have shoved him into the lake.

When he resurfaced, utter shock was on his face, as well as anger as he scolded my name. 

“Yes?” I answered innocently. “Not so hot anymore is it?” I bated my eyelashes.

“You little—”

“Oh, and watch out for gators,” I grinned mischievously as his eyes went wide with fear. “Kidding!” I laughed, slipping off my crocs. “Probably,”

He was hanging onto the side of the small boat when I leapt off the side and into the icy water. 

“What in the world are you doing?” Draco swam over to me.

“Swimming? Since someone thinks that fishing is absurd,” I mocked his accent. 

“I don’t sound like that,” He grumbled.

“Yes, you do,” I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Stop being so uptight, Dray. Whatever you’re holding onto... reputation or whatever voice that’s in your head...” His face fell.

I knew that he had been raised to hate everything around him. The innocence and simplicity of it. Sure, it had taken some time and I had made a home in his heart, those prejudices fading, but he still fought hard sometimes. And maybe I wish he didn’t. And maybe I was selfish to think that.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered softly. “I just... Your world is so incredible, Draco. Filled with things that are beyond my wildest dreams, and maybe I wanted to show you into mine,”

His arms snaked around my waist as he held me close, resting his forehead to mine.

“I’m sorry too,” He murmured softly. “Of course, I want to be a part of your world as well, but— ”

“Maybe fishing was a bit over ambitious?” I mused.

“Maybe slightly,” He chuckled, pressing his lips to mine sweetly. 

“At least we have dinner tonight,”

“I can’t tell if you’re kidding or not,”

I wasn’t.

__________________________________

The next day wasn’t as ambitious as fishing with you, but it was still quite new to him. Dressed in a sundress, you took his hand and lead him down the main street of your small town, the small shops reminding him of a fairytale. He was surprised at how many people recognized you and said hello. A kindness that he wasn’t accustomed to in the Wizarding world. Especially when the café owner had a long conversation with you and then said that your lunch was ‘on the house.’

“Not too bad?” You asked softly, after finishing lunch. 

“Not bad at all,” He smiled.

After bringing in the groceries from a quaint muggle shop, into your warm little yellow kitchen, you took Draco’s hand and led him into the backyard. The sun was setting just beyond the horizon, painting the sky in crimson colors.

“Mr. Fancypants alright with climbing a few trees?” There was a smirk on your face. 

“What are we? Five?” Draco chuckled, following you into the tree line.

“Well, I guess that is when daddy and I built this,” You gestured to a certain tree, where an emasculate treehouse resided.

Despite the wooden construction’s age, it still held well. Draco was half expecting it to be bigger on the inside, a commonality in the Wizarding World, but no, what he saw on the outside was what was reflected on the inside. This treehouse held no secrets. Draco smiled as he watched you climb the tree with no shoes on—a commonality he had noticed. You went barefoot whenever you could.

You helped him up and his eyes darted around, taking in the little house with it’s rope banisters, many windows and various trinkets and knickknacks that Draco had no hope in naming or identifying. When his eyes found you again, there was a blanket folded into your arms.

“When I was little, I used to come out here and stargaze... I don’t know how many times Daddy would have to come up here and carry me home ‘cause I fell asleep,” A smile touched your lips.

Draco looked up to the wooden roof and raised an eyebrow skeptically. You caught his question and nodded to a rope to his left. His fingers grasped the course fibers and tugged it experimentally. A mechanism went off and the roof parted at the gable, letting him see the first stars that had come out to play.

There was something different about looking up at these stars with you. He had spent years studying them in class and couldn’t remember half of what he had learned, but with you, they held a different meaning. You knew all of the stories it seemed. The ones that he learned as a child and some he didn’t. It was jarring, hearing the familiar stories fall from your lips. After all this time, maybe your muggle world wasn’t so far off from his magical one.

True to your word, you did end up sleeping softly in his arms as he looked up at the stars, then down at your peaceful face. Knowing that you wouldn’t want to spend the night outside—and neither would he for that matter—he carefully scooped you into his arms, and instead of risking dropping you, he simply apparated to the soft grass below and headed up towards the house.

Your father was waiting on the porch, the light still on despite the late hour, nursing a can, a soft smile on his face.

“Good to see that some things don’t change with her,” Your father opened the door for him. “Sometimes I think I lose her to her fancy schools, halfway around the world,” There was an air of melancholy to his words.

“I can assure you that you’ll never lose her,” Draco smiled down at you. “She adores and loves you more than you’ll ever know. The way she lights up when she talks about home...”

“You’ve made an old man very happy tonight Draco,” Your dad smiled. “Now go on up, I’m gonna close the house up for the night,”

.................................

“I’d like to apologize in advance for just about everythin’ that’s about to happen,” You took his hand smiling.

“How bad can they be?” Draco mused. “You’ve met my friends, and that went well,”

“Uhuh,” You laughed. “Sure. I’ll take that vote of confidence.” You easily backed your truck up into the circle of other vehicles surrounding a rather large bonfire that gave Draco a bit of anxiety.

“Look at what the tide washed in!” Someone called from the back of a pickup truck. 

“No way!” Another gasped.

“Since when did you get home!?”

A girl rushed up and pulled you into a hug, dislodging your hand from his as he watched you spin with the girl, both of you laughing. A few others came up and hugs were passed out, hellos exchanged.

“Son of a bitch, you never said he was hot, Y/n,” The first friend who greeted—Rebecca— raised an eyebrow at you.

“Yes, because that’s all I look for in a guy,” You rolled your eyes, offering him a beer and taking a seat on the tailgate of your pickup.

“I’m just glad to see that you haven’t gone full brit on us,” Another—Megan smiled from the arms of a guy that Draco would have stereo typed to be on your arm instead. “Still think you can outshoot me?” She grinned.

“With my eyes closed,” You drawled, taking a sip of your own hard iced tea. “Seriously, y’all think I was just gonna forget everythin’?”

“We didn’t think you’d come back after find Mr. London over here,” Rebecca grinned.

“Yeah, you’ve been awful quiet over there Union Jack,” Megan narrowed her eyes at him, and he felt the same sort of anxiety he had around your parents. “What are your intentions with our Y/n?”

“Y’all really? What are we? High schoolers? And he has a name ya know.” You rolled your eyes, leaning against him, intertwining your finger with his. That eased his anxiety a bit as his eyes stayed trained on the dancing fire.

“Well, any guy worthy of catching your eye must be something special,” Tyler—the guy sitting next to Rebecca—shrugged.

“Oh, come on Tyler, we were freshman,” You scoffed, taking another swig from your can.

Draco’s interest was piqued at this new information. Was there something between you and Tyler that he wasn’t aware of? Was it something he had to worry about? His grip tightened around you and he caught the sly smile on your face at the action.

He learned a lot about you that night. You never were one to brag but stars did your friends like to embarrass you. You weren’t the top of your class, but you were pretty damn close. You always got yourself out of any kind of trouble and had about every boy at your heels in school and didn’t give them an air of interest—Tyler lamented quite obnoxiously. You could be out late Saturday night at a party, but every morning you were up early, in the choir at church—which shocked Draco, you had always been hesitant to sing around him, and he wasn’t exactly sure what ‘church’ was but... it was a question for another time.

The conversation lulled as food was brought out. You offered him a bit of mangled stretched out wire and a hot dog and shot him a dazzling smile before showing him how to roast it over the fire. It was messy and uncivilized, and Merlin, Draco loved it. Sitting cross-legged beside you, a paper plate in his lap filled with such rich food and sweet fruit, he truly caught a glimpse into your world again.

The buzz of insects and glow of others, the heat and warmth of the fire, the smell of grass and dirt, the sound of some country song blasting from a nearby truck, the sway of your body as you hummed along, the smile that rested on your face, the buzz of alcohol in his system, and the taste of it on your lips, Draco never felt more... free. The Dark Mark could be nothing more than a tattoo. His scars could mimic Alex’s dirt biking scars. His school career could be scoffed at like yours was. His parents could just be strict and rich. He could be free.

_____________________________

My thumb absentmindedly stroked the back of Draco’s hand as the night wound down. I had switched to sweet tea a while ago, knowing I’d had to drive home. There was something oddly comforting in seeing Draco in the midst of my small-town world. His careful blue eyes, stark blond hair, and pale creamy skin seemed to rebel at the mere thought, but the smile on his lips overrode it all, claiming he belonged.

In bed that night, my fingers traced over the scars that littered his chest. It was hard to imagine that the Harry I knew caused them. It seemed like worlds away. Even in Draco’s arms, London and magic and wizards sounded like a fairytale, some far-fetched dream.

“Your friends are... nice,” Draco murmured, drawing a chuckle from me.

“That’s one way to put it,” I propped up on my elbow. “Nothing too absurd I hope?” There was a slight teasing tone to my words.

He smiled lazily at me.

“It’s... different here,” Draco decided.

“Good different? Or bad different?”

“Free different.” He mused. “Like... it—my past... doesn’t exist at all. No one here knows, or judges me...”

“Well,” I whispered softly, running my hand through his hair. “It is a different world. Somethin’ you have to love about a small town,” A smile grew on my face. “And it’s not about your past, not anymore. It’s your future that’s important,”

“As long as you’re there,” Draco pressed a kiss to my forehead. 

“For as long as you’ll have me,”

“Forever,”

I spent the next day teaching Draco how to bake. He was a decent cook after spending some time with my grandmother and I in London, but backing was a bit different, as Draco found out. With classic rock on the radio and mom and dad out for the day, Draco and I had a blast. A few times I saw him cheat and use wandless magic. It earned him some flour in his face—which he also magicked away. When I protested, he pressed a kiss to my lips and maybe I forgot why I was upset in the first place.

With the pie in the oven, Draco and I lounged across the couch. His hands were fiddling with my hair absentmindedly, as we watched The Breakfast Club. Hermione and Harry had done an alright job introducing Draco to muggle movies and shows. But as much as I loved Doctor Who—we were all convinced that the Doctor was a wizard secretly—or Sherlock, some American normalcy was appreciated.

That night I couldn’t help but laugh as Draco was very confused about football. It was like translating something through three languages—Wizard, to British, to American. After a while I think he gave up on the notion and just nursed his beer. The game held my interest for the second half while my father was very adamant about coaching from his armchair.

“You should have seen him at her little league games,” My mother muttered, causing Draco and I to chuckle and my dad to simmer some.

“Softball,” I filled Draco in. “Like baseball... but for girls I guess.” He nodded.

Before I knew it, the week ended, and Draco and I were packing to return back home, well to London anyway. I traded in my sundresses for jeans and sighed as I unzipped my suitcase, starting to unpack.

“It’s not like we’ll never go back,” Draco wrapped me up in his arms.

“We?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Did you not want me to go back?” A playful smile graced his lips.

“No, I do! I just... well, I know you Dray,” I draped my arms around his neck. “You like things a certain way in a certain order, and well, that,” I gestured vaguely. “was anything but,”

“Maybe it’s time I leave this behind me,” He murmured softly. “Stuffy offices and grey skies...”

My eyes widened in surprise and joy.

“Not completely,” He amended. “I do still have to work, they need me as Head Healer, and you have uni, and then there’s Teddy to think about, but... maybe a summer home there wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world,”

I drew him into a tight hug, tears stinging my eyes. It wasn’t even that he wanted to go back, it was that he wanted me with him when he did. He talked about a home like I’d be there beside him.

And when he was down on one knee, surrounded by my London family, with a simple ring, I knew that he did want me there beside him, and always would.

I gave him an escape from his past and he promised me a future.

.

Tags: @coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18  @whygz @crazywritingbug @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522  @zombiesnips-blog @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @memalfoy-spidey @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen @hxneybgb @justsomerandomgur @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms @howdycharlie @xtrashmouthxtozierx @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-j @jiggllyy @honeymarvel @darcypottah @atomicpunkrock @thiccheerioss @lottie289 @boredashaeck @beautiful-pegasus @tceedlmao @deadlynyghtshayde @iconjuresnapeingrandmaclothes @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @lunna-does-real-doodle @dragonsandbread @okaydraco @the-queen-of-hell-things @cmxreader @alienmotel @oh-itsnothing  @sunflowerxsadnessw  @fattycooter @angelotakunerd08 @thisisahugemistake @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @cleopatera @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @peters-legos @quillsareforwriting @ghostlytoadalmondhairdo @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @sdicapriox @slothgirl22 @peachesandpinks @monimillion @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @wannabeskinny-thinspo @naughtygranger​ @queenofmankind​ @dragonsandbread​ @abundantxadorations​ @moony-artnstuff​ @myforeveryoungblog​ @and-then-a-girl-with-luv​ @1-800-luvsick​ @pandas-rice-field​ @strawberriesonsummer​ @jjustsomerandomgirl​ @mrvlfangirl3190​ @loverbbgirlsblog​ @in-slytherin-we-trust​

[eusuntgratie]

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss / I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs / The smell of smoke would hang around this long' / Cause I knew everything when I was young / I knew I'd curse you for the longest time / Chasin' shadows in the grocery line / I knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired / And you'd be standin' in my front porch light / And I knew you'd come back to me

i bet you forgot you sent this, RANDOM ANONYMOUS PERSON. this happened. oops. Also this is too long for tumblr bc it got away from me. You’re all shocked, I know. Hopefully the read more cut works!

Derek is startled out of his novel by a knock at the door. He glances at the clock. It’s pretty late for Scott to come by but maybe something came up. 

He catches the scent just before he opens the door, but not in time to school his features. 

“Stiles,” he says like he’s not quite sure he can believe his eyes and his nose. 

Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets and drags his eyes up from the floor but doesn’t make it up to Derek’s face, gaze stopping around his chest.

Derek is suddenly hyper aware that he’s wearing a tank top and soft sleep pants and nothing else. Stiles is wearing snug jeans, a Star Wars tshirt, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt. It could be the Stiles from five years ago. But this Stiles is older, his face has filled out, his cheeks are stubbled. His hair is longer and his shoulders are a bit broader. He looks good. Settled and comfortable in his own skin he never did before he left. 

Stiles finally drags his eyes up to his. 

“Hey Derek.” He gives him a little half smile. It soothes something in Derek to see him smile. To know he’s okay. John keeps him updated, but that’s different than <em>knowing</em>. 

“I- uh. I would’ve called. I mean, I should’ve called.”

“It’s okay Stiles. It’s good to see you.” He jerks his head into the house, beckoning Stiles in. 

He gives him another little smile and shuffles into the house. Derek watches him look around, taking everything in. 

“This is. Uh. We always talked about it but I didn’t…” He trails off, awkward. He’s looking at the staircase and Derek can see him remembering what it looked like the last time he was here. 

“I went the loft,” he says, sheepish. “I had to call Scott.”

“We finished it about two years ago.”

Stiles flushes, and Derek gets a waft of embarrassment, of shame. 

“I didn’t mean- It’s okay, Stiles. I’m glad you’re here. You look good. It’s good to see you.”

Stiles ignores him. “It’s beautiful, Derek. Did you-?”

“Isaac helped a lot. Chris. Scott. Liam and Hayden and Mason and Corey helped when they could. Your dad.”

Stiles looks up at him, confusion and something like longing crossing his face. 

“Dad?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. He never…”

“You asked him not to, Stiles.” 

Stiles’s face says he can’t believe Derek knows that. But Derek knows everything he can know about Stiles without having seen him in five years. 

He smiles at him. “He’s kind of...adopted us? He’s like the pack dad. He’s uh… he’s really good with Isaac. He’s helped him a lot.”

“When did Isaac come home?”

“About a year after you left. Chris came home before that, but Isaac needed more time.”

He looks down at his feet again. 

“It’s okay, Stiles. I- you needed to go. I get that now.”

He ignores him again to ask, “how’s Isaac?”

Derek smiles, warm and fond. “He’s good. Really good. He manages a coffee shop in town. Him and Scott are good. We’re- we’re okay. Better. He lives here. We’re getting there.”

“Him and Dad are close?”

“Yeah. Your dad loves him. We have breakfast here on Sundays. Most of the pack comes for that though, I guess. Whoever is here. Dinner at his place when he’s off. Usually at least once a week.”

Stiles raises his eyebrows. 

“Don’t worry. We only buy turkey sausage now. And plenty of veggies for dinner. No one could make that man eat tofu though.” 

Stiles wrinkles his nose and smiles a little. “Wow. Um. Thanks.”

“We care about him too, Stiles. He hasn’t been alone.”

When Stiles looks back up at him, his eyes are red and wet and about to spill over. 

“It’s okay. Stiles…”

“I just- I- I couldn’t-”

“I know. It’s okay.” 

Derek crosses the space between them and wraps his arms around him. Stiles is stiff against him until Derek runs a hand up and down his neck. Stiles crumples against Derek, rubbing his cheek against Derek’s chest before settling his nose into his neck, tears soaking into Derek’s skin. 

“You’re still pack,” Derek rumbles. “If you want,” he makes himself say. 

Stiles shudders and runs his nose up Derek’s neck and he feels a tension he didn’t know he’d been holding release. 

Derek feels Stiles open and close his mouth, breath puffing against his neck, working up to say something. 

“Am- Am I.”

Derek holds him tighter.

“Fuck, Der,” he manages through his tears. “Could I- Could you-?”

Derek drops a kiss into his hair and draws him even closer. 

“I know you’d come back to me. Welcome home, Stiles.”

[catharrington]

26 and 40 for sleepy prompts??

Thank you so so much for the prompt~~ I am in love with this list!! Always accepting more ;)

Sleepy prompts: 26/“I know it’s embarrassing I still sleep with a Night light” && 40/“It’s just a nightmare, it’s nothing real.”

***

Steve was warned about Billy Hargrove from the second he got the college’s Email listing his new roommate. Whispers about how he’s a jerk, walks around with no shirt on, maybe no pants, leaves beer cans crushed around his room. The type to hang a sock on the door knob to let you know he’s busy.

Steve braced himself as he packed up and moved into his senior dorms. The boxes of his sparse belongings and heavy books itching on the palms of his hands.

Billy Hargrove ticked off a box as soon as he opened the door. He was laid out on his already claimed bed, kicking his legs so his cotton exercise shorts rode up his thick thighs; and he was shirtless. Steve’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he took in curling muscles tanned glittering copper. Still sticky, still sweating with it. Like he just got back from riding his golden chariot laps around the sun.

Steve moves his eyes to his small desk at the foot of the one unclaimed bed. Sets his box down hard like he stumbled, when really it was more to try and wake himself up.

“Hey,” he turned around all practiced plastic ease, running a hand through his messy hair he knows he’s let grow out way too long. It’s curling over the bottoms of his ears. Billy’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. “I’m Steve Harrington,” he introduces himself.

Billy leans back more on the bed. His abs flexing. He licks his lips, replies, “Billy Hargrove,” like he’s doing Steve a favor.

Steve takes his hand back that was outstretched, that’s just fine with him not getting burnt. He glances around the small room a few times just to take it in.

Their beds are parallel to each other running along either wall, at the foot of each bed is a desk and matching bookshelf, and separating them like a line in the sand is a floor length window that looks out to the campus. Billy’s got a couple band posters up, one of just some guys crotch in leather pants, the other a sunny yellow Cerberus foaming at the mouth. And a hot to the touch lava lamp sitting alone on top his bookcase.

Steve doesn’t have more than him, maybe he’s got a little less. Where Billy has his posters Steve leaves his wall blank, but where Billy’s bookcase is comfortably filled with reading material, Steve’s wood threatens to give out under the weight of his medical textbooks. Stacks and stacks of hard bound bricks take the space quickly, some on one side of his desk crowding his laptop and some even making a pile on the floor under his bed.

“Nursing?” Billy asks the second day they are existing in the same space.

Steve’s the one lounging out on his bed, highlighter behind his ear and hair pinned back with a thick clip so it doesn’t bother his studying. Hasn’t gotten it cut quite yet, doesn’t know if he ever will while Billy keeps taking long glances at it.

Billy’s talking to him over a Mark Twain novel as if Steve’s more interesting. “Yeah,” Steve shrugs, feels a blush rising at the attention, “want to do something important. Figured it would help people.”

“Must be pretty smart for that?” Billy’s eyes are a pretty shade of blue. Like the sky.

“I mean- I guess I am? but nah, more like,” Steve’s stuttering, “It’s really just lots of memorization. Remembering terms and locations- that I’m good at. When it comes to getting creative I fall flat on my face,” he laughs.

Billy laughs with him, simmering into something warm and sunny. They go back to their books and it’s not until next week Steve picks up that Billy’s a Language Arts major in creative writing. He feels like he’s shoved his foot in his mouth maybe a tad, but doesn’t want to ask.

He’s laying awake in bed thinking about it, letting his eyes wander over the spines of all of Billy’s bookcase in the low light and wondering what he writes. He’s never seen him write. When he hears him for the first time.

It’s just a low groan, a pained noise starting in his chest and dripping from an open faucet slowly through his gritted teeth. Sounds like he’s hurt, sounds like he’s scared. The lava lamp is molten next to his bed casting him in a glow of fire that burns his copper skin until it melts fat drips of sweat across his forehead to his pillow case. The noise gets louder, Steve lifts himself to one elbow, waits for a second as it gets louder still, then right as Steve’s gripping his blanket... Billy stops.

He exhales, twisting in his bed to kick his flat sheet into a pool around his hips. Steve doesn’t know it but he exhales too. Lays back down and grips his blanket to his chest as he watches Billy’s naked chest rise. The sweat dry on his skin.

Steve doesn’t know when he passed out but when he wakes up he’s alone in the room, and the lava lamp is turned off.

He found it annoying once, just once, to have the whole room washed in tones of red every night. Reminded him a little of his pool back home in Hawkins and how the blue light clung to his bedroom window like fungus. How he used curtains and blankets to drown himself in pitch black. But that never helped, and this red light seemed to be something Billy takes comfort in.

At the very least, comfort in a scheduled way. An hour before he sleeps he sips at a beer chilled in their shared mini fridge, Steve using his shelf for protein bars and Billy using it for a six pack that never runs out, leaning over his desk while his rippling back muscles block Steve from seeing what he’s doing. What he’s writing, Steve imagines again, his fingers lightly playing over his laptop as he listened intently to pen against paper even louder than his keys clacking.

But louder still, louder than the crushing of beer cans or the rush of blood in Steve’s head as he watches Billy from the corner of his eyes strip to his boxers to go to sleep, is the volume of Billy’s groans keeping him awake at night.

They are sporadic and every couple days, some dismissable, but some worse. Steve struggled with ignoring them when he knows he can’t. Knows his eyes are fixed on the way Billy’s strong rib cage flutters under his skin as he gulps for air. Watching mute as Billy’s stocky fingers rolls his sheet up to cover his neck, just to bring it back down.

The red light is on. The lava is moving shapes around the room. Shadows that are crawling mad like a pack of wild dogs to get to Billy. He groans and growls and fights back before he exhales. Always the same. Steve exhales himself now, counts the seconds until Billy’s rib cage jumps return to normal. Wonders briefly, if he should be using his nursing schooling for this.

He’s forced to, quicker than he wanted to, still scared to get burnt by that copper skin. But it’s two months they’ve been living together. Two months of nightmares and red lights. Never sleeping and drinking too much coffee. Two months of Steve laying awake cataloging, highlighting, memorizing, the way Billy’s hips turn inwards sometimes when he dreams in the exact motion of getting kicked in the ribs.

It’s on this day, this red lit night, that Billy doesn’t groan. His snarls soften to whimpers before they even start. Billy doesn’t wiggle as if he’s fighting back, he simply reaches out one hand, towards the middle of the room. Into the streaks of light the cheep curtains over the window lets in. His fingers curl in a begging way, reaching out.

Steve closes his eyes, tries to ignore when he knows he can’t. Listens for the symptoms of it slowing down and stopping but they never come. He opens his eyes only to notice Billy’s crying. Fat drops of tears look molten lava down his pretty face. Turning his golden freckles to tar with their tracks. Billy’s hand stays out, grasping, fingers clawing.

Steve lifts himself up on one elbow. Moves his blankets off his body with one arm. Sinks down to the ground in his soft flannel pajamas and worn high school basketball tshirt and kneels by the edge of Billy’s bed. Steve gathers Billy’s begging hand up in his own, intertwining their fingers together and clutching flushed hot skin to his chest.

It takes a moment for Billy to wake up. Steve slouches against Billy’s bed, using their joined hands to hold his chest up while his other hand moves to ginger colored curls. He tucks one behind Billy’s ear. Let’s his fingers graze over the metallic skin flushed and burning blood red, let’s it light his skin on fire. Steve runs his hand from Billy’s chin to his chest, tracing the hammered sword edge of his collar bones as they vibrate with the noise of his whimpers.

Steve presses the length of his fingers to Billy’s skin until he doesn’t vibrate. Until his breath is evening out. Steve’s doing his job, helping, trying not to get burnt. He watches with a medical detachment until blue eyes flutter open. Then Steve’s breath is hitching.

“Steve,” Billy mutters, his voice raw. His blue eyes glance around them for a moment, taking in the way Steve’s got his hand and whole arm possessively tucked under his body weight and the way his feather light fingers haven’t lifted from his skin. Still pressing his collar bones just with the fat of his fingers, as if he’s steadying himself to press down ivory piano keys.

“Steve?” Billy repeats his name in a question. Then he lifts one hand to drag across his face in embarrassment, and when he moves the rainfall of sweat collected there he seems to get it.

“I’ve been noticing these are happening frequently, but this is the severest they’ve gotten yet.” Steve explains in a calm voice he thinks his emergency response professor could be proud of.

“You’ve been noticing shit bout me, pretty boy?” Billy coos back.

Steve’s tone of voice crumbles. “You’re very loud, y’know?” and it’s more like a squeak.

“Sorry,” Billy lets the word roll loud and heavy from his chest. He turns like he wants to pull away. Wants to hide and pretend it’s normal, most likely. Steve doesn’t think he’s done holding Billy’s arm.

“Don’t have to be sorry about nightmares. Everyone gets them.” Steve traces collar bone to shoulder, runs over the swollen curves of his biceps to his glowing red arm wrapped in his own. Cuddles up to Billy’s arm like his pillow left forgotten on his bed. He folds himself over more in a way he should be called crazy for, doesn’t seem to have the energy to care. He hasn’t been sleeping much. Hasn’t been sleeping at all.

“It’s just a nightmare,“ Steve continues. His chin bumping into tanned skin with every word, “it’s nothing real.”

“It was real once,” Billy whispers out. Blurts the words quick. His swollen red eyes move to watch Steve’s reaction. His emergency response professor would be proud in the way Steve only gave a gentle smile in reply. Prompting for more with a nod.

Billy reads him, line for line, before he continues on. “My old man used to get drunk, take a whiskey bottle by the neck and just swig until he felt like a different man. He used to stumble into my room and remind me I ain’t shit. I wasn’t wanted. I was forgotten and I’ll always be forgotten,” Billy’s talking like he’s not paying attention to his words. He closes his eyes and turns as he speaks, rolls this time towards Steve. Bubbles him in with hot skin and melted tears and intertwined fingers finally tightening their grip.

“Sounds like you’re a survivor, Billy. You’ve lived and grown. It’s okay to be afraid, it’s okay to remember, but in this dorm he isn’t real.” Steve notices the way Billy’s crying again. He hopes it’s not because of him. “You are safe now. Here, you are safe. No one is coming in that door.”

And Steve really hasn’t had much course on therapy for trauma survivors, other than the symptoms of shock. He can set a broken bone and stitch a cut, give CPR, but for this he stops blowing dust off his piles of text books. He doesn’t care what his professors think, he’s biting his lip as he worries unprofessionally about Billy understanding how safe he is. How much Steve won’t let that happen again. How much he wants those blue eyes to open up, washed garnet gemstones in the lamps light and sparkling just as brilliant with his crying.

How Steve wants only to pet across that skin until the motion settles him and the shadows of lights from the boiling lava stop appearing as wild dogs.

Turn into clouds shifting though a sunset sky. Turn into safety.

Billy opens his eyes. They find Steve’s easy in the dim light. “I know it’s embarrassing I still sleep with a night light,” he says playfully.

Steve laughs back. Turning his eyes down before looking back up. Catching those eyes anew always seems to take his breath away. He must be burnt a special shade of crimson under this light. “It’s not embarrassing. Lava lamps are hip, very retro cool,” Steve teases.

Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s tugging on Steve’s arm and motioning with a tilt of his impossibly sharp jaw bone towards the bed. “Wanna get up off the floor? Pretty boy like you shouldn’t have such dark circles. People are gonna think I’m,” he trails off, lets his eyes scan over Steve’s faded tshirt once before flicking back to his in a way that made Steve’s eyelashes flutter.

“I’m abusing you or something in here,” Billy finishes.

Steve smiles, not a smile to produce comfort or reassurance; but just smiles because he’s happy. He lifts himself from the floor enough to scoot into Billy’s narrow twin size bed with him. Billy doesn’t move his arm Steve has basically claimed. Steve doesn’t get his pillow from his own bed, so he keeps a hold of the well crafted bicep to use as a pillow.

This close Billy smells sweaty, there’s beer on his breath, but there’s also something earthy. Pressed paper that holds the smell of ink, and leather, and trees.

Steve runs one hand up Billy’s chest and gets his hand back on his collar bone, while Billy reaches out a hand slower and almost hesitantly until he’s pushing Steve’s messy hair off his forehead. Billy gathers up silky locks in his large well worn hand before tucking them behind Steve’s ear. His thick fingers follow the way it curls under his ear. Billy follows the way Steve’s soft skin gets softer behind his ear and around to the back of his neck.

There he lets his hand rest, cupping Steve’s long neck as if it was the most natural thing to do.

While Steve kept his hand right next to Billy’s pulse. Examining for a flutter as they slept that thankfully never came.

[impala-dreamer]

What If You Don’t Love Me?

SPN FanFic

~Jensen is having some end-of-the-show anxiety and it's manifesting in a very demonic way.~

Demon!Dean x Reader, Jensen x Reader

1,223 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Hardcore Smut followed by Smluff.  Knife!Kink, Blood Drinking, Very rough smut. Then Feels.

My Masterlist ~ Become A Patreon ~ Find My Original Works on Amazon

The lights were still red; blinking through the darkness in steady intervals that cast shadows across his face.

The Bunker was silent but for her muffled screams as Dean tore her open, his thick cock stuffed so deep inside her cunt, Y/N could do little more than breathe and shudder. She’d given up fighting long ago; fear draining from her face as arousal boiled.

Green eyes filled with black. “I knew you’d still be a good fuck.”

Her eyes flew open wide as he jerked his hips; unfocused but aware of every demonic twitch of his familiar face, every subtle change in the man she loved.

“This ain’t so bad, is it, Sweetheart?” he mocked her, dropping his hand from her mouth to close around her throat. “No...I can feel how much you like it.” His fingers squeezed. “Your heart is racing.”

“Dean…” She choked as the pressure increased, precious oxygen draining from her head. “P-please!”

He let her go, grabbing the collar of her shirt instead and ripping it open. She gasped at the cold air as her tits were exposed and bit back a pleasured moan as his hot lips warmed her back up.

“Don’t deny it,” he growled, flicking her nipple with the tip of his tongue. “You missed me.”

“I missed Dean,” she grit; thighs quivering around his thick waist. “You’re not Dean.”

He froze for a second as his eyes lifted to hers. “Oh, it’s me, Sweetheart. It’s a whole new me.” Before she could respond, Dean pulled a knife from beneath her pillow- the very one he’d given her the night she moved in. The steel was cold against her throat, sharp edge pushing against her jaw. “And you, love it.”

Y/N swooned despite herself, but denied him. “No.”

The knife slid downwards, deadly point denting her flesh. “Don’t lie to me!” His teeth gnashed, jaw tensed beneath shadowed cheeks. The blade drew blood. A tiny line of crimson sprang up like thick oil and Dean dropped his eyes to the wound, fascinated. “Oops.”

The knife hit the ground and Dean pressed his lips to the cut, slowly lapping at the tiny spill of blood. Y/N grew weak, body flooded with pleasure as he began to rock his hips again. He sucked at her wound as he fucked her harder, and Y/N gave in to the draining bliss that filled her system.

“Dean.” She moaned his name as he pulled back; plump lips dripping with her blood.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me how good I make you feel.”

“So good,” she whimpered, reaching to dig her nails into his burgundy flannel. “So good, Dean. Please.”

He thrust harder. “You can do better than that.” He sat up on his knees and gripped her hips hard; blunt nails piercing her tender flesh.

Y/N screamed. “Please!”

“Tell me!”

Her pleasure plateaued, caught right on the edge. “Fuck! Dean! I…”

His finger brushed her clit. “Say it.”

She held her breath as he rubbed hard. “N-no one makes me cum like you, Dean! No one!”

A devilish smirk lit his face and green eyes were smug. “That’s right,” he praised. “Now, get on your knees so I can destroy that pretty ass too.”

Jensen sucked in a deep breath as his shoulders shot up from the bed. The thin top sheet clung to his bare chest, damp from sweat and twisted between his legs.

Beside him, Y/N stirred. “Baby?”

Jensen struggled to catch his breath, but hid it well. “I’m fine,” he whispered, patting her hip. “Go back to sleep.”

His breathing was too heavy and Y/N could hear the panic in his voice. She ignored his suggestion and rolled over, popping up on an elbow and squinting in the dark.

“Jen, what happened?” Her warm hand curled around the crook of his arm. “Bad dream?”

“It’s nothing.” He tried to brush it off, but the dream was right there, staring back at him with black eyes and his own evil smirk. “It’s fine.”

He lay back down but couldn’t settle, eyes locked on the ceiling, muscles tense and tight.

Y/N scooted closer and placed her palm over his heart. “Baby, you’re sweating. Relax.” She kissed his cheek. “You’re OK.”

He exhaled slowly and wiped a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

Y/N sighed and lay her head on his shoulder. “OK.” Her arm draped over him, keeping him safe, and he relaxed just a bit.

Jensen closed his eyes and the red flashed again. “You were fucking Demon Dean,” he said softly.

“Oh, really?” Y/N laughed. “Was it any good?”

“It was rough and bloody.” His voice was even and low. “And you loved it. You were screaming for him.”

Y/N frowned and hugged him tighter. “Screaming for you,” she corrected.

“No.” Jensen turned his face away, tightness in his expression hidden in the darkness.

“Baby, what’s going on?”

He was silent for a while, unable to put it all into words that made sense.

“Jensen…”

Finally, he broke, voice cracking. “It’s just… The whole time we’ve been together I’ve been Dean Winchester.”

Y/N smiled and kissed his chest. “Yes, and?”

“And now he’s going away. He’s done. We’re done.”

“Baby, I know it’s going to be so hard for your to say goodbye to him but-”

“That’s not it,” he said in a thick whisper, cutting her off. “You’ve only known me as Dean. What if… What if you really love him and not me?”

Y/N startled, sitting back a bit. “What? Jensen-”

He sat up, turning towards her. “What if you don’t love me? Me, me. What if you just love Dean Winchester and I’m some schmuck who used to look like him.”

Her heart broke, shoulders falling just as far as his. “Jensen…” She took his hand and held it tight, dragging it up to her lips. “I love Dean,” she said softly. “I do. He’s my poor, broken baby.” She smiled and kissed his hand. “But I am and always will be madly in love with Jensen. With you. Not some character you play. Not some band you’re in. Not the clothes they dress you in, or the car you drive. I don’t give a shit if you dye your hair orange and grow a Santa beard and never look like Dean Winchester again. I love Jensen Ackles, the man. My man. Fuck everything else.”

He sighed deeply and bowed his head, thinking it all over, pushing away the demon eyes and the red lights.

“You mean it?”

He looked back up and she smiled.

“Of course I do.”

She leaned close and he kissed her; a gentle press of lips that sealed her promise.

“You better?” she asked, pulling away to look into his tired eyes.

Jensen nodded. “Yeah. Better.”

“Good.” She kissed him again and then laid down, pulling his hand so he’d join her. “Just…”

He snuggled close as she rolled over. “Hmm?”

“Don’t… actually dye your hair orange, mkay?”

Jensen laughed and kissed her shoulder. “Fine. But I can grow the beard, yes?”

Y/N sighed and shook her head. “Only if you let me braid it and put bows and shit in it.”

“Yeah...let’s skip the beard…”

“Good plan.”

2020 FOREVER TAGS: @67-chevy-baby​ @akhuna01​ @amanda-teaches​ @autumnmoon​ @because-imma-lady-assface​ @blondemarvelchick @blushingjared​ @broiderie​ @burningcoffeetimetravel​ @classic-rock-angel​ @coopercharlie16​ @cosicas-cuquis​ @covered-byroses​ @crashdevlin​ @deansgirl215​ @deans-baby-momma​ @deangirl7695​ @deanwanddamons​  @deanwinchesterswitch​ @defenderrosetyler @desiree---1986  @dolphincliffs​ @dontshootmespence​ @edge-oftonight​ @emoryhemsworth​ @eternal-elir​ @fandom-princess-forevermore​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @flamencodiva​ @focusonspn​ @herbologystudent252​ @heycasbutt​ @hornyandsmol​ @ilovefanfic86​ @i-love-superhero​ @ilsawasanacrobat​ @imjustadrummer​ @ivvitm1109​ @joseyrw​ @justagirlinafandomworld​ @justcallmeasmodeus​ @katymacsupernatural​ @laxe-from-outer-space​ @leatherandfrackles​ @lessons-of-red​​ @letsby​ @letsdisneythings​ @lonewolf471​ @maddiepants​ @mariekoukie6661​ @meganwinchester1999​ @missjenniferb​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @mummybear​  @onethirstyunicorn​ @our-jensen-ackles-love​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @starboycas​ @stephaniecanfield96us​​ @stoneyggirl​ @squirrelnotsam​ @thebookisbtr​ @thehardcoveraddict​ @thevelvetseries​ @veevm​​ @winchestersister55​​ @wendibird​ @winecatsandpizza​ @winterpoohbear​

[kalee60]

Conventionally Unconventional

Steve looked down at his worn jeans, work boots and red flannel over a black t-shirt critically. Was it enough? Would people know who he was? He scrubbed at his five o'clock shadow that had taken too long to perfect and sighed. It would have to do, too late now to change his mind.

"You're fine," Natasha said beside him, looking every inch the perfect catwoman. 

"Yeah but -"

"- oh hey, you're Dean?" A young guy asked, and Steve immediately relaxed, "Winchester?"

"Uh yeah, I am actually." He replied and smiled when the guy told him he'd nailed it, and Natasha leant over.

"Told ya."

As the guy walked off he suddenly turned around, "hey, there's this guy dressed as Castiel around here, he's really good, you should find him, be a great photo."

"Yeah sure, thanks." Steve called out, just glad there were other people dressed up from Supernatural. Although the fact Jensen and Misha were in attendance at the convention probably meant he was one of a hundred Dean's.

Ten minutes of being inside, he discovered he was one of about four hundred, but for whatever reason he seemed to be getting a lot of attention and more photo ops than the others already. 

Laughing that he had nothing to worry about, Natasha disappeared to help Clint with a malfunction with his Riddler costume (no one really needed to see his ass {why he wasn't wearing underwear in the first place hadn't come up yet}) citing she'd be back soon.

So with time to kill before attending the next autograph signing, he moseyed down artist alley, looking at all the wares. He purchased a few pins and badges, idly wondering if he would ever be brave enough to share his artwork at a convention, when he saw him.

Castiel.

Well, the best Castiel cosplayer, and to be fair, the best looking guy he'd seen all day. Actually, ever.

Steel blue eyes caught his and Steve's mouth went dry. The quirk of Cas's lips on one side, like he was amused at Steve's reaction made him blush, yet stumble forward, towards him. His legs didn't listen to his brain and before he knew it they were face to face.

"Hey." He rasped, not understanding how this man was unfathomably even more handsome up close.

"Hey," Cas responded with a broad grin, his voice like liquid lava; deep, slow and hot.

He was a little older than Steve but he was down for that, very much so. They stood for a moment, not saying anything, just checking each other out when someone interrupted them.

"Oh my god, you guys are too perfect, can I get a photo?"

Cas immediately pulled Steve in next to him and put on a blank face, completely in character. Steve tried his best but probably looked like a star struck fool. This man, Cas, was touching him!

"So what's your name, I can't keep calling you Dean in my head, I'm Bucky."

Oh, he liked that, it was fun, flirty and after a moment he realised he'd not replied if Bucky's sparkling eyes were any indication.

"Steve, I'm Steve."

"Well nice to meet'cha, Steve. You make a damn fine Dean."

"Uh, thanks, you make..." he took a breath, trying to tell his brain to speak like the adult he was, "you make an amazing Castiel."

"Hmm," Bucky hummed, but before he could continue they were stopped for another photo. Bucky tugged him in even tighter than before, fingers splayed over Steve's hip.

God, it was good.

When they were alone again Bucky turned to him, "want to grab a coffee, chat - I mean if you're not here with anyone?"

Steve melted, "nah, my friend is off somewhere, I'm all yours."

It took too long to realise the heated look he was receiving might have something to do with his words, and his body thrummed with anticipation on spending time with Bucky.

It was almost forty minutes later and they'd still not made it to the coffee van because they'd been stopped every few steps for photos, but Steve didn't care, he had the biggest grin on his face.

Messing about for photos was fun, more than fun, if he was honest. And Bucky was a natural, slipping into character easily, making Steve blush each time his arm wrapped around his waist.

Then the requests started to come.

- I think you guys should kiss

- You're clearly a couple, make out

- Squeeze his butt

- Dip Dean then kiss him senseless

- Who bottoms - really?

Steve was pinker than he'd ever been in his life, his face burned with it. Embarrassment but also desire warred within him, and for the life of him, he couldn't tell if Bucky felt the same.

Each request was responded with by a small shake of a head and a laugh, and if Steve heard Bucky say 'behave' in his deep syrupy voice again to someone, he'd explode.

"Please kiss," a young woman pleaded with them, the fortieth person so far. "Make my ship sail because canon won't do it!"

Bucky smiled, "I'm sorry, I get it, I really do, but no, I won't kiss Steve… Dean, here."

Steve internally slumped but schooled his features. Okay then, it wasn't the first time he's been rejected or read a situation wrong, but he'd felt literal sparks with Bucky and had hoped the feeling was reciprocated. But, a new friend, that was still cool. He'd have to just swallow down the fact he wanted to see him naked.

The girl left, good naturedly upset that she didn't get the exact photo she wanted, but Bucky did pull him close as if they were about to kiss to appease her, and Steve was left flushed and wanting.

Friends. They were only friends.

Suddenly Bucky leant into him, lips pressed to Steve's ear and he couldn't stop the full body shiver that wracked him.

"Don't pout, Stevie. Just know that when I kiss you for the first time, I'm going to be pressing you against a wall, so I can get my hands down your pants too."

Flushing from head to toe, Steve captured Bucky's eyes, seeing the want reflected back tenfold.

And well, what could Steve say to that proposition?

As soon as they had their joint photo op with Jensen and Misha, they left the convention early, where Bucky made very good on his promise.

-----

The following year, they did kiss for photos and were the most popular cosplayers of the weekend.

[mamacesawrites]

When One Meets An Angel

Part [1] in An Angel’s Smile Series

“At first I didn’t want to fall in love. But at one point you just smiled at me and here I am.”

Summary: Janus Ethan Dannecker starts college with only a box, backpack, $300, and a ton of emotional baggage that is overwhelming. The broken home he came from cast a shadow on him that he refused to let anyone see. The scars on his body were no match for the scars on his soul. He made it his mission to never let anyone see where he came from. See what he was really made of. See how messed up he would always be. 

That is, until Patton Mavers smiled at him.  Ao3 [Next Part] [Spotify Playlist]

Word Count:  2184

Story Warnings: past abusive childhood, angst, untreated/undiagnosed mental illness symptoms, detailed descriptions of abuse, cursing, implied/referenced substance abuse. Rated M for Mature audiences. Let me know if I need to add more, and read with caution! 

When One Meets An Angel

Janus Ethan Dannecker was not good with honesty. He’d been through a lot of shit since the very beginning of his life. He found it easier to lie about everything because honesty caused harm. Honesty hurts. Exposure had the potential to be abused. It was not something he could risk. Not anymore.

He still felt, though. God, did he feel. So much so that he wished his lies were true. Every “I’m fine,” that fell from his lips so easily were secretly wishes that it would be a reality. Each time he was forced to give a smile he hoped the next one would be genuine. 

For the first day of his new life, he wasn’t dressed for the part. 

Janus was wearing a plain black t-shirt underneath a thick, large yellow-and-black flannel that he got for a bargain at Goodwill. His jeans weren’t purposefully ripped, but they were five dollars. He wore his only beanie-a black piece with red text reading ‘Skyline Titans’. His shoes were new. He splurged to get sturdy combat boots that he hoped would work for his first winter with snow. 

The beanie was comfortable on his brunet hair. It had gotten too long, seeing as he couldn’t afford a haircut. He had struggled to tuck his bangs to fit underneath the hat without it falling off. It was a fight he eventually lost. 

His pace was slow as he walked up to his dorm room for the first time. He watched the students milling about with their families carrying boxes full of remnants from their childhoods. He felt a pang of loneliness as he carried his one box of the bare necessities of life. 

He had his backpack, one box of the absolute necessities, and 300$  to his name to start the beginnings of college. He didn’t have much to bring from his childhood home. Well, if you could call it a home. 

He finally reached his dorm room door. It was open, so he could see into the space he’d call home for at least a year. From where he stood outside the doorway he saw a Green Day poster, a purple blanket with an orange spider pattern, and the shoulder of the person who was most likely his roommate.  

The band poster was a bit too angsty for his tastes, but he’d learn to live with it if his roommate used headphones for his music. The blanket was obviously a comfort item from how worn down it looked. The person who owned the shoulder was laughing, causing the arm to shake. 

Getting a read on someone was not only easy, it was necessary. He’d be stuck with this person for a year. It was his first time living with someone outside of his...family. He would have to create a whole new persona to keep up for a year. Of course, he knew this ahead of time. He didn’t want to be vulnerable because of his past.

Janus didn’t want his negative outlook to overwhelm the person he’d be living with. He needed to gather himself first. He took in a deep breath. He made sure to rearrange his mask enough to be a perfectly polite person on the outside. It should have concerned him how quickly he was able to put it on in a new environment. How easy it was to scream in the mind without making a sound in the world. 

He walked in with a forcefully reserved smile that quickly dropped when he saw there were two other people in the small room. One of them was sitting on what would be his bed. 

The boy on his bed was beautiful. He looked like the human embodiment of a cinnamon roll. His wavy blond hair fell in his face perfectly with a blue streak in the bangs. He wore large, circular glasses that seemed too heavy for his face. He had freckles splattered underneath the frames which spread down his cheeks and up to his temples. The eyes behind the glasses looked like pieces of green jade. They were bright companions to the pink lips that were pulled at the corners in laughter. 

Janus seriously wondered if love at first sight was true; when the love came from the first glimpse of an angel’s smile.

He averted his gaze from the angel to look at the people in the room. There was a tall lad leaning against the desk underneath the window. He had strawberry blond hair, which was a reasonable length on top while being recently shaved along the sides of his head. His grin was also beautiful, but not nearly as beautiful as the one that belonged to the perfect stranger on his bed. He had blue eyes that seemed to be teasing at potential mischief. He looked like the type to have owned a Letterman jacket in high school. Tall, muscular, probably a jock of some sorts.

The third person in his room was definitely his roommate, which was a given with the emo interior Janus had seen so far. His smirk was playful as he looked at the redhead. He had shaggy, shoulder length, purple hair that fell over his eyes enough to cover one of them. His black nose ring flashed in the sunlight coming from the window. He was wearing a black hoodie with sewn purple patches. His eyes were such a dark brown they looked black. He looked like an adult living a seventh grade emo student’s dream. 

Janus would have found him intimidating if it weren’t for the fact that he had dealt with scarier people in his life. 

The laughter had died down when they saw him standing in the middle of the room holding the one large box. They all seemed to notice him at the same time.

“Oh, I’m on your bed. Here, let me get up so you can set your things down.” The angel offered politely. His voice was heavenly. Janus wanted to throw the nerves of the day away to just listen to that voice wash the dirt off of his tarnished soul. Which felt silly, confusing, and terrifying. 

Janus muttered a soft “Thanks” as he tried to control his blush. 

He was rarely caught off guard, and it was a miracle that this surprise was such a pleasant one. He had been expecting his roommate to have parents accompanying him, not two cute boys. This was a deviation from his expectations. 

“I’m Patton!” the angel, named Patton, introduced himself enthusiastically. He offered his hand out swiftly, with that bright smile still on his beautiful face. His blue streaked bangs fell into his eyes. 

“I’m Janus,” he took the hand and barely hid the reaction of sparks shooting up his arm. He was used to burying feelings. Yet these were a struggle to choke down. They were good feelings. Positive reactions to a familiar action. He hoped that he was covering the sound of his rapid heartbeat well enough. 

“Janis, what are you, a middle school librarian?” the redhead giggled out. He covered his mouth quickly when Patton gave him a stern look. 

Janus just smirked. “No, more like a Roman god,” he let his voice drip with sarcasm as he rolled his eyes. It wasn’t his first time being mistaken for ‘Janis’ when introducing himself. 

“Oh, what a coincidence! Janus, this is Roman.” Patton nudged his blushing companion. Janus wondered to himself if he was laying on the cheer thick to embarrass Roman about the insensitive remark. Roman glanced down in embarrassment.

“Nice to meet you, Roman.” Janus replied amicably. He reached his hand out to shake, hoping to communicate that all was well. He didn’t have any intent to hold resentment between himself and someone else on his first day.

Roman shook his hand and nodded to the black clad lad who was rolling his eyes at the interaction that had just happened in front of him. Roman let go and gestured dramatically at the boy. “And that little Emo Nightmare is Virgil!” 

“‘Sup,” Virgil saluted lazily with two of his fingers. Janus saluted back with a tight grin. 

Janus turned to his backpack to start unpacking. He had expected the three to continue the conversation they were having before he interrupted with his arrival. However, a warm hand reached out in front of him. He jumped at the sudden movement. 

“Sorry,” Patton took his hand away. He made his tone extra warm, “I was just going to offer to help you unpack, since we’re already helping out Virgil.” The freckles on his face nearly disappeared as his face flushed red with embarrassment. 

“No, thank you,” Janus replied politely, though his voice was gruff from his tightened throat. He forced himself to plaster on a smile. “I’m fine.” 

It felt wrong to lie to an angel. However the words had already left his mouth out of habit. 

Patton shrugged, then glanced at the other two boys in the room. “Hey Roman, you wanna work with Virgil while I work with Janus?” 

Janus held back a pleased gasp when his name was uttered by those pink lips, in that soft voice, in the small room that was his new home. He let some of his surprise leak through as Patton insisted on helping him out. He couldn’t form a reply so he watched as the angel got started. 

He was grateful for the help; especially if it meant more attention from the angel. The two of them worked together as they put away the small amount of things Janus brought with him. They finished before Virgil and Roman had, though that had less to do with Janus not having much to unpack, and more to do with Virgil interrupting Roman with nuzzles along his neck. 

Janus grimaced. It was slightly uncomfortable to be witness to such pure, light energy. He hadn’t seen this much positivity since...ever, really. Public displays of affection always sat wrong within him. Perhaps it was because he knew he would never feel that feeling. Nevertheless, it was pretty hard for him to keep his composure with the happy giggles coming from the couple.

Patton seemed to have read his face well, because he clapped his hands to grab everyone’s attention. “Alrighty then, boys, I think we worked out plenty of what we needed to get done today. Whaddya all say to going out to dinner? My treat.” 

Roman didn’t hesitate. “I’ll go to our room and grab our jackets!” He ran out the room with a haste that reminded Janus of an excited puppy. 

Virgil smiled at his boyfriend’s retreating form. “You know, he may be annoying, but he’s also pretty cute when he’s excited.” 

Janus fiddled with the covers of his bed while he sat. He didn’t want to intrude on their time together. Having someone pay for his dinner felt wrong. He didn’t really deserve it. Plus, he hadn’t planned on eating dinner at all that night. Food was a privilege that he didn’t deserve more of after his breakfast that morning. Well, that was what he would have been told if he had still been living at home. 

Patton grinned at him when he didn’t speak up. “You gonna join us, Jan? I’ll cover you too if need be.” He sounded so genuine in his offer. 

How could he say no to that face? “I’d love to,” he replied honestly. He couldn’t hide his blush at the response he uttered quickly. What was he doing? 

“Awesome! I’m going to go to my room to make sure Roman doesn’t get too ahead of us,” Patton shook his head playfully. “Virgil, make sure to bring Jan. We’re gonna head to Leo’s.” 

“Damn, Pat, you win the lottery or something?” Virgil asked with wide eyes. Janus grasped from the context that this place was expensive. His stomach fell at that notion.

He really didn’t want to go if he would cost too much money. He started to make plans in his head about looking for the least expensive item to order, or maybe just getting water and making an excuse for not being hungry. Were they offering to be polite, hoping he’d say no? He did well to hide his rapidly increasing guilt while he watched the two friends talk.

Patton giggled. “I wish,” he winked, “No, I just saved a bit of extra money for our first night at college.” Patton waved at both of the boys as he left. 

Virgil stood up with a groan. “Knowing Roman, he’s probably bouncing excitedly and I’ll get bombarded with a million texts at once asking why we're taking so long” He chuckled, then noticed that his roommate was still sitting. “You gonna get ready, roomie?” 

Janus bit his lip. “I dunno, if it’s too expensive I don’t want to intrude.” 

Virgil barked out a laugh. “Don’t worry about that, I was teasing Pat. He’s good to cover you.” 

“Okay, well, I guess I’ll grab my coat.” Janus forced a relaxed grin on his face while inside his mind the anxious screaming grew louder.

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Let me know if you want to be on the taglist for this  or any of my other stories!

[ddaenggtan]

Backalley Brawl | myg | M

This is....just as unedited as 666 medici lmao, but! Here, have this! It takes place in the same universe as the 666 medici drive fic, so this is the same MC, just...with a different friend lol. I'm lowkey hype because the more people you meet in this verse, the more I get to play with them, and they're some of my favorite characters I've ever come up with. 

Also shoutout to @strawbxxymilk​ bc its her birthday!!! I was going to write a jungoo fic for it, bUT NO im not gonna, i decided to be benevolent and let the renkook agenda stay on hold for a single day :)))

Word Count | 3.5k, I think?

Warnings | This is pure pwp, I'm not kidding, absolute filth. Semi-public sex, deepthroating, facefucking, gagging, yoongi’s kind of a dom??, unprotected sex (ur not a vampire or a werewolf, wrap your johnsons), rough sex i think, breeding kink, f masturbation (kind of?), cumplay, mention of knots, yoongi got a phat ****, degradation, i think thats it?? Idk tbh my brains p fried from finishing this

The smell of wet dog has been following you all night; from when you got up and went to Joon’s shop to tease him a little while ordering an arrangement, to the store to order food for your pet, the club to handle some business and find a satisfying meal, and even now as you wander the sidestreets and backalleys in an attempt to either lose your apparent shadow or draw them out. You aren’t scared or even apprehensive - you’re just annoyed, because the scent lingers in your throat and there’s very little that’s worse than the smell of werewolf. 

You stop in a darkened alley, one hand on your hip as the other fishes your phone out of your dress pocket. There’s not a single soul nearby from what you can tell. Everyone that isn’t sequestered in their homes and beds is packed into the clubs and bars a few blocks away. The scent gets as closer than it’s dared to all night, probably only arm’s length away from you; the hints of woodsmoke and sap tell you everything you need to know. 

[You, sent: ] Is there a reason you’re hiding in the shadows, pup, or are you just going to be creepy all night?

Behind you, a text tone dings through the air followed by a muffled curse. You hear a sigh, and then footsteps. 

“Oh good, so you aren’t going to be creepy all night,” You tell him without turning around. 

“You could’ve just texted me hours ago if you knew I was following you.” His voice is muffled slightly, but there’s no mistaking the pout in it.

“And you could’ve just called like I told you to instead of being weird, but alas, we both chose different paths in life.” When you turn, your struck not for the first time at how soft the werewolf in front of you looks. 

He’s one of the smallest werewolves you know. They all tend to be rather large and imposing, but not him. No, he carries his power in the way he stands, relaxed and lazy no matter what’s in front of him because he knows it’s not a threat. The power he holds in the long fingers is but a millisecond away, and everything about him screams that he is all too aware of it. 

The thought makes your stomach flip and heat sink low between your thighs. 

His nostrils flare ever so slightly, and you have no doubts he can smell your train of thought. He adjusts ever so slightly, flipping the black wavy hair out of his eyes and adjusting the red plaid flannel he’s got tossed on over a nondescript black shirt. He’s more fidgety than usual today, and your eyes narrow.

“Why didn’t you just call, Yoongi?” You ask as you take a single step closer to him. His muscles tense ever so slightly. 

“You remember what happened last time,” He mutters. “Didn’t want a repeat.”

That’s fair , you think. It still doesn’t explain why he decided to stalk you through the night when he could easily have just approached you in one of the several secluded places you’d been. 

“I-” He cuts himself off before he can get more than a word out, and when he brings a hand up to fiddle with the choker around his neck, you notice that he’s shaking slightly. You take another step toward him, and he mirrors you by taking a step back. You look closer. 

His black shirt is slightly damp at the neck, and the sleeves of his flannel are in tatters from where he’s picked at them with his claws. There’s not much light in the alley where you stand, but with your enhanced vision you can see the way his pupils are shrinking and dilating rapidly. The barest hint of a fang worries at his lower lip. 

You’ve never seen him so out of control of his shift before, and it almost worries you. Not only because, against all odds, you care just a bit for this werewolf, but also because out of control werewolves are dangerous even to vampires. You’re confident in your abilities, but you know better than to think you can take down a fully trained, mature, crazed werewolf like Yoongi on your own. 

“Should I call someone for you?” You ask. You manage to keep your usual bored tone in your voice, but if he could pay attention, the tight grip on your phone would give you away in heartbeat. 

“Yes, I mean, no, it’s not-” He huffs. “No, that’s why I came to you. I didn’t get to Joon in time, y’know, it hit early, and now I’m, uh, I don’t have the-” He huffs again, running long fingers down his temple. 

“I’m in rut,” He eventually spits out. Heat floods you at the words; you’ve been with werewolves in rut before, you know what it’s like for them. The need to claim and breed, to ensure their line continues, constantly at war with the want most ‘wolves have to not hurt anyone around them. It’s why Namjoon created his signature potion, a concoction to stave off the need so long as it was taken before all of the symptoms set in. 

Yoongi has been precise about taking it ever since you met him, content to live his life without a mate until he met someone he loved enough to want children with. You’ve never seen him this out of his mind, and yet the fact that he can stand here and have a conversation with you while his instincts scream at him to do anything else is only another testament to his control. 

It only makes you wetter, and you can tell by the way he groans and his nostrils flare once again that he knows the effect. 

“So you thought you’d come to me?” You ask as you slip your phone back into your pocket. Yoongi’s gaze hardens slightly, the muscles in jaw working as he bites back whatever retort he had in mind. “Or, rather, you thought you’d come for me?”

Yoongi steps away again as you step forward, and you cock a brow at him. 

“I’m not going to force you to do anything, okay, Meds?” You stifle a laugh at the shortened form of your nickname; Medici was kind of a mouthful for the younger generations. It’s sweet that he’s so thoughtful, though. “I just...some of the others have mentioned that you’re good for this, what with all the…” His hand waves through the air, gesturing at all of you for a moment before he makes fangs with his fingers. 

“What with our uncooperative biology and my love of roughness,” You finish for him. 

“Yeah,” He responded lamely. “Yeah, that. I just don’t want you to think that you have to do this. Because you don’t. I just don’t know if I’m going to be able to stop if you say yes without you making me.”

His thoughtfulness brings a fresh wave of arousal, paired with the realization that he believes you could control him even in rut. You step forward again and he maintains his distance until his back hits the wall of the alley. You don’t stop, though, getting close enough that you feel his breath mix with yours when his lips part ever so slightly. 

He stifles a soft moan, no doubt able to taste your arousal on the air with how enhanced his senses must be at this point. You run a finger down his sweat-soaked chest; the hitch in his breath only cements your decision. 

“Who said I would want you to stop?”

Yoongi groans, low and deep in his throat, and you smile at the sound.

"Only if you're sure," He mutters. You don't dignify his words with a response. Instead, you slide a hand under his flannel and along the edge of his black shirt, teasing at the hem with your fingers. They ghost along the thin strip of skin you can see, and his eyes flutter closed.

"I'm sure, pup," You whisper. The growl he gives in response isn't something you hear; it's just felt. In the tips of your fingers as they hook under his joggers, in the flip of your stomach, and in the way you can feel the damp cloth of your underwear sticking to you.

"I am not," He growls, one hand moving to tangle in your hair and push you to your knees. "A pup." Your tongue darts out to wet your lips as you tug lightly on his waistband, and you stifle a moan when you realize he's not wearing anything underneath. The hand in your hair tightens and pulls you closer to the hard length hidden behind the soft material of his joggers.

"Fuck, Yoongi," You whisper, already mouthing along the outline of his cock.

"Get to work." His words ring in your ears as you pull firmly down and reveal his shaft in all its glory. You've had longer - Taehyung and Namjoon are both exceptionally gifted there - but you doubt anyone could match the girth Yoongi sports.

You wrap a hand around him and slide slowly upwards, committing the relieved sigh he releases to memory. There's a wide gap between your thumb and the rest of your fingers, further proof that he has the girth to make up for any lack of length, and you give it a soft kitten lick.

Yoongi cuts his groan off before it can even start, but his hips buck into you. You grin and look up at him before licking a stripe all the way to his head. His jaw tenses and the hand not tangled in your hair grips the wall behind him hard enough that some of the brick crumbles. 

He sucks in a harried breath when you wrap your lips around him; your jaw already aches from the stretch, but you can’t find it in yourself to care because when you look up at him again, his fangs are digging into his bottom lip and his eyes are clenched shut. You tease him for just long enough that he looks down at you, a demand written in the way his lip curls upwards. With no further warning, you slide down him, taking his entire length into your mouth. 

He chokes on a moan and stuffs the side of his hand between his teeth in an attempt to stay quiet. His hips are moving the barest amount against you, and you can’t help but be impressed that he’s still so in control. 

You want to see him lose it. 

You lick your way off of his cock before sliding back down, letting the flat of your tongue run along the vein as you do. You repeat the motion, letting the very tip of his cock hit your throat before you hum around him and bring one hand up to grip his balls. His hand tugs lightly on your hair and you resist for a single second before you let him pull you off. 

“Fuck, if you keep doing that-”

“You’ll cum?” False sweetness coats your voice, and it makes his expression twist in a snarl. “And here I thought you’d last longer than the others.”

“You want me stuff that mouth of yours so full you can’t talk? Because I will,” He tells you. You cock a brow and grin. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Yoongi.” 

You’re turned before you know it, back against the brick wall while Yoongi’s free hand moves to stroke lightly along your jaw. It’s everything you can do not to nuzzle into the calloused pads of his fingers and you’re glad you resist when his grip hardens and he pulls your jaw down. 

You let him slide his cock between your lips, precum smearing along your lips as he does. He’s heavy on your tongue. It’s intoxicating.

“Your mouth is so good like this, baby,” He says as he begins to thrust in and out of your mouth. “So wet and perfect, you know that? Can’t talk back with your mouth stuffed full of cock, can you?” You hum around him and his thrusts start coming faster and deeper. He’s just long enough that tip of his cock hits the back of your throat each time. 

You can taste him on your tongue and his pre-cum drips down your throat with every thrust. One hand stays buried in your hair, keeping your head in place against the wall as he fucks your face, and the other moves to support his weight. A quick glance tells you his eyes are focused on where his cock disappears between your lips, mouth hanging open just barely as he pants and groans. 

“God, you take it so well,” He pants. “Like it was just made for me.” You clench around nothing at his words; it’s not the first time you’ve heard them, by far, but fuck if you don’t love it every single time. A smile plays out over his lips, highlighting the sharp canines that you love. You can feel a growl building in his throat and you can’t resist the temptation to make him verbalize it.

You tighten your lips around his shaft and hollow your cheeks at the same time that you swallow around him. His rhythm stutters and he pulls out of your mouth in a rush, free hand darting down to wrap around the base. 

“You’re such a little bitch,” He hisses. His vice grip on his dick doesn’t lessen even as he pulls you up to your feet and spins you around. His hand disappears from your hair, both of them running up your thighs to push your dress up so he can squeeze the meat of your ass. He slaps it once before a tearing sound fills the air and your underwear falls to the ground. "Gonna teach you to have some respect, baby." 

His cock slides into you easily and you can't stop the moan that tears from your throat. The stretch burns in the most delicious way; there's little resistance as he pulls out, and the way he sinks back into your heat has your nails scraping against the brick wall. 

"Fuck, Yoongi," You whimper. He chuckles at that and snaps his hips into you again and again. Your moans echo off the alley walls, and only seem to spur him on. He's completely unforgiving, ramming into you quicker and harder with each passing second. 

"Yeah, that's it," He mutters, fingers digging to your hips. "Fucking take this cock, baby, you're so good for me, yeah? Sucked my cock so good I almost came, and now your sweet little pussy's gonna milk me dry. You want that?"

 You whimper, rolling your hips back to meet his bruising pace. He doesn't hold back and you have no doubts that were you a regular human, you'd be bruised beyond belief at the way he fucks you. 

You aren't a normal human, though, and you're thriving with how hard he fucks you into the wall. 

You clench around him and draw the first real moan you've heard from him. He runs a hand up the curve of your back, making you shiver slightly, and a particularly hard thrust has your walls fluttering around him. 

"Can't fucking wait," He moans. "Gonna flood you full of my cum, coat you with it. Everyone you see is gonna smell it on you, they're all gonna know just how good you've been fucked."

"Yes," You moan, "Yoongi, please, do it, please." 

He grips your thighs tight and spins you around, barely pulling out for a second before he's picking you up. Your ankles cross behind him as your back hits the wall and he slams into you once more. 

"Fuck yes, baby," He moans, leaning forward to mouth at your neck. "Gonna breed you so good, fill you so full of my cubs, like a good little bitch." He doesn't miss the way you moan and his teeth dig sharply into your skin. "You like that, don't you? You want everyone to know how good you are, how you take me like a bitch in heat. Fuck, you're so wet, you know that? Wet and hot and fucking perfect for me, the best fuck of my life."

"Yes, Yoongi, please, I'm good, I want it," You pant. 

"Say it," He demands. "Tell me what you want from me."

"I want you to cum," You moan, clenching around him again. You've been with enough werewolves in rut to know what he wants to hear, and you're so cock-drunk that you don't even have the fochs to tease him about it. "I want you to breed me, fill me with your cubs, wanna be yours." 

Yoongi curses and his thrusts shorten until he's just grinding his hips against yours. The pressure against your g-spot is just enough that you're starting to tip over the edge, but you hold it back. You want to cum after him. 

"Shit, you're such a perfect little bitch for me," Yoongi groans. "So perfect and sweet, can't wait to see you dripping in my cum." 

You chance a glance at him and nearly cum on the spot at the sight of red ringing his irises. You're instantly reminded of the power behind his grip, the way he could tear you apart right now if he really wanted to, if he wasn't distracted by the feeling of your warmth surrounding him. 

Your hands dig into his hair and pull him into a hard kiss. Your mouth hits his in a clash of teeth and tongue, both of you too fucked out to care as he grinds and swells inside of you. Your hands move down, pushing at him until he slides out. The sudden emptiness makes you ache but you're on a mission. You also don't want to be stuck against a wall in an alley for however long it takes his knot to deflate. 

"What-" Yoongi whimpers, doing his best to claw you back to him. You grin and drop to your knees again, sliding him into your mouth once more. It's more of a stretch now that his knot is swelling but it's worth it for the way he slides himself to the very back of your throat before pulling out. 

"I want to taste you," You tell him as you wrap your hand around him and start to slowly stroke. "I want to watch you cum down my throat and watch me swallow it all." His breathing turns ragged and there's a high-pitched whine in the air that you aren't sure he knows he's making. You look up at him, wide eyed and pouty. "Please?"

Yoongi curses briefly before he thrusts his cock into your mouth again. You can feel the pressure building and you set to work, bouncing your head on his shaft and letting your tongue flick into the seam and lap up pre-cum before swirling back down around him to the base. His arms are braced on the wall behind you and he doesn't move at all. 

His knot swells even bigger and catches briefly on your teeth, and the noise he makes sends you over the edge. You slide your fingers down to rub circles into your clit, hips rolling into the touch. Yoongi must smell it, or maybe he looks up and sees it, you aren't sure - your nose is buried in the patch of hair between his thighs as you gag around him - but he moans. It's loud and vibrates through his body and into yours, and it makes your orgasm wash over you in a wave of white. Yoongi chokes on another moan and he nearly explodes in your mouth. 

It seems never ending; his cum shoots down your throat, and it just keeps coming as he thrusts shallowly into your mouth. It collects on your tongue, and with his next thrust, you can feel it drip down your lips and chin to land neatly on your chest. You're glad he wasn't deep enough to get truly stuck in your mouth - though that could've been fun. 

Eventually, Yoongi settles. His chest heaves with the force of his orgasm, and his eyes haven't changed from the deep red. 

"You...fuck," He whimpers as he tucks himself back into joggers. He winces a little at the friction against his still decreasing knot and helps you to your feet, straightening your dress as best he can. "C'mon."

You raise an eyebrow and look down at where he's laced his fingers with yours. The red in his eyes brightens ever so slightly as he tugs you forward, free hand wrapping around your waist to hold you close to him. 

"Just where are we going?" You ask quietly, nose brushing lightly against his. 

"My place," He responds easily. "Gonna eat you out until you cum as much as I did, and then I'm gonna fuck you as hard as you know I can." 

The appeal of his secluded cabin must be clear on your face, because he's whisking you out onto the street and towards his home before you can even respond. A quick glance shows no sign the two of you were even there, save for your ruined panties on the ground and deep gouges in the brick. 

[lu-undy]

Hi!❤️. Spy is a romantic. He always makes nice things for Sniper, and the dates he plans are amazing. Sniper wants to be romantic too, so, this time, he wants to surprise Spy with his own planned date. He'll take him camping and they'll watch the starry together. Convincing Spy to go camping was a little hard, but totally worth it, Spy completely loved that date.

Alright, a date in the forest it is! I hope you’ll like it!

“Non, Sniper, I cannot accept.”

“How can you not like it if you’ve never tried it?”

Spy got up from the shade of the van and walked further away, his more-than-friend on his heels.

“Let us be serious, Sniper. Do you see me in the middle of a forest with squeaky plastic green boots?”

The Australian sighed and let his shoulders sink. He put a hand on Spy’s back who had just lit a cigarette.

“Spook, please… You always take me to wonderful places I’ve never been before, luxurious hotels and restaurants, and there was the tailor too, that fancy hairdresser… I want to try and open yer horizons too. I-I’m sorry I’m not a fancy city man like you but-but I’m sure I can make it worth your time.”

Sniper saw the cloud of smoke float in the air like the steam of an old train. Thoughts were racing in Spy’s head.

“Please, Spy. It’s not all about dirt and wilderness. There are beautiful things outside of a city’s walls.”

The Frenchman turned to face the reason his heart was beating for and Sniper put his gloved hand on his cheek.

“Like you, right now, you’re in the middle of the desert and uh… Y-you… You’re just beautiful.” 

Spy raised his eyes to Sniper. His lagoon blue eyes shone so gently that he didn’t find it in his cold stone heart to refuse.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Oui. Let us go camping tomorrow.”

“Thank you so much!” The Australian squeezed the slim Frenchman between his arms.

“S-Sniper!”

“Ah, yeah, sorry, the suit, alroight, I’m sorry.” Sniper took a step back and wrapped his arms around his own self, lowering his head. He knew the Frenchman didn’t like anyone to touch his absurdly expensive attire.

“Sniper, look at me.”

The Australian shyly raised his eyes.

“I don’t like when other people touch my suit…” Spy added a smug smile, for good measure.

They had spent the night in Sniper’s campervan and when the sun rose up, the Frenchman found himself entangled in his lover’s limbs. His first reflex was to free himself certainly out of professional habit but then he realised that he liked that embrace more than he could admit. The warmth of his lover, the comfort of his soft body, the touch of his rough skin against Spy’s…

“Mornin’, Spook…”

“Oh, you woke up?”

“Felt you movin’ on me.”

“My apologies, I didn’t mean to disturb your sleep. You may go back to your dreams if you will.” Spy took Sniper’s hand in his and kissed his knuckles. He couldn’t see it but the Australian’s eyes snapped wide under the gentle touch.

“Not a chance. I’m likin’ this way too much…” The embrace tightened.

“So, when are we going to the jungle, Tarzan?” 

“Oi, I’m no Tarzan and I’m takin’ you to a forest, not a jungle.”

“I don’t see the shadow of a difference.”

“Between me and Tarzan or between a jungle and the forest?”

“Oui.”

“You’re a bloody mystery and a half.”

“It is indeed my job title.”

About an hour later, the van was crossing the empty golden, flat desert, on the thin strip of grey asphalt.

“Are we there yet?”

“Spook, not yet.”

A few seconds passed and the van's engine was roaring.

“And now, Bushman, are we there yet?”

“Do you see anythin’ that looks like a bloody forest?”

“Non, I can only see the dull, boring orange desert.”

“Well then that means we’re not there yet, roight?”

“How long is this journey, Bushman? Are we going to make it before you get baby kangaroos?”

“Oi! A bit of patience, Spook!”

The Frenchman sighed and let his head fall back on the headrest.

“Also, I can’t get babies on my own, this isn’t how it works.”

“Is this an invitation?” Spy smirked.

“Shut up!” Sniper nudged him with his elbow.

The journey took an extra hour before they could see the end of the orange and the beginning of the green. The Australian lifted his foot off the gas pedal and eventually parked somewhere that the Frenchman would describe as “the middle of nowhere”.

“Roight, this is it.”

“Ah, oui, merci Sniper, for this delightful ride to the middle of nowhere, forest edition.”

“Oh get out and cheer up, I’ll show you some nice stuff!” Sniper answered and cut the engine off.

“After you, Mister guide…”

They got off the van. 

“Uhm, I am not really dressed for this, Sniper.”

“Come ‘round. I can lend you some clothes.”

“Non merci.”

[No thanks.]

“You’d rather walk around in yer suit and nice shoes, then?”

“I did not say that.”

“Then c’mere.”

They walked to the van’s back and Sniper jumped in. He rummaged through his belongings and found an old flannel shirt and a pair of jeans as well as some white trainers.

“Here, wear this.”

“I do hope that you are kidding me, mon beau.”

[my handsome one]

“Nah, I’m not. It should be yer size more or less and it’s fine to get them a bit dirty, although you’ll see that we’re not gonna go through any survival things. This is just to show you that you can find as many beautiful things in nature as you can in a city.”

The Frenchman winced.

“Alroight, I can uh… I mean if it helps, I can… Ahem…” Sniper put a hand on the nape of his neck. 

Spy jumped in the van and got close to his lover. 

“Tell me, what is it?”

Sniper glanced over his lover’s shoulder and seeing the door shut, he lowered his head and whispered.

“I… I can remove yer suit for you and dress you up… I-if that helps I mean…”

“Oh I don’t know if that would help.” Spy smirked and put his index finger under Sniper’s chin to push it up until their eyes met. “On one hand, if you do remove my clothes, I might get carried away. Should you proceed anyway, I would find it most enjoyable.”

“Is that a yes then?”

“Oui.”

“Alroight…”

A few minutes later, both men were out in the green. Spy kept his gloves and balaclava on. He took his lover’s hand in his.

“Show me then, please.”

“Alroight, see those trees here, well, you gotta understand somethin’ about the way they work…”

It wasn’t a visit, it was a trek, an excursion, a hike across the green. The Australian unveiled the secrets of the forest, the local wildlife as well as the typical flora around this parts.

“Oh and what is it about the mosquitoes! it’s getting worse!”

“Ah that must mean one thing, Spook, we’re getting closer to some water. Oh, look here, on the ground.”

“What are those fluffy, uhm, mille-pattes?”

“Mill-what?”

“What do you call those insects with a lot of legs?”

“Ah, caterpillars. These are called caterpillars.”

“Why are they so fluffy? Can we touch them?”

Spy got his finger closer to them.

“No, no, don’t! They’ll sting you!”

The Australian took his lover’s hand away.

“And why do they walk in a line like this? They look like they’re queueing for something…”

“Haha, my poor city man, they’re blind, that’s why they follow the only one that has any idea where it’s going!”

“Oh… I see…”

“What do you think about’em?”

“They look actually quite pretty. And very organised.”

“Glad to hear you say it, they’re amazin’ these creatures, see? Blind but they know what they’re doing! Let’s continue.”

“Fine, I’ll follow you.”

The guided tour lasted the entire day and to Spy, it seemed that he had received an entire encyclopaedia of information about the place. Everything had been accounting for, every straw of grass included. The sun was now gently setting in the distance.

“Hungry, luv’?”

The Frenchman raised an eyebrow.

“Did you just call me…?”

“Oh, uhm, sorry, that came out like that, I didn’t think about it, uh…”

“Don’t apologise, now I am quite hungry indeed…”

Spy winked at his lover and Sniper’s cheeks turned red instantly.

“R-roight, uhm, I-I’ll get the fire goin’ uh…”

“Sniper?”

“Yeah?”

“Let me light the fire, please.”

Sniper’s eyebrows jumped.

“You know how to do it?”

“May I try?”

“Alroight, go ahead. I’ll get to the van and arrange some stuff meanwhile.”

A few minutes later, the Australian exited his van again.

“Crikey, you did it! You lit a fire!”

Sniper jumped out of his van and leapt at his lover.

“Mon amour, non-oof!”

[My love]

The momentum of the Australian’s jump made them both tumble and fall on the grass. The Frenchman rolled his eyes.

“Oh now even my balaclava will be dirty…!”

“Yeah, but it’s protecting yer hair! Why are you always seeing the glass always half-empty?”

Spy smiled.

“I guess you are right.”

“Also, did you just call me-?”

“My love, oui, I did.”

“I… I love you.”

Sniper wrapped his arms around his lover and buried his head in his chest as he laid on top of him on the earthy ground of the forest.

“Sniper, y-you are crushing me…”

“Don’t care, I just love you.”

They enjoyed their sausages and marshmallows, sat on a tree log, Spy leaning his head on his lover’s shoulder. The sun had now fully set and the sole source of light on which they could rely was the dancing flames of the campfire that the Frenchman had made. 

“It’s cold now, mon amour.”

“It is. Climb up the van’s roof, I’ll be a minute.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah.”

“But it’s cold!”

“Trust me, Spook, please.”

“Fine. I have been so far so why not go all the way?"

A few minutes later, both men were on the van’s rooftop. Sniper had put the flames out and only the smoke floated in the air, evaporating through the darkness of the night. 

“Here, a duvet, we’ll be a bit warmer.”

The Australian sat next to his lover and threw the cover on their shoulders. Spy snuggled up against his taller man.

“Now look up, luv’. See those stars in the sky?”

“I see them in your eyes.”

Sniper looked down and saw the Frenchman’s eyes riveted on his, his wide black pupils reflecting the moonlight. 

“Oh, uh, they must look tiny on my eyes, uh, y-you better look at the sky to see them better, I think.”

“You are adorable.” Spy took Sniper’s arm in his and looked up. 

“See those stars shaped like a saucepan?”

“Oui.”

“That’s the Great Bear.”

“It doesn’t look like one, does it?” Spy tilted his head left and right, trying to see where on Earth anyone could see a bear up there.

“Nah, it’s true… And that one there, the upside down saucepan, that’s the Small Bear.”

“It doesn’t make any sense, Bushman. Who are these people who decided on that, their vision is terrible! Have they ever seen a bear in real life?!”

“Oi, don’t blame me, I have nothing to do with that, luv’! I’m just explaining it to ya.”

“I know, but still. They should have called it the saucepan and the upside down saucepan.”

“I agree with ya. Now there’s that one there, that’s the Dragon.”

“And unsurprisingly, it does not look like one.”

“Oh cause maybe you have seen a dragon in real life?”

“And what if I did.”

“Oh, shut up and c’mere…!”

They snuggled up closer to each other under their white fluffy blanket and  the dark one God had laid above their heads.

“So what about today? Did you like it?”

“Oui, I think I did. You know a lot of things about this… Nature business…”

“Well, yeah, I’ve lived most of my adult life outside and in me van, so I guess it makes sense.”

“I find this interesting.”

“Is that a way to say that you would like a second trip some time?”

“Maybe, Bushman. It all depends on one thing, you see.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“The way that you decide to spend this night with me.”

“Well, we’ve got the cover here and no one around for miles…”

The gaze they exchanged in the night sealed their decision and as the day had started with their limbs entangled, it ended the same way. 

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

My Way

Chapter One

A/N: this started out as a The 100 fic and sat in my drafts for ages. I tried to make it work with other fandoms, I just could never find the right fit. And I felt guilty for recycling it so much. But I love it and I always have. So I said fuck it and rewrote it again for Harry. I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I do.

Warnings: kidnapping, substance abuse

Clara woke up with a sense of ominous dread. It’s not ever present, it doesn’t wrap around her body and cover her with its presence. But it’s there, in the shadows, something is coming, and she won’t be able to stop it.

It’s inevitable, the second she walks out of her dorm and down towards her car.

She pulled into the gas station a few blocks away from her job, rolling her eyes at the gas prices, and slightly annoyed with how they always seemed to sky rocket when she needed to fill up, but plummet when she was all good. She checked her watch for the time, and mentally scolded herself, if she didn’t hurry she would be late. She stepped out of her car with her wallet, and huffed in annoyance, when she realized she didn’t have her credit card and had to go inside to use cash.

What a great start to my day. She thought, stomping towards the building.

She sighed, upon stepping into the cool air conditioned building, and instead of walking up to the counter and just paying for her gas she eyed the slushie station. Clara loved slushies, and she could never pass one up. She smiled to herself thinking, fuck it, and strolled over to the slushie machine. There was a man standing to the side of the machine, where the fridges held the drinks, he had a Redbull in one hand and a smartwater in the other. He wore an unbuttoned, navy blue flannel with a black t shirt and grease stained blue jeans. His eyes were covered by dark sunglasses and his hair was covered by a blue and white striped baseball cap. Clara was hyper aware of his presence, making sure to keep aware of her surroundings. She didn’t like the vibe she was getting from this guy. He scared her. Seemed like trouble.

But if he noticed her presence, he never showed it.

So Clara relaxed her shoulders, shaking her head and began to ponder the flavor she’d get today. Clara had never been one for conversation anyway. She always kept to herself, due to some social anxieties and quirks she had, that made her ‘unapproachable’ as her mother had put it. But if you had a doctor mother who abused prescription medication and neglected you after your father’s death, you might have some fucked up issues too.

Which is why she found it strange when she felt the man’s presence shift, he’d come closer to her, and she could feel him staring. She kept her eyes down, feeling her cheeks heat up as she pulled a cup from the slot and got ready to pour her syrupy drink into it.

"What's your favorite flavour?" He asked suddenly, and the deep rough voice startled her. He had an accent, it sounded english. She twitched and peek at him curiously through her hair, that thankfully, covered most of her face.

"Coke." she answered meekly. The man cracked a smile, his teeth were perfect and bright. It was almost, alluring. Definitely charming.

“Really?” he asked, reaching out and taking the cup from her. She didn’t have time to react, before he plucked it from her hands and filled it with the drink of her choice. “I like blue raspberry best….sometimes cherry’s good too.” He handed her the drink and she took it hesitantly. He chuckled at her demeanor, cocking his head to the side, that ridiculously handsome smile still plastered to his face.

“Thank you.” she managed after a moment, she placed a lid on her drink and grabbed a straw.

“No problem,” he replied, following her as she turned towards the cashier. She can feel the panic and the nerves rising within her. Why was he following her? As they stood in line, waiting for the other customers to leave, she could feel the man change, his whole demeanor took on a darker, more serious tone. She curled in on herself, hoping he wouldn’t try and follow her to her car. Clara hadn’t always been this way. Afraid of germs, afraid of touch….Basic human contact. No. If you looked at her high school yearbook, you wouldn’t even think it was the same person. She used to be bright, and outgoing, willing to chat it up with just about anybody, a regular teenage girl. Until Alex. And...Leah…. She shook her head, trying to focus on the task at hand, get the drink. Get the gas. Go to work. She took a deep breath, she would complete her goals today.

“Hi! How are you today?” a cheery red head smiled at Clara, she tried to smile back, and return the enthusiasm, but the feeling of dread was starting to creep back up on her and she couldn’t shake it off.

“I’m fine thank you. Ten dollars on pump-”

“Shut up.” Clara feels a strong hand wrap around her upper arm and tug her back, she looked up to see the man who had been by the slurpee machine, pulling her towards him, a pistol in his hand, pointed right at the cashier. Clara squeaked as the man pulls her into him, jabbing the gun into her side. “Give me all the money in the register, or you, and her die. Now!” Clara flinches at the last word, which he snarled at the cashier. She had her hands up, tears streaming down her face. “Move.” he ordered. The cashier slammed a metal grate down and an alarm began to sound. The man held onto Clara even harder, yanking her around as he turned to find an exit. “Fuck!” he exclaimed. Clara shifted, trying to wriggle free. He pulled her closer, he was big and intimidating. He reminded her of Alex. “You’re not going anywhere.” he said. “I need you. Come on.”

Panic began to rise within Clara, she could feel her breath growing more ragged by the minute, all the things she needed to get done shooting through her head. The man dragged her towards the back of the store and into the warehouse, once inside, he shut and locked the door, shoving her from him and holding the gun to her. Surprisingly, the slushie hasn’t spilled. “Don’t move.” he said coldly. A sob escaped her throat, the bubble was rising, she could feel the panic getting ready to burst.

“P-Please,” she rasped, her throat was closing, she couldn’t breathe.“I-I have money.”

“I don’t want your money. We need to get out of here.” Clara looked at him confused.

“W-we?” the man grabbed her again, yanking her towards the back of the warehouse.

“Yeah. We. You’re my hostage,” fear filled her as the man’s lips curled into a smile. He pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket and yanked her forward, cuffing her. “Don’t struggle. And you live.” She was about to faint. The alarm was blaring, but through the sound Clara could hear the doors bursting open. The same doors she had walked into only minutes ago, it seemed like hours now. The man cursed again, kicking the back exit door open and shoving her through.

________________

They hid behind a dumpster, he peaked out, looking around to see cops, flooding into the gas station, Clara shifted uncomfortably, the cuffs were tight on her wrists, digging into her skin. He didn’t seem to notice. “A-are you a criminal?” she asked. He didn’t even turn to look at her, inching forward slowly, his hand still gripping her tightly.

"Yeah."that was it. No explanation. Just a straight no bull answer. As the cops go into the front of the store, the man gripped her tightly and yanked her towards an older Astro van. Clara pondered why no cops were looking over towards them, how no one could see he was taking her. But it would be just her luck. He threw the passenger door open, shoving her inside, before running around to the otherside and climbing in. The door shut with a slam and he pealed out and away, the cops just noticing as they leave the gas station. The sweet and tasty slushie, left on the floor of the warehouse.

____________

The van was loud. It sent deep rumbles of vibration all the way down to Clara’s bones. Like a  massage after the chaos back at the gas station. Her hands are still bound but the man had finally stowed the gun. There was no handle on the inside of the passenger door. She was stuck and she stayed quiet. Out of fear. The man drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, listening to a song on the radio. The silence wasn’t tense, but it wasn’t comfortable either. "Are you going to kill me?" she asked softly, so low he might not even hear her. He stopped drumming and turned to look at her for the first time since he’d taken her.

"Wasn't planning on it." He replied. “I just needed some cash….but damn that cashier was quick on her feet. Taking you was the only way I would have gotten out of there alive.”

“W-why do you say that?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. He cocked his eyebrow, finally taking off his glasses, his eyes were a deep emerald green.

“You...You don’t watch tv do you ?” she shook her head. The news gave her anxiety. The only time she left her dorm was for class or work. Necessities. She kept to herself. He chuckled and shook his head as he turned on his turn signal.

“Why do you ask?” she asked a bit louder. She watched his adam’s apple bob and his eyes scan the road, searching for the right answer.

“I uh, I’m in a business most don’t agree with.” he said.

She decided to push a little further, “what do you do?”

“I’m...I’ve killed people.” he said it solemnly. Like he wasn’t proud of it, but he had to do it. Clara feels the panic begin to rise again. He cleared his throat. “What’s your name?” he asked, changing the subject.

“M-my…..it’s Clara.” she said, wishing she sounded braver than she felt.

“'m Harry.” he responded, “You know, you’re the first person I’ve met in a long time who didn’t know who I am.” he sighed, clicking his tongue, “You’re a weird girl.”

“Says the man who just admitted to murder being his occupation.” he laughed, shaking his head. She didn’t want to admit it, but she liked his laugh.

“Yeah, maybe we’re both just weird.” He paused and then said carefully, "I won’t hurt you."the tone of his voice is softer, calmer, and surprisingly soothing "Unless you make me." He added with emphasize on ‘make’.

“H-How many…” Clara trailed off, unable to finish her question. It was strange, she could never talk and be this open with just anybody. She usually just kept quiet, and stayed in her lane. She wasn’t the type of person to make waves. Not since before…..

“How many people have I killed?” Harry finished for her. She nodded, glad to have been pulled back from the darkness of her thoughts. He can tell that she’s got something going on. She looked so small and fragile. Like the china plates his mom used to collect. He really didn’t want to hurt her, and silently prayed he’d never have to. He bit his lip, trying to think of the right answer, “If I had to count….possibly sixty.” Clara's mouth fell open in shock.

“Oh my….” she instinctively moved further from him. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of rejection. She focused on her shoes, on the scuffs and the threads in the laces, anything to keep her from going crazy. They sat in silence for a long while. Harry began to twitch as it stretched, it was slight, barely noticeable. Except she saw it. "So where are you taking me?" Clara asked awkwardly, eyes darting to his before looking ahead again

“I’m taking you to my family. You’re my hostage for now, but they’ll decide if you know too much or have seen too much.” Clara swallowed hard, wondering what that could possibly mean. He must have sensed her worry, because he reached out, only to pull his hand back when she flinched, with a sigh. “Just don’t worry….You seem harmless enough.”

“Can you take the cuffs off? Please? They hurt.” Harry pulls off onto the side of the road.

"Don't try anything, okay? I have a gun." Harry met her eyes as he shut off the van and turned to her, he looked down to her hands. He quickly unlocked the cuffs and sat back. She rubbed her swollen wrists and he started the car back up.

“Are you scared?” he asked after a while. Clara looked up at him again. She noticed he had freckles, they were light and scattered across his cheeks...He’d be a good subject to draw.

“I….” she bit her lip, unsure of how to proceed, “I’m terrified…..I know that mentally….But I guess I’ve shut down. I don’t really feeling anything.”

“Why?” he asked, suddenly curious. Did he want her to be afraid.

“I’ve been in….I’ve been in a lot worse situations,” he scoffed at that, disbelievingly.

“You’re my hostage. I had you at gunpoint. I’m kidnapping you and you’ve been in worse situations?” she smiles at how ludicrous it sounds.

“It does sound crazy but….I don’t know. I have a lot of anxiety disorders and I’ve been struggling with depression so I….maybe this was too much and my body is protecting itself.” he pursed his lips together.

“How old are you?”

“19.”

Shit. He thought. She’s just a kid. “I’m sorry it had to be you.” she gave him a questioning look. “In the store. If you hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have taken you.” she nodded, not quite accepting his apology, but understanding, that he knew, she had been through some shit.

“I haven’t…..I haven’t left this town my entire life.” she said quietly, changing the subject. Harry picked up her switch in demeanor and followed it, trying to lighten the mood.

“Yeah?” she tried to smile, it was small and tight, but she could feel the uneasiness begin to grow again.

“Yeah….where is your family?”

“You’ll see,” he said, flashing her a grin. “You’ll like it better than this dump.” he snorted as they passed the ‘Leaving Cincinatti’ sign.

“Why did you come here?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.” she nodded, sinking back into her seat. Harry cleared his throat and turned the radio back up. “Better settle in. We got a long drive…..what kind of music do you like?”

________

He shut the door behind him. The dorm room was quiet and he couldn’t feel her presence as he looked around. Everything was in it’s rightful place, meticulous and germ freak as ever. He missed her so much. He walked over to Clara's desk and lifted the sketchbook that sat open on it, he touched the lines of the person she drew, imagining the way she drew it, the way her hands moved. His heart was racing. It was 4pm and she should have been home now. She didn’t have any friends.

Where was she?

Where was the girl he’d been searching for for so long?

He was dying to see her again…….