#but at the same time if you crank up your volume you can hear me yelling “FUCK OFF DENETHOR GODDAMNIT”

[rexxmako]

in my head i call boromir "babe" and faramir "poor lil fuckin meow meow" and i think this is my canon event

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Boy fucking howdy, the BG3 obsession is real, and so is being unable to sleep. I cranked this out in 20 minutes in an absolute fervor because I’m OBSESSED, as we all are. Please forgive my absence, but let us rejoice that I have been possessed enough to write again.

—————

Admittedly, you all have had better days on the road to Baldur’s Gate. There have been close calls and hard fights, but today has decidedly been the worst. What started as a hopeful descent into the Githyanki Crèche ended in most of your party downed, and watching Laezel’s eyes lose light as she died. Shadowheart thankfully still had the wherewithal to walk you through the scroll you said you’d never had to use, hand in shaky hand. It took you about an hour to detach yourself from her side once you all made it back to camp.

Quiet nods and looks of understanding were sent all around you as you commanded your feet their last few steps to your tent. Gale would take over dinner tonight. Karlach would take care of the owlbear and Scratch. Others would take other duties. You would take care of sitting down on your cot and disassociating before you could unclip both straps of your armor. That’s how Astarion found you anyways.

You had been close, today. Despite the looming threats, you both woke up in cheery spirits. You had gossiped about how Raphael was a scumbag, but a hot one, how Shadowheart and Laezel would definitely make out by the end of this journey, among other things. Once battles had started, you had even found a nice flow physically. Shooting arrows over each others shoulders, stabbing enemies before they could get to the other. Something went wrong along the way. Discussions didn’t seem to go your way. No one you all encountered seemed very convinced of your decisions or leadership. You felt that it had started to infiltrate your team, despite their objections.

But someone had died on your watch. And for that, you’d never forgive yourself.

“Sweetheart, armor comes off before bed, you know.” A little less smug than usual. “He’s worried,” you think in passing. It seemed that his voice came from farther away, until you felt the whisper of his fingers on your shoulder. His way of not wanting to scare you. He’s very familiar with the look in your eyes right now. You have enough energy to finish unbuckling the second clasp before the chest piece falls to the floor with a dull thud. As you extend your torso to stretch properly for the first time today, both sets of eyes fall to a particularly dark red patch in your torso, right underneath your heart. Seems you’ve been stabbed. How long ago is anyone’s guess, but the armor seemed to hold as the worlds worst tourniquet. The volume of voices tune back out as you hear Astarions call for help, the pitch of panic sending you deeper into… something. Not quite nothingness. Not quite enough of something to call it anything. A general state of pain and emptiness.

Two sets of hands lift you enough to lay down on your cot. Voices mill around, but you feel the large hands of Halsin gingerly lift your shirt to begin healing. He leaves you in your bra as he begins his work. He has a way of making his deep booming voice so soothing when he knows you’re in pain. Astarion sits down closer to your face, and has one hand on the side of your cheek. His thumb runs across your cheekbone a little faster than usual, trying to comfort you as well as himself. Halsin has been around this enough that both men don’t seem to be phased, but Astarion starts his mix of worry and chastisement and care. Funny how he can speak so softly and so cutting at the same time.

“How many times have I told you to tell me when you’re hurt? You’re not holding up your end of the bargain,” he says, with no real seriousness. You look over long enough to see his creased brows, but in them, something new. He’s angry at you, for compromising the plan. For compromising his journey. For compromising the trust he put in you for being a team. He’s also mad at himself for not being in front of you to catch the blade.

“You’re no good to me dead, you know. I need you… I need you here.” He says, voice shaky, as Halsin finishes his spell. The newly connected skin is always itchy, so he puts a salve on before he leaves. He puts a large hand on Astarions shoulder and exchange a few words before he leans over and kisses you gently on the temple. He whispers, between the three of you “We’re here to take care of you, my heart. Please allow us to.”

Now that the physical pain has started to subside, the emotions you’ve been pushing down through the day start to bubble up. You start to feel the dirt, the blood, the viscera on your skin. How compressed everything is starting to get. You lean up and start to breathe. A little too fast, a little too heavy. Astarions eyes get wide, he’s seen you stressed but this is something different. You hurry to a nearby abandoned building near camp while he stays behind a step, a little stunned.

Normally this would be the time he freezes, unsure of emotions, unsure how to help. But it’s usually him that’s going through something like this. It’s usually you who calms him down, brings him back to center. What has he done to make you feel like this?

You sit in the corner of a decrepit old rampart. Panic attacks haven’t been prevalent for quite some time. You don’t hear him, once again until he’s next to you. You notice your cot and some creature comforts set up a few feet away. A few curtains strewn to block out the inevitable morning sun. Some candles for light.

“Thought you might like some alone time tonight.” He says, voice deep and steady and sure of himself. For someone so lithe and nimble, you forget he can lift you in his arms. And he does settling you in bed, sitting while you feel him taking his shirt off and leaning you against his chest. The skin on skin contact, you’ve found, comforts him as much as it comforts you.

The shock of Astarion moving with such assuredness brings you a little bit back to surface. You clear your throat and say “I’m sorry for troubling everyone. Today was a little hard for me.” Your voice breaks a little at the end, and so does your resolve as you cry, letting the emotions of the day out.

He runs fingers through your hair and turns you into his chest as you release all your worry from the day. “You know, I honestly don’t know how you’ve kept it together this far, my sweet.” He brings his face to the side of yours, steadying your breathing and letting his breath warm your neck. “I haven’t had to be strong for anyone… well, other than myself. But I didn’t even do a good job then. You’re so much more than you know. To them. To me.” He lays a field of kisses to the side of your face and neck while his arms surround you, fingers lacing together. “I… don’t know how to do this part. I don’t know how to be good at this. To comfort. But I do know I’ve never been more torn apart when you’re in pain. Please. Let me… try. Let me try to be good at this.”

Chest heaving, you look up and take his mouth into yours. You kiss deeply, letting it say all the things you’re too tired to say. Too tired to thank him for. He seems to understand, as he cradles your face in his palm. A kiss that’s said more than you’ve said to each other for weeks.

As sleep overtakes you, he brings you into his chest, arm circling your shoulder.

The last burst of energy wouldn’t allow your mouth to say it, but Astarion felt the tadpole twitch with the three words you two had been dancing around for some time. If his heart still beat it would keep him up for the rest of the night. In hope. In anticipation to say it back. But you two were together. Alive. There would be time for I love yous in the morning.

[ninnosaurus]

Three’s a Crowd: Two vs. One

I've had this silly thing from my topside AU in my head for literal AGES now and I just had to write it out.

Contains: Brotherly shenanigans. Mikey and Raph decides to tap dance on Leo's every nerve during a car ride by blasting music Leo can't stand. (It's CupcaKke, they're blasting 'Duck Duck Goose' with the sole purpose of pissing Leo off in public). Bayverse.

Warnings: Vulgar language, but it's literally just song lyrics

Leo laid half on his couch, half off it, his iPad resting on its stand on his plastron. He'd been watching the same livestream for about two hours. Not moving from his place. He was bored. Out. Of. His. Mind.

He'd already done the chores. Laundry was folded and put away. He'd scrolled his forums. Checked the auction sites. Nothing.

Groaning he picked his iPad up, got off the couch and trudged to the kitchen where he heard the familiar tune of a FaceTime call coming in. Touching accept he put the pad on the counter next to the fridge.

"Hey, Raph."

Leo smiled to himself when he heard the familiar sound of a large family in the background.

"Who are you calling?!"

"Guys, guys. Tone it down a notch, yea?"

Raph grunted as he was attacked and his arms pulled down.

"Leo."

Leo chuckled to himself, leaning back and watching Raphael get tugged at. Two faces came into view before his brother managed to yank himself loose. "HI UNCLE LEE!"

"Offsprings. Go harrass your mom instead." He shook his head as his face came back into view. "Tanner and Harls says hey."

The oldest popped a grape into his mouth. "I noticed. What's up?"

"Me and Mike are going grocery shopping, ya in?"

He chewed slowly, contemplating the offer. It's better than sitting at home, but he's also probably going to get shit he don't need.

" 'kay, I'm in. Pick me up in 20?"

"Mhm."

"Hey, boys!"

Their oldest brothers slapped them both on their shoulders as he climbed into the backseat. They chat about anything and everything for a while, until Mikey pipes up as he notice how they get closer to the city.

"Oh, yeah? Ya hear that, Fearless? Mikey has a new sound system."

"Sooo... I got a hold of Don the other week and we put a new sound system in my car."

The turtle next to him picked up on the tone of his brother's voice, catching on right away.

Dread. Fear.

"No!" Grabbing ahold of Raph's back rest he pulls himself forward. "Don't."

At a red light, Mikey pulls his phone up. "Let's try it out!"

All it takes for Leo to want to die is to hear the first sound of the song, before long he's trapped in a car with two brothers singing along to the song.

"Mikey, please turn it off!"

I thought I came but I peed on the dick

Pubic hair got inches, that's weave on the dick

Pussy like a tree, it got leaves on the shit

"Turn it UP? Yeah I can turn it up!" He cackles as he cranks the volume up even more. The bass making the sides of the car vibrate.

"WHAT? NO! Ughh..." Leo rubs his face with his hands before putting them over his ears. He fuckin' hates this music...

"My cakes got fatter by usin' cum as the batter!"

My nudes in your phone, takin' up your data

My cakes got fatter by usin' cum as the batter

Raph nudged Mikey on the arm. "Man, it's WARM out today!"

The voice of Raphael brings Leo back to the now. "No! Absolutely not! Don't you fucking dare do what I think you're about to, Raph!" He looks on in fear as another red light is coming closer and closer, fearing what is about to go down.

"You're right, bro. It IS warm out today. I'll lower the windows for us!"

I only call you Captain, 'cause your dick is off the hook

I can make your dick stand up (are you ready?)

Like Statue of Liberty once we fuck (so hard)

"MICHELANGELO! I am BEGGING YOU! Turn. It. Off or I'm disowning your ugly ass!"

His brother just laughed as he continued to sing along, albeit being way too into it.

"Cut the dick off, took it home with me, 'cause any dick that long, it belong with me"

Just in time for them to stop at a red light. All of the car's windows are down. It was enough for them all to already be famous for being the savior of human kind, and for allowing other mutants to walk the streets.

"This pussy iconic, yeah it moan with me, put your finger in the hole, come bowl with me."

Turn double-dutch with yo' balls while I'm jumpin' on your dick

Tell your grandma sew my pussy, since you split open my clit

Coochie guaranteed to put you to sleep so damn soon

Ridin' on that dick, I'm readin' Goodnight Moon

Ugh... I'm not looking forward to seeing this on Twitter later.

Some girls next to him laughed as he saw them pull up a phone, obviously filming how the youngest was grinding his hips in tune with the song. With Raphael laughing so hard he was having a hard time breathing. Meanwhile, Leo was trying, but failing, to hide from everything.

The brief thought of faking his own death and moving back into the sewers crossed his mind.

Taglist: @redsrooftopprincess, @the-cauldron-witch, I have to tag @thelaundrybitch too because Leo is s u f f e r i n g and needs a hug.

Lemme know if you want on iiiit!

[fuzzkaizer]

Systech - overdrive

"Have you ever played a pedal that stuck with you forever, even though you knew in your heart it was totally weird, and nobody famous ever used it? For me, yeah, tons of them. But if I had to pick one that best fit these criteria, this one would be it. This is the Systech Overdrive. Before we dive in, let’s talk a little about where it was made.

There was a time when, of all places, Kalamazoo Michigan was an epicenter for musically related things. Apart from being a city referenced by Looney Tunes and the hometown of Glen Miller’s gal, Kalamazoo had the Sound Factory, which was a collective of sorts that featured guitar luthiery, a recording studio and electronic gear manufacturing. The facility sat front and center on Kalamazoo Avenue, smack dab in the middle of the city, and attracted visitors from all over.

Of course, if it was some random outpost of nobodies, the name wouldn’t carry any weight. However, the Sound Factory was shored up by three relatively heavy hitters of the early ‘70s. One such was Greg Hochman, Keith Emerson’s Moog technician. He was joined by Bryce Roberson, otherwise known as Uncle Dirty of Chess Records fame and a relatively unknown person named Charlie Wicks. If you’ve been reading this column for a while, you’ll recognize him as the man behind ProCo—the Ratfather.

Together, these three developed Systech, which itself was short for “Systems & Technology in Music, Inc.” That mouthful of a company was responsible for the Harmonic Energizer, a little-known yet highly influential effect that provided a deep filtered sound in addition to some crunchy drive and sharp resonant peaks. You might know it as one of Frank Zappa’s signature pieces. And while this Overdrive effect wasn’t that, it was derived from the Harmonic Energizer and shares a handful of characteristics.

Basically, if dialed in just the right way, the Harmonic Energizer will make short work of an entire speaker cabinet and anyone in the audience. This is because it was designed to provide a staggering gain of 55dB, enough to cause serious damage to your gear or hearing. The Overdrive was created to get some of those tones at non speaker-shredding levels.

If you’re thinking this unit is some kind of proto-Tube Screamer, think again. Because this was the early ‘70s, nobody had really decided exactly what “overdrive” meant. And though Maestro (coincidentally, also in Kalamazoo) had created one of almost every effect under the sun, pedal fever wasn’t quite here just yet, so Systech was essentially “winging it.” With that said, the Overdrive is actually a pretty aggressive fuzz sound. And to that end, the fuzz circuit is pretty unique. The entire affair contains two transistors—one a JFET input buffer—and one dual op-amp with a handful of other components. Even the topology is relatively simple, but the simplicity ends with the schematic.

The EQ control works unlike pretty much any EQ control you’ve ever fiddled with; as much an EQ as the whole unit is an overdrive. Instead of a simple tonal adjustment, the EQ control is actually an active bandpass filter, in the same family as a wah circuit. With a simple twist of a knob, you can adjust this filter from 122Hz to 900Hz. As you might imagine, the EQ control sounds relatively cocked-wah-esque, but the sound is much more aggressive than any wah on the market before or since. The reason has to do with the Q factor, essentially a bandwidth control. A wah’s Q is set by its 33K resistor and is much wider than that of the Overdrive, so the tone is a little more rounded. While a wah’s filter is a rubber mallet, the Systech Overdrive’s is a tack hammer. While the sound is curious, the thing really comes to life when you crank the EQ control, as it gives you a nice punch in the mids. You lose a little definition when you get to the bottom third, but man is it fun to play with.

“Distortion” is just what it sounds like, but curiously enough, “Gain” is about as close to a volume knob as you’re going to get. Much like Distortion, if you turn it all the way down it kills the entire signal, but it sits behind a final gain stage. If you have the guts to crank both Distortion and Gain, you’re richly rewarded with gobs of gooey sustain, but the flipside is that your amp is likely screaming “uncle.” Worth it? Your call. I say go for it.

Many people say Zappa used a Systech Overdrive, but alas, he did not. However, when you play it, you can definitely see the similarities between this unit and the fabled Harmonic Energizer. But as far as I’m concerned, it’s close enough for rock and roll."

cred: catalinbread.com/blogs/kulas-cabinet/systech-overdrive

[artistdove]

Ok so I finished the Epic Mickey Demo a while ago and here are my thoughts. I played it on the Switch. This is gonna be a bit long, sorry in advance. Gonna put a read more in case none want to be spoiled or read this, idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Graphics: Amazing. Everything has a new model even the characters, nothing looks like it was ported from the Wii and HD-ed. Though that does mean for the Switch it may glitch at times. Sometimes I would catch the models load and unload. Though some of the new models seem a bit odd when they do certain animations. Really it's Ozzy's model that had me double take. It's great, but when he puffs out his chest it looks a bit geometric instead of smooth. Idk maybe the light sources make it look bad. Mick's ears have a slight bug when the camera sticks for a bit as they are made to follow the camera. The cutscenes do seem to cut off abruptly. I was a spamming A quite a bit, but that shouldn't have caused such jumps. I only had one second of footage of the teacup ride before it cuts to the ruined Dumbo ride. Others seems too fast for the animation to fully play out too. The thinner rivers also look odd as they are brighter in color.

Animation: Flowy and sleek. Apparently, they erased the controller Mick holds in the old cutscenes. I didn't notice it. I did noticed that some of the animations looked new. They may not be, idk. I played this game on the Wii, so. But I swear, Ozzy makes a slightly different facial expression in the intro scene. The animation does feel a tad lifeless and buffered at times. It doesn't squash and stretch like it used too, heck Ozzy's shocked expression felt quite stiff. Mickey's jump animation seems floaty in how he transitions to it. I definitely notice some of the enemies get stuck in the stage animation and took a bit to gain control. The paint/thinner streaks are crazy. It either looks normal or breaks physics with how it hits objects. Breakable objects go brr cuz they put physics on those.

Sound: Sound doesn't seem to have changed drastically. I can tell there is some new sounds or ones I just never noticed. Like piano notes when Mick tip-toes. Ozzy's new little noise when he taunts Mick. New ink sounds for his movesets. Upgraded sounds for the grunts. Though, the volume is strange. In the beginning, there is like no sound. Music was definitely present, but I could barely hear the footsteps, Gus, robot, etc. I swear the machine's cranks were like blasting in the old game. It's so muffled, and I had the volume at like 25. Later, the volume was fine. Neither sound or music was out doing each other.

Gameplay: Not bad. The new movesets and dash feature is great. Buttons layout is odd, though again. I played it on the Wii so I am too used to motion controls for it. The Switch offers it, but only when you press the buttons to paint or thin. Other than that, your stuck having to aim it with the camera stick. Took me a while to get used to it. The other layouts are fine. There seems to be a new move with the Guardians on guiding them, but idk how that works. The game plays the same as usual. I will warn that when too many enemies are on screen, causes crazy lag. Most likely due to the high graphics and it being on the Switch. I got ganged up by Splatters.

Other: I can definitely tell that the game may need patch updates or something. Some parts felt behind or laggy. Wish there was more graphic options to help it run better on Switch. The motion control could have been better. I mean Skyward Sword got ported and that still functioned like it's Wii version. The new moves are neat but until the full game, I don't understand how useful they will be. The UI is neat. I understand the charm of the old ones. Least if they remake the sequal, they have those new assets. The characters icons or eh to me. Neat poster-look, but I like the 3D or sketchy style. Nice to have Gus be optional in his tips. He'll still force tips, but it's not near as often. Some stuff does seem to be missing. The only thing that comes to mind is the first pin found has no camera swirl, poor Mick just snaps his kneck. Didn't get to look at the concept art before I finished it, but nice to know you can zoom in and know who drew it. Even nicer that there is much more concept art. Menu is amazing. Sleek and easily readable. The new loading screens are great, I will be missing the old ones though. Main menu is also cool as heck.

Overall, I have hopes for this game. I am so excited to get the full release. I do feel that a tad more improvements need to be made. Probably doesn't help I have a console that has questional performance and quality, which is sad cuz Nintendo was known for that. Happy to see Ozzy be brought to a spotlight and Mickey be used again.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

You Spin Me Right Round Part Four

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Rating: M

Notes: Set after the series because Eddie is fine he graduated no worries. Not beta-read. I hope y’all are having a lovely weekend! 🖤

There will be 1-2 more chapters after this.

Warnings: Cursing, use of the marriageiguana, fluff, some angst, negative feelings toward Reader’s father; Reader’s father is an absent figure.

Summary: Eddie looks horrified at how dusty the turntable is. You don’t even know when it was last used—maybe a couple of the other employees used to use it now and again, but it’s been a long time since old Andrews cut their part time positions to give you a full time salary. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Eddie gasps, crouching in front of it. “What has she done to you?” 

“Okay, lesson number two.” 

You look up from your book to see Eddie approaching the counter, holding something behind his back. He spins it to face you, a smile on his face. Your eyes wander the secondhand copy of Fleetwood Mac’s Rumors again. 

“I haven’t even finished lesson number one yet," You point out, "And why not the cassette?” 

“Well, first of all, we’d have to unwrap it.” 

“Right.” 

“Second of all, there are some things that you just need to hear on vinyl.” He draws the record out, setting the record sleeve down on the counter and twirling the record in front of you. “So. Where can I pop this bad boy in?” 

--  

Eddie looks horrified at how dusty the turntable is. You don’t even know when it was last used—maybe a couple of the other employees used to use it now and again, but it’s been a long time since old Andrews cut their part time positions to give you a full time salary. 

“Oh, you poor thing,” Eddie gasps, crouching in front of it. “What has she done to you?” 

You roll your eyes, watching as he takes his bandana from his back pocket and carefully brush the dust away from each of the components. 

“You’re bein’ real tender with that record player, Munson.” 

“Well you need to be tender with a record player. Especially one as unloved as this. Why won’t ya love it?” 

“...Just play the damn record.” 

Eddie turns back to the turntable, gently lowering the record onto the platter. 

“Don’t listen to her, baby,” He coos to it, sweetly smoothing his long, ringed fingers over the dials. “We’ll show her, won’t we.” 

He drops the needle, then cranks up the volume. 

“Is this still part of my education?” You ask. 

“‘Course it is. It’s all in layers. You wanna really know the tree, ya gotta know its roots,” Eddie insists, turning and pushing himself up to sit on the counter.

“And what…tree are you showing me?” 

Eddie grins devilishly then, and you seem to know the answer. Before you can prod, and before he can confirm your suspicions, a burst of bright guitar and a steady, thumping beat fills the shop. 

I know there's nothin' to say

Someone has taken my place

When times go bad

When times go rough

Won't you lay me down in tall grass

And let me do my stuff

Your eyes lower to your book, but you find that you’re not really reading—you’re too busy listening to the lyrics. It’s another moment before you hear the hiss of paper against cardboard. You glance up, doing a double-take at the sight of Eddie holding a large, thin booklet up in front of his face, peering at you from over the top. You bite your lip, glancing down at your book. Then you pluck your bookmark out of the back and set it down on the counter. Eddie flips the booklet open, passing it over to you. You take hold of it, skimming the credits, then spotting the lyrics. 

After a moment, you see Eddie shift in your periphery. He reaches out, taking up your book, scanning the cover. It’s the same one that he threw into and then drew out of the dirt the night before. His eyes skim the title before he flips it open to the first page. You smile a little bit, lowering your head back to the lyrics for a moment. When you’ve read ahead enough, you turn the cover upside down, then flip it over, eyes skimming the photos of the back of the insert. 

They seem to be from recording sessions, concerts, their everyday lives. You bite your lip, turning the album cover over again.

“You like this?” You hear him ask.

You glance at Eddie at his question. 

“The music or the book?” 

“I can tell you like the music.” 

The assertion makes your chest well with bashfulness, and you shift in your seat. 

“The book, then?” You press. Eddie nods, legs swinging back and forth as he waits patiently for your answer. You shrug a little, eyeing the bookmark. You’re about halfway through. 

“I mean…So far, I’m um…Yeah. Yeah, I think so,” You nod. “You ever read it?” 

“Nah. I was supposed to,” Eddie admits, looking down at the book again. You smile a little. 

“So was Cliff.” 

“Oh yeah? Explains why my grades were so bad for that unit—I used to copy off’a his papers.” 

“Really?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Did you read anything in high school that you did like?” 

“Ah…Pffffff,” Eddie gazes upward, eyes narrowing as he seems to try and recall his reading lists. “Sherlock Holmes, that was pretty neat…Hamlet, I dug that one.” 

“Yeah?” You press. Eddie nods, tipping the book back and forth in his hands. “What’d you dig about it?” 

“The ghosts,” Eddie grins, “And the play—Like, the play in the play where they, like, trap the bad guy and shit. Fucking awesome. We did Romeo and Juliet, too, but like…Not as good.” 

“No?” 

“Nah. I mean it had some rad stuff, but Hamlet was better. I reread Hamlet a lot.” 

“Really?” 

“Yeah.” Eddie’s head dips then, absently thumbing the pages. “I got held back senior year, like, twice.” 

You nod a little bit before offering a small shrug. “It happens.” 

Eddie seems to perk up at that, eyes darting to yours. 

“It happen to you?” 

You flounder. It's your turn to nervously eye the book, stomach flipping before you give a small shrug. 

“Not exactly.”

Eddie’s feet slow in their kicking before he lightly shifts one foot over, nudging your knee gently.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. It’s just your music education that I’m concerned with.” 

-- 

You shouldn’t be so enamored with the sight of Eddie folded in half, peering under the hood of your car. He’s gone between your car and his van twice, coming back with tools and something that you don’t recognize. He grunts as he tries to pry something loose. 

“Can you come hold this?” He asks, holding out the flashlight. 

“Yeah! Yeah,” You hurry to his side, taking hold of it and shining it where he directs. “Can I, um…What are you doing?” 

“Replacing spark plugs.” 

“...Which does…?” 

“They ignite the combustion in your engine with, you know—a spark,” He smiles up at you. “Helps get the car started.”

Your mouth forms a small ‘o’ as Eddie ducks his head again. Then he leans back to show you the cap to the plug, the old spark plug, and his tools—a ratchet, a gapping tool, ring nose pliers, and a universal joint extension. You watch him work with steady care. 

“Why are you replacing that one?” 

“It’s cracked. Look, here at the ceramic,” He leans back, showing you the crack in the sparkplug, “See how it runs the whole length of the plug?” 

“Uh-huh.” 

“Well, when there’s a crack, the spark can misfire to the central electrode and not the ground electrode.” 

“And that’s…Bad.” 

“Yeah,” Eddie chuckles, pointing to the tip, “You want it to spark here. Anywhere else and it’s not going to ignite the fuel.” 

“So that’s why my car sputtered.” 

“Yes ma’am,” Eddie nods, bowing over the hood again. You bite your lip, watching his steady, quick fingers. You’re a little rattled by the sight, and the way it makes your stomach flip. It’s another hour before Eddie is leaning back with a, “Hoo, boy. Alright, start her up.” 

You round to the car, climbing into the front seat and turning the key in the ignition. It’s just a second before the car is firing up. Your brows raise, and you can’t help but smile as Eddie closes the hood of your car, giving a little wiggle of his hips, and a fist pump. 

“Boom!” 

You chuckle softly, shutting your car down. 

“Thank you,” You say, climbing out of it. “What do I owe you for—” 

“Oh nah, don’t worry about it,” He shakes his head. And that’s sweet of him, but you can’t just send him off without some kind of thanks. 

“Are you hungry?” You ply. 

--  

Your eye keeps straying nervously from the stove to Eddie. He’s eyeing the posters and the pictures put up on your wall, looking at the books on your shelves and on the coffee table. You’ve never let anyone into your space like this—you’ve never had anyone to let into your space. You turn back to the food as you feel Eddie turning to look at you. 

“You’re not in your usual,” You comment as he wanders closer. 

“Huh?” 

“The uh—Your devil shirt…Thing.” 

“Ah.” 

“Is that the name of your band?” 

“What, Hellfire Club? Nah,” He smiles, leaning against the counter beside you, “That’s the uh—It’s a Dungeons and Dragons group. I used to be the Dungeon Master.”

“So why do you still wear the shirt?” 

“Because it’s a good shirt.” 

You chuckle, turning back to the food and pushing it around the pan, making sure it doesn’t burn. 

“Soooo,” Eddie leans closer, “What are we having?” 

“It’s just…Nothing fancy. I mean, I usually just throw things in a pan and push it around until it’s cooked.” 

“Well, whatever’s in there, it smells awesome.” 

You smile gratefully, glancing at Eddie to find him smiling widely at you. 

“You want something to drink? Beer or, water, something?” You offer. “Uhhh…Yeah. Yeah, I’ll take a beer.” 

-- 

You expect your evening with Eddie to end at dinner. Instead, you wind up on the couch with him, half a joint deep as you listen to the mixtape he made you. He’s shed his leather jacket and jean vest, leaving him in a long sleeve black shirt that clings to his arms in the most distracting way.

You’re a little surprised how easy the evening has felt, and how nice it feels to have someone in your home. Maybe it’s the weed. Maybe it’s the company, and the fact that you’re starting to get more and more comfortable with Eddie. Either way, you sit nestled against his side, his arm curled around your shoulders. Your eyes are set on a photo you ripped out of National Geographic and pinned to your wall. The article was about Río Azul, touted as the Lost City of the Maya. 

You let your eyes slip closed. Your body feels lighter than air. Every slight slip of Eddie’s fingers over your shoulders makes little goosebumps and sparks skitter up your arm. He turns his head a little, lips brushing your temple, and your heart skips a beat. 

“Do you like it?” He murmurs. It takes you a moment—you don’t know if he means the weed, or how close you are to him. And then it clicks that he means the music, the tape that he so painstakingly put together for you. Sure, not all of the it is something that you’ve gone out of your way to listen to before—in fact, none of it is. But the fact that Eddie’s gone out of his way to do so many things for you, things that you never asked for, makes your head feel like a helium balloon, bobbing and light. 

“Yeah,” You murmur in turn, tipping your head up a bit to look at him. As you move, his lips brush over the slope of your nose. You go still at the proximity. You can feel Eddie’s breath brushing against your lips. His dark, warm eyes sweep your face, your stomach flips as his gaze drops to and lingers on your mouth. It sends a dangerous bolt of want through you. You lower your gaze, swallowing thickly as you reach out, taking the lit joint from between his fingers and resting your head on his shoulder again, raising it to take another puff. Eddie clears his throat slightly. 

“You have any snacks?” He asks.

“Um…” You gaze toward the kitchen, wracking your brain as you raise the joint to your lips. “I don’t think so.” 

Eddie grunts, then shoves a hand into his pocket. You hear his fingers close around something crinkly before he draws them out, holding up a little plastic sleeve with brightly colored candy. 

“Want a chumball?” He offers. It makes you splutter smoke and cough, but you can’t stop giggling, your head tipping back against his shoulder. Eddie falls into laughter, whacking your shoulder and nodding to the water on your coffee table.

“Take a sip before you choke, jeez,” He laughs. You wobble, flailing to sit up, your giggles spurred further as Eddie lowers his hand to give you an assisting push at your lower back. You grasp the glass of water, swigging it and soothing your stinging throat. You cough a couple more times before you slouch back against him again. 

“Fuck,” You mumble.

“That a yes or no to the chumballs?” 

You glance over, smiling dopily as he shakes them. 

“Yeah, sure. What the fuck,” You agree, nodding and holding a hand out. Eddie raises the packet to his mouth, and you watch, mouth drying, as he rips it open with his teeth. He tips the bag into your hand, shaking a red one into your hand. You pluck it up with your other hand, holding it up in the dim light before you pop it between your lips. You glance back as Eddie pops a yellow one into his mouth before shoving the packet away again. 

“Which one’d you get?” You ask around the chumball. 

“Mmmm…Banana,” He answers, chumball clacking against his teeth. “You?” 

You swirl the chumball around in your mouth. 

“Cherry.” 

Eddie grunts, taking the joint and drawing from it. You arch your brows. 

“Is the chumball enhancing the flavor?” You ask dryly. Eddie seems to consider for a moment before he shakes his head, blowing the smoke out through his nose. 

“No. Not at all.” 

You collapse into giggles again, turning your head and lightly butting your forehead against his jaw. He chuckles in turn, blowing the last of the smoke from between his lips before he curls his arm around your shoulders again, pressing his face into your hair. You can more feel than hear him humming along to the music. 

“...What’s this one,” You mumble. 

“Paranoid,” Eddie murmurs, “Black Sabbath and Ozzy Osbourne. It’s the uh…They did it at LiveAid last year.” 

“...S’good.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Good glue.” 

“Great glue.” 

Tag list: @missredherring​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​ ; @paintballkid711​ ;  @massivecolorspygiant​ ; @blueeyesatnight​ ;  @recklessworry​ ; @amneris21​​ ; @ew-erin​ ; @youngkenobilove​​ ; @carbonated-beverage​​ ; @lorecraft​​  ;  @moonlightburned​​ ;  @milf-trinity​​  ; @nolanell​​ ;  @millllenniawrites​​ ;  @chattychell​​  ; @dihra-vesa​​  ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices​​ ; @missswriter​​  ; @thembosapphicclown​​ ;  @brandyllyn​​  ; @wildmoonflower​​ ; @buckybarneshairpullingkink​​  ; @mad-girl-without-a-box​​  ;  @winchestershiresauce​​ ; @munsonsuccubus ; @dragonfly358 (tumblr wouldn’t let me tag) ; @heyndrix (tumblr wouldn't let me tag)

[wordborne]

All for Us

Jerome Valeska finds someone new to torment.

That someone is, unfortunately, you.

TAGS: Jerome Valeska/Reader, alternate universe, unhealthy relationships, bad decisions, canon-typical violence, major character death, eventual smut, Jerome can only be classified as nuisance to lover. CHAPTER: 1/?

Inspired by Are You Going to Write Your Report About Me? by Magnetic_Stars .

It was the third night the city was at war.

Breaking and entering. Murders. Fires everywhere. The non-stop sound of sirens screaming outside was almost dulled out by the loud music playing from your TV. Only one channel had kept its regular scheduled programming, and you tuned in every single time the city went to hell again. The volume was cranked up so loudly you were sure the poor speakers were going to burst one day, but you wanted to keep up the charade. Pretend you were masking something instead of doing the dishes while occasionally throwing dollar store ceramic plates out the window or into a wall to pretend someone was looting your apartment.

Was it a sound strategy? No. But, so far, you hadn't met the fates of some of your neighbors who’d stumbled out of their homes the morning after, faces with patches of black and blue and missing a few teeth after someone decided they were an easy hit. 

They hadn’t bothered to cut off the lights the last couple of times, making everything eerier. Light was comforting. Kind. But not this one. This one was tainted with bloodlust and pain, offering no relief if you were caught in the crossfire. Still, the city had to go on. Schools were open. You had to go to work every day. The little corner shops had their ‘open’ neon signs on because this couldn’t go on forever.  And, to the city’s defense, they did try to bring some sense of peace. Have more cops around. Big, yellow buses designated to take people home after work or school -as if they’d forgotten what happened the last time one of those maniacs took a hold of it. You’d rather risk it and walk -or rather, run- home. Lock yourself up, chair under the doorknob, music all cranked up, and pretend Gotham wouldn’t be like this forever. You grabbed a pink ceramic plate with a cartoonish princess on it and threw it out the window, hoping it wouldn’t bonk anyone in the head on its way down before continuing the tedious job of doing the dishes that’d been piling up for the last couple of days. The music was catchy, but after hearing the same thing over and over again, it was beginning to get a bit… dull. Still, you tried to make the best of it. Humming the choruses of the ones you kinda-sorta knew, bopping your head to the songs that were growing on you, and all would’ve been fine if you hadn't felt something metallic at the back of your skull followed by the sound of a cocking gun. “Hey, gorgeous.”

Shit. 

You brought your soupy hands up and slowly turned around, feeling your stomach drop when you realized who was at the other end of the barrel.

Jerome fucking Valeska. Just your luck.

TV didn’t do the man justice. He was positively terrifying. All scars and sewed-up tissue dotted his face, stretched strangely here and there, distorting the freckles peppering his skin. He was pale. Paler than you ever thought he could be. His eyes were a strange shade of green that didn’t match the uncontrolled fire behind them that burned just as bright as his hair. 

“It’s rude to stare, y’know?”

“And it’s rude to just… invite yourself into my home, isn’t it?”

His brows furrowed, lips turning into a snarl before he started laughing, waving the gun around as if it was a toy and not a loaded murder weapon.

“So, here’s the rundown.” He started, hopping on the counter and leaving bloody hand prints on the faux marble. “In about…” He glanced at an invisible clock on his wrist. “Three minutes, Jimbo is gonna come knocking on your door asking if you’ve seen me. And you are gonna say you don’t know what he’s talking about ‘cause you just had a wonderful dinner with your handsome boyfriend who just got out of work and desperately needs to get the blood out of his hair.”

You simply stared.

“Okay, don’t say the last part.” He quickly added, and then hopped off the counter. “Point is, I’m not here. Got it?”

He got a nod in return after a very, very long sigh.

“Good.” He replied, a smile etching on his face that seemed bigger and far more malicious with his mouth stretched like that. “I need to use your shower. Hate it when my hair gets sticky. Which knob is for the hot water?”

“Left. Bathroom’s over there.”

“Thanks, doll.” He started to walk away before he suddenly turned to face you again. “By the way, no funny business. I have a gun, I have your phone, and you’d hate if mommy got a call from me, wouldn’t you?” He waved the little device with his free hand before stuffing it back in his pocket and shutting the door behind him.

You stared at the door, chest rapidly rising and falling, waiting for him to come out, gun pointed straight at your forehead and laughing at your gullibility before taking the shot. But he didn’t. The only thing that came out from the bathroom door was steam and the smell of what was probably half your bottle of shampoo going down the drain. 

Three pointed knocks at the front door snapped you out of it, making you quickly turn your head in its direction.

“GCPD!”

It was showtime. You tried to pick yourself together. Get your heartbeat to slow down the tiniest bit as you wiped your hands on the back of your shirt, briskly lowering the volume on the TV and dragging your trusty chair back before opening the door.

“I’m Detective Gordon and this is Detective Bullock,” A man said, flashing his badge and motioning to the one beside him. “Jerome Valeska was seen in this area, and we noticed your window was open. Have you seen him?”

“No. No, I haven’t.”

“Are you alone?” 

“Yes.”

His eyes traveled behind you, looking from the open window where the wind was softly moving the curtain to the ceramic mess on the ground. Bullock did the same.

“What’s up with the mess?”

“I break dishes so people think I’m being robbed.”

“Does it work?”

“It has so far.”

Bullock hummed, and gave you a little impressed nod. And, then, Valeska had to ruin everything by loudly whistling some obnoxious fucking tune now that the damn volume was down.

“Thought you were alone.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You sighed, trying to let out the panic into that single exhale, eyes darting away from the pair before looking at Gordon directly in the eye. “I’m sorry. I’m- I’m not. My boyfriend just came back from work and is taking a shower.” You said and, after a small pause, motioned around you and added. “This whole thing has put me on edge. You know how it is.”

It was hard to tell whether he bought it or not. His face wasn’t giving much away, the lines on his forehead and brows were still knitted together with no sign of softening any time soon. If he asked to come inside, you were done. There was blood on the counter. Probably some on the windowsill if they decided to check it out. 

After a couple of seconds, Gordon nodded. “Give us a call if you see anything.”

“Will do.” You offered them a small smile before closing the door and leaning against it, letting out the breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

Right on cue, Valeska came out of the bathroom, whistling still as a puff of steam burst out behind him. He was using your towel to dry his hair. Your white towel that was now stained pink and red.  

 “You better leave by the time I wake up.” You hissed, walking past him in a huff, aiming to hit his shoulder but thinking the best of it last minute before heading towards your room and slamming the door behind you. 

The lock was in place. A chair under the doorknob. And, just for good measure, you dragged your nightstand in front of it as well.

“That won’t stop me if I wanna get in there.”

“Fuck you!”

“Come out and do it yourself.”

His laugh echoed through the apartment, making your blood boil. You should be afraid. Fucking terrified, actually. But all you could feel was anger. Keeping the window open was stupid. Letting Valeska do whatever he wanted was worse. But lying to the cops when you could’ve subtly nodded at the bathroom door and whisper he was there? That should’ve been your one-way ticket straight to Arkham because covering up for someone like Jerome was insane. 

You couldn’t sleep. Not when you heard him pacing outside. Flipping TV channels. Moving this and that on the kitchen. Acting as if it was his damn place. By the time you cracked your door open the morning after, he was gone, leaving a path of mayhem in his wake.

Dirty dishes. Empty food containers. Wet clothes on the bathroom floor. A cartoon channel playing old favorites on the TV. And there, on the counter, your phone with an unsent message that said see you soon.

[lovevalley45]

#fictober23 day seventeen

"I never said it would be easy."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 820

For years, Magni had wondered when he’d get his Talent. But as he grew up, he realized that it wasn’t something to look forward to - it wasn’t even a guarantee. 

All that time telling himself he had been foolish were paying off, but not in the way he wanted. 

His ears were still ringing as he sat in the hallway outside the computer lab, head between his knees. Magni bit back his tears - God, that was the last thing he needed after the whole class had watched him nearly faint and dart out. 

He heard the door open again, the cacophony starting to trickle out before it was slammed shut again.

“Are you okay?” Sprout asked. Her voice was quiet, almost strained in its attempt to be soft. 

Magni didn’t answer. He figured that question was answered by the lack of one.

She thudded on the floor beside him, shoulder to shoulder. His breath hitched at the sensation, but her touch was grounding at the same time. “Do you… wanna go to the nurse’s office?” 

He raised his head up. “Not really,” he admitted. “Just tell Mr. Kelly I’m going to stay out here.”

Sprout leaned back against the wall. “He said he’d give you five minutes.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Magni forced back more tears. “Damnit.”

“Just let me take you to the nurse’s office. You can call your mom at least.” She put a hand on his arm. “I-” She hesitated. “It’ll be better than going back in.”

“Fine,” Magni muttered. 

“Okay. I’m gonna tell Mr. Kelly.”

He heard Sprout stand up, keeping his eyes closed shut. The door opened, and chatter escaped out - the sound of a few dozen voices, all talking at once. Magni tried to listen to what they were saying, but it was hard to hold onto a single line of thought. 

It wasn’t telepathy. He hadn’t been able to hear Sprout’s thoughts, nor did the voices sound anything like his classmates. And it hadn’t sounded like English either. It was like he was listening to conversations in a different language he didn’t know he could speak. 

But it sounded familiar - like sitting at his family’s computer, the kind of noise that had him cranking down the volume and not going away. That had been fainter, a hum in the back of his head. This was distinct - if not for the multitude of them. 

Another wave of chatter washed over him, and Magni looked to see Sprout holding his backpack and a note. She looked worried, a frown on her face. He realized he’d clapped his hands over his ears again without thinking. 

“Let’s go.”

He stood up and took his bag. “Have you ever heard of a Talent where people can hear computers? Like, voices from them?” he asked, words tumbling out of his mouth. 

Sprout raised an eyebrow. “Magni, just because I’m a Talent doesn’t mean I’m an expert on the Talent Classification System.”

“Oh.”

“I mean, I’ve heard of something similar. Electropathy? But that’s less like hearing actual voices from computer and if the botanoempathy I have was its distinct thing from electrokinesis.” When he looked at her in confusion, she elaborated, “You can just sense things that run on electricity. Drives most of the Talents who have it to go Amish or something.”

Magni didn’t think that was a very promising future. They started to walk towards the nurse’s office, dragging their feet through the empty hall. “Does your botanoempathy ever get too much? You’ve never blacked out being in your parent’s nursery.”

“It’s more like a feeling. A comforting one. I can’t really hear them, though that’s the easiest way to describe it. Through my being, I connect to them.” Sprout looked at him. “Does that make sense?”

“Not in the way I’m experiencing it.”

“I never said it would be easy,” she said. “Being a Talent is a gift, but it also kinda sucks. The world looks at you differently.”

Magni looked over at his friend. On the surface, he didn’t think she looked like a botanokinetic. The only indication was the Marotto Family Nursery t-shirt she wore under her flannel. But things like their school’s athletic program and their no-Talent policy didn’t care whether her Talent was growing flowers or being able to throw people like a football. They wouldn’t tolerate it. 

“Do you- how do you not be a Talent? At least to the world,” Magni asked. 

Sprout shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. People around here who know, they hear Marotto, and they know.”

They stopped in front of the nurse’s office. The door was still closed, giving them just a moment of privacy. 

“Magni.” She stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. “There’s worse fates than being a Talent.”

“I know,” he said. God, did he ever. But as he walked into the nurse’s office, Magni still felt afraid of what news was to come. 

[stackthedeck]

hi!! I was wondering what happened to your t4t butch dean and trans cas fic?? Im really interested to read it if you still have it! butch dean is WAY to close to my heart. anyways have a nice day! <3

this has been in my ask box for literal months but I've decided to rewatch Supernatural (I'm not well) and I remembered this fic and this ask so... I'll probably never finish the fic or post it on ao3, but I did write this one scene and I like it a lot even though I like to think I'm a better writer now, but I wanna post it.

So for context this is happening in early season 5 where Sam and Dean are separated and also the plan for the fic as a whole was that Cas's complete separation from heaven was also mirrored by her gender journey, so Cas in this doesn't think of himself as a man, but has accepted that people view his vessel as a man and has excepted it. Basically, her egg hasn't cracked yet.

The road has been lonely since Sam left. Good lonely. For the first time in… well ever, Dean’s not playing mom or big sister. She’s just a hunter. A hunter who doesn’t have to look over her shoulder every second to make sure her baby brother isn’t getting maimed or hooked on demon blood. It’s good lonely… kind of.

It’s just that the front seat of the Impala is so empty and no matter how high she cranks the volume, the car just feels so quiet. The road just goes on and on forever. It sucks not having back-up on hunts, but Dean’s capable. According to the angels, she’s too important to die so she’s been pushing her luck lately.

The road hasn’t felt this empty since Dad went missing.

Dean’s pulled from her thoughts by a buzzing in her pocket. She pulls out her phone and sees a familiar number on the screen. The last time Dean ran into Cas, she gave him a burner phone so that they could keep in touch.

“Hello?” She says, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder.

“Dean, it’s Castiel,” Cas’s voice says from the phone, “where are you?”

“On the road.” Dean looks around for a mile marker, but it’s in the dead of night and there are no streetlights. Dean rambles off the interstate road she’s on and takes a wild guess at what mile she’s at. “I can pull off at the next exit if it’s important.”

A woosh of air and a flap of wings reverberate through the car. Dean looks over and Cas is in the passenger seat. “You don’t need to pull off,” Cas says into the phone as he stares at Dean.

Dean huffs and hangs up the phone, shoving it back into her pocket. “Any updates on God?”

“Nothing since the last time I saw you-” Cas sighs and looks out the windshield “-but I’m still looking.”

“If there’s nothing new—” Dean drums her fingers on the steering wheel “—then why are you here?”

Cas does his head tilt and Dean pointedly keeps her eyes on the road. Sure, she finds Cas’s clumsy attempts at expressing emotion cute, but it’s cute like a baby or a puppy. “I sensed that you were lonely.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Whatever happened to not perching on my shoulder?”

“Things are different now.” Cas’s words hit Dean’s ears with such certainty and finality, but she doesn’t feel like they’re true. Things are exactly the same. She’s still saving people, hunting things. It’s the family business, just without the family. Okay well, maybe things are different.

Dean does her best to keep her eyes on the road, but the highway is empty at this time of night. It’s so easy to let her eyes drift to the angel in her front seat, silhouetted by moonlight. His face is stone, that typical neutral expression, but Dean can see in his eyes that something is eating at him.

“So sitting here in silence is your grand plan for making me less lonely?” 

Cas shifts in his seat, his tie suddenly becoming very interesting. “Can I ask you a personal question, Dean?”

Dean does her best not to sigh. This better not be a chick-flick moment or worse yet, a Christian movie moment. “I thought you already knew everything about me? What with the rebuilding my soul and all.”

“I want to hear it from you.” Cas drops his tie and meets Dean’s eyes.

Dean nods, pursing her lips. “Alright, shoot.”

“How did you decide to…” Cas hesitates “...decide to… not look like the other females of your species?”

Dean laughs. If Cas had asked her that a month ago, she’d assume he was trying to get her to grow her hair out and start wearing pink. But she trusts Cas, trusts that he likes that humans don’t perfectly line up with God’s vision. “You mean, why am I a lesbian?”

“No, I understand that,” Cas says, “women are very pleasing to look at.”

Dean smiles. She’s surprised that the strip club incident didn’t turn Cas off of women or just humans in general.

“So, why am I butch?”

Cas nods. “Yes, I believe that is the term.”

“I don’t know, I just am.” Dean drums her fingers against the steering wheel. “Sam took a gender studies course when he went off to college, he probably gets this stuff more than I do.”

“Well, I want to hear it from you.”

Dean sighs and rubs at the back of her head. “I don’t know, I guess Dad was a real traditional guy. From what I remember, Mom cooked and cleaned, took care of me and Sammy and Dad went to work. I don’t remember much of Mom, but I remember being in the kitchen with her and her handing me baby Sammy to hold while she was busy. I didn’t mind those things because I was with her, you know?”

Dean stares through the windshield, watching the landscape blur as the car speeds past. “And then Mom died and Dad still went to work. And suddenly it was just me and baby Sam alone in motel rooms for days. I think Dad was so caught up in his revenge that he forgot that Sam and I needed a dad and a mom. So I started cooking and looking after Sam because if I didn’t we’d starve.”

Dean can feel the words spilling out of her like a busted dam. She’s never told anyone any of this, but now that she is, she can’t stop.

“I think Dad expected me to be the new mom. He’d come back to the motel rooms from hunts or from bars and be furious if there wasn’t something to eat. And it’s not like he ever went grocery shopping. He’d just leave a credit card—that barely ever worked by the way—or cash and expect me to figure it out! I couldn’t stand that he treated me like his little wife. Then, Sam started looking at me like I was his mom and not his big sister.

“It didn’t help that I looked like Mom. I have her eyes, you know. And when I was younger I had long curly blonde hair. Sam liked to brush it, which was good because I didn’t. I think it was soothing for him or something, but that’s probably why he keeps his hair long now.”

Dean’s rambling. She knows she is and she’s doing it on purpose because she doesn’t want to say what comes next. Cas’s eyes are fixed on her, but Dean’s not taking her eyes off the road. She could stop talking, change the subject, or give an easy answer. But if she doesn’t tell Cas right now, she’ll never tell anyone. And it’ll just keep festering and rotting inside of her.

“Dad would run his hands through my hair and tell me how pretty I was when he was drunk. It creeped me out, always made my skin crawl. He never… you know… did anything. He’d look at me the same way he looked at old pictures of Mom. I know it’s not true, or at least I don’t believe it’s true, but I feel like he only saw Mom when he looked at me. I wasn’t his daughter, I was the ghost of his dead wife. A ghost that he couldn’t salt and burn.

“And he treated me like I was going to go up in flames like Mom. For god’s sake, Sam learned to shoot a gun before I did! Dad wouldn’t take me on hunts, wouldn’t train me because if I was alive he could pretend she was too. One day I couldn’t take it anymore. I stole Dad’s clippers and buzzed my head.

“And boy, was Dad mad.” Dean winces, squeezing the steering wheel until her knuckles turn white. “He was really mad. But suddenly, he didn’t care if I went up in flames. He put a gun in my hands and took me on hunts. And it felt amazing.”

Dean smiles at the memory of the first time Dad clapped her on the back and bought her a slice of pie after a successful hunt. She can still feel that warm swell of pride after her first ghost, first vampire, first demon.

“My hair started growing out and it looked bad, like so bad. But Dad started hiding his clippers so I just had to let it grow out. Then one day he dropped me and Sam off at Bobby’s place and he took one look at me and gave me my first crew cut.”

Dean looks at herself in the rearview mirror. It’s kind of embarrassing that she’s had the same haircut since she was fifteen, but if it ain’t broke. “I remember looking at myself in the mirror and thinking, that’s me. I didn’t look like Mom anymore, I was just me for the first time.”

Dean feels wetness on her cheek and realizes that she’s crying. They’re not tears of sadness but of relief. Man, it feels so good to get all that off her chest. But still, she always ends up crying around Cas and she really can’t make a habit out of this.

“Thank you for telling me that, Dean.” Cas’s eyes aren’t trained on Dean but on his own reflection in the windshield. “I suppose I just have one more question.”

Dean shakes her head but smiles. Might as well continue this chick-flick moment. “Go ahead.”

“How does Dorothy shorten to Dean?” Cas tilts his head. “I’m unfamiliar with the nuances of human languages.”

Dean laughs at that, a good hard laugh that echoes through the car. “It doesn’t, not really.” Dean claps a hand on Cas’s shoulder, unable to stop grinning. “Sam was a little shit when I buzzed my head and he called me random boy names to get under my skin. I always liked those old cowboy movies so, whenever we’d play cowboys, Sam called me James Dean. The joke stuck and now I’m just Dean.”

“Huh,” Cas says, “you’ll have to show me those movies sometime. I’ve never seen a movie.”

“I’ll hold you to that, Cas,” Dean says, “we’ll have a girls’ night, paint our nails and watch cowboy movies.”

He’s joking but Cas doesn’t get jokes. “I would like to do this girls' night with you.” That’s a hint of an excited smile on Cas’s face and it makes Dean’s heart flutter. In the same way that puppies or babies make her heart flutter, of course.

“It’s getting late,” Cas says, turning towards Dean, “you should stop and get some rest.”

Dean shakes her head and sighs. It is late, really late, and she’d kill for a bed right now. “Wish I could Cas, but there aren’t exactly a lot of motels around.”

Cas frowns, furrowing his eyebrows. “I could drive,” he says after a moment of thinking, “and you can sleep in the backseat.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You ever driven before?”

“No,” Cas says, “but I’m an angel of the lord, it can’t be that hard.”

“Tell you what,” Dean chuckles, “you give me an angel blade, and I’ll let you drive.”

“Dean, we’ve talked about this.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

…

When God created the angels he named them. Each name was unique and divine, but it also gave God power over the angels. The angels did not have the power to create, to choose so they took the names with gratitude. When Lucifer rebelled, he took new names: Satan, Morning Star, The Evil One, and many others. Castiel has not rebelled against God, just against heaven. When he finds God all will be set right. Castiel is keeping his name as a promise. He has not fallen…just questioning.

Castiel may see the importance of names, but the Winchesters do not. Sam is not Samuel, the name his mother gave him to honor his grandfather, he’s Sam or Sammy, or a million other strange words that Dean hurls at him. Dean is not Dorthy, the name her father gave her to honor her grandmother, she’s Dean. Cas is not Castiel anymore, he’s Cas and so much more.

Dean’s been calling Castiel Cas since their second meeting, it’s just a shortened version of his name; it’s not a big deal. But then… Cas is sitting in a diner with the Winchesters late one night, trying to track down the horsemen. The siblings are eating burgers and Cas has one in front of him too. He doesn’t need to eat, he's an angel, but he’s curious. He’s curious about a lot of things lately.

“Pass the ketchup, Cassie,” Dean says through a mouthful of food.

“What?” Cas looks up from contemplating his burger to stare at Dean.

“I said pass the ketchup?” Dean frowns, but then just reaches across Cas’s chest to grab the bottle at the end of the table. “Never mind, I got it.”

“No-” Cas swallows nervously “-I mean what did you call me?”

Dean and Sam put down their food and exchange glances. “...Cassie?” Dean says slowly.

Cas still doesn’t understand facial expressions. Humans read so far into a tiny movement of facial muscles. So he keeps his face very still. When Castiel was just a fledgling, Gabriel, Balthazar, and the other older angels would call him Cassie. Fledglings weren’t ready for the full responsibility of their names, so it made sense. But Gabriel continued to call him that well into his adulthood. It was sweet, made Cas feel seen and seen by someone so powerful and important as an archangel. And then Lucifer fell and angels got much more serious about names.

“It’s like Sammy,” Dean says, awkwardly bumping her shoulder into Cas, “are you good with that?”

Cas looks between Dean and Sam, unsure of what to say. He’s created tension, he can feel it, but he’s not sure how to fix it.

“Hey don’t worry about it, Cas,” Sam says a little too loudly, “you’re a grown man and it’s weird to be called something like Cassie or Sammy.” He shoots a tight-lipped frown at Dean.

“Bitch.” Dean reaches across the table to steal fries off Sam’s plate.

“Jerk!” Sam attempts to swat Dean’s hand away, but misses and Dean ends up trying to stick her tongue out at Sam and eat fries at the same time.

“I’m not a man, I’m an angel,” Cas says, looking toward Sam. “But, it’s fine,” he says, mostly to prevent any more petty squabbling. The nickname is a sign of sibling affection, both in heaven and on earth. It doesn’t matter that the way Dean said it makes his heart race and his mind reel. “Cassie is fine.”

“Well, Cassie-” Dean smiles at him “-are you going to eat that?” She doesn’t wait for a response, just snatches the burger off his plate.

And the things Dean calls him only got worse from there.

…

When Cas first met Dean, she accused him of being a “prince charming” and at the time Cas wasn’t sure what that meant, but he’s starting to get the picture. Something about saving someone only to be rewarded with a relationship. That’s not Cas.

He’s in the far corners of the globe looking for God, when he hears Dean’s voice. It’s a quiet voice in his head, but it is powerful and desperate. A prayer. Cas is close to God, he can feel it. If he just keeps going a little longer, he’ll finally make it. But Dean’s voice is in the back of his mind, calling, pleading.

Cas flies to Dean without another second of hesitation. As he gets closer, the details of the situation flood into his mind in an instant. From a human perspective, Dean and Sam are in the basement of an abandoned mansion, surrounded by people, baring gruesome smiles with knives and fists drawn. From Cas’s perspective, Dean and Sam’s souls shine in a haze of demon smog. Dean’s the brightest, familiar in it’s golden hue.

“Cas, we could use some angel mojo down hear!” Dean shouts, voice thick with blood. “...Please!”

The demons laugh like in a chorus of gnashing teeth. One steps forward, kicking Sam—who’s barely clinging to consciousness on the floor—as he moves to grab the front of Dean’s shirt.

“Scream all you like, little girl,” the demon whispers, his breath hot against Dean’s face. “The angels don’t take calls from the likes of you.”

Cas appears suddenly, hand on the demon’s head, smiting the creature inside its meat suit. Dean actually smiles when she sees him, not even looking at the shell of the demon that falls to the floor.

“You came,” She says, unaware that it holds the same power as a prayer.

Another round of hideous laughter comes from the gaggle of demons. “Oh, how the mighty fall,” another demon cackles.

Cas’s stomach drops. He’s not fallen, he’s still doing God’s will. How can protecting Dean not be his purpose?

“Dean Winchester,” the demon continues, “damsel in distress waiting for a prince to save her.”

Dean, despite three broken ribs, a twisted ankle, and several lost liters of blood, sprints at the demon, burying the knife in his chest. She moves to attack the next closest one, limping as the adrenaline wanes. Even so, she’s a machine and Cas watches her with aw.

“Cas,” Dean shouts, “a little help here!”

Cas bolts into action, smiting demons almost as fast as Dean can stab them. Once they’ve killed all the demons, Cas stands with his arms pressed to his side, watching Dean pull her knife from the final demon’s throat.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says.

Dean places a hand on her chest, cradling her broken ribs. “For what? You totally saved our asses there.”

“I do not wish to belittle you,” Cas says, “what that demon said, if I ever—”

“Can it, princess,” Dean says, “it wouldn’t be the first time a demon tried to get under my skin.”

Cas nods then steps forward with his hand raised to heal Dean. She nods back and that’s all the permission he needs to press his fingers to her forehead, healing her instantly.

Sam groans from the floor.

Dean jumps away from Cas, staring at her brother. “Umm, maybe take care of him too.”

“Yes, please,” Sam gasps, weakly wiping blood from his mouth.

Cas leans down, healing Sam as well. Sam stumbles to his feet, glaring at Cas. 

“Did you seriously heal her first?” Sam scoffs. “After she called you princess?”

“I did not!” Dean says.

“You totally did,” Sam says. “Cas, you’re just going to take that?”

Cas cast his eyes downward. He didn’t take any insult from it, but it seems he should have. “I am still unaware of human social rules, but Dean has made it clear that I am not to be her prince charming.”

“Yeah don’t be friggin’ sexist, Sammy.” Dean walks over, swinging an arm around Cas’s shoulder. “Cas is our princess in shining armor.”

“I believe I am wearing a trench coat.”

After the incident, Dean teases Cas by calling him princess. It’s just another nickname that makes its way into the many the Winchesters use for him. For the first month, Sam tries to get Dean to cut it out, but eventually, he gives up. Cas thought that Dean would drop it once it no longer annoyed her brother. It’s only when he has this thought does he realizes he doesn’t want her to stop. 

But she never does.

…

“Hey, angel,” Dean greets, shoving his shoulder the same way he shoves Sam.

“I don’t understand,” Cas says, “I do not call you human.”

“She’s flirting with you,” Sam shouts from over the impala.

“Bitch,” Dean shouts back.

“Jerk.”

Cas looks down at his vessel. He doesn’t like it being called angel, there is nothing divine about this meat suit—as Dean so often calls it—it simply carries his grace while he’s on earth.

“Cas? Earth to Cas? Cas?”

Cas startles, looking up to realize he had tuned out another Winchester argument. “What?”

“You don’t mind when I call you angel, right?” Dean says with a smirk. “You think I’m funny right?”

Cas stares into Dean’s eyes, swallowing thickly. A part of him knows—no, hopes that Dean does not see his body as him. Perhaps she knows better than anyone that what body one happens to inhabit does not define them.

“I don’t mind your nicknames, Dean,” Cas says, “but I do not find them funny.”

…

“Dean, I feel ridiculous,” Cas says through the door.

Dean waits in the hallway outside of Cas’s room.

“No you don’t,” she says, “you’re just worried I’ll think you like ridiculous.”

“What’s the difference?”

Dean chuckles at that, shaking her head.

“How do you feel, Cas?”

The door opens and Cas steps out.

“...I feel good,” she says.

She’s dressed much the same way she did when she thought she had to present her vessel as a man. But now with all the angels locked in heaven and Cas is very human, her body isn’t a vessel. It’s her. They’ve traded the slacks for a pencil skirt and nylon tights and replaced the shirt and tie with a white blouse. She’s been growing her hair out since she turned human, mostly by accident, it’s still not as long as she’d like it, but it will be. Dean’s been helping her get a smooth shave every morning and showing her what lotions to use to keep her skin soft. But Dean was never great at being a girl, so what perfume and makeup to use has been left to Google. They’re working on getting her on HRT, but it’s not like they have insurance. They have also considered a couple of spells too.

And she’s still wearing the same trench coat.

“How do I look?” Cas asks.

Dean steps forward, taking her hands in hers. She plants a kiss on her lips, soft and sweet with lipgloss.

“Like a baby in a trench coat,” Dean says, “my baby.”

[side-shuffling-hyperfixations]

What about number 48 (dancing with each other) with Peter 1 and Peter 3?

48. Dancing with each other

“Wh—always—sic—ones?” Peter One asked out of the blue, only half audible through Peter Three’s music. Anyone without enhanced hearing would have missed his voice entirely. Trying not to look or sound too exasperated at the disturbance to his flow, he paused the playlist and pried his headphones off to hook around his neck.

“Come again?”

“Sorry, I was just wondering…why do you always listen to your music with headphones?”

“…The same reason you listen to yours through earbuds? Cos that’s what they were designed to do?”

“Yeah, duh, but I mean it’s always in your headphones; you never just let it play for everybody to enjoy. Then if we want to talk to you, we basically have to yell and you get all annoyed because we interrupted. You could just have it running in the background while we talk or whatever.”

Peter Three’s brows furrowed. “Wouldn’t the noise be a distraction or a disruption for you?”

“Well, I don’t know about Peter Two—we can ask him when he gets back, I guess—but I wouldn’t mind it.” A bittersweet smile briefly crossed his face. “Mr. Stark would have music going all the time when we worked in the lab together. It didn’t really matter the genre or anything. When we were first getting to know each other, it kinda helped the pauses in conversation not get too awkward.”

“Is it awkward for you with me? Are we still at ‘awkward’?”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. It’s like, I get to share my universe and culture and interests and stuff with you guys all the time but I rarely ever get to know about your world and the stuff you care about, except when it’s a big hyperfixation and you’re infodumping. I-It’d just be nice if it felt like you trusted me enough to share more often.”

“Peter, I trust you with my life.”

“Yeah, I know…when it’s in danger, obviously, but when it comes to the little, random, everyday life stuff, you probably know a lot more about me than I know about you, which makes me feel awkward about myself because you know where to connect and I don’t. It’s like I’m…” He let out a frustrated breath. “Like I’m not trying hard enough or something, like I haven’t done enough to show that I care about you as much as you care about me, so you don’t trust me.”

After a minute or two of mulling it over, Peter Three pursed his lips, trying to puzzle his words out carefully. “It’s not like that, it’s not about not trusting you. It’s about not…boring you. Or disappointing you. Y-You’ve never really straight up asked about any of the little things about my life so I figured you didn’t really want to know. My life back home isn’t much anyway.” 

He waved off Peter One’s noise of protest. “It’s really not. My world’s been pretty empty for a while now; there isn’t anything interesting to say. I get up, I eat whatever, I patrol, do odd jobs, come home, clean myself up, go to bed. Rinse and repeat. Spider-Man was the only thing I really held onto all that time. Other hobbies and interests and��fun haven’t really been a thing until now that I have you guys to remind me. I’m only just now catching up on everything my favorite bands have released in the past few years.”

“Oh.”

“But I…I think I’m enjoying this song so far,” Three added after a small hesitation, unplugging his headphones so he could turn the sound up. “I can start it over if you wanna listen too, see if it’s any good.”

Peter One’s downcast eyes lifted at that, tentatively hopeful. “…Mhmm. That’d be nice.”

Halfway through the album, the volume had been cranked to its maximum, every shrill, sharp crescendo sweeping their prior somber mood further and further away. By the time Peter Two came through the door, he would find Peter Three skidding across the back of the couch, riffing with passion on an air guitar, while Peter One spun and swung and somersaulted and howled along to screamer lyrics he didn’t know.

[bowiebond]

Byler - It’s Always Been The Same (It’s Always Been You)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39577800

They were warned when they finally met up with the gang in Hawkins. Vecna was targeting anyone vulnerable to his twisted powers and they had to be careful. So when they parted ways, Eleven giving Mike one last look as she delved under Max's welcoming arm, leaving Jonathan, Mike and Argyle to watch over Will - "He was the first one taken by the Upside Down, he's been in danger since the rift opened, he needs to be watched closely while we scout around for more rifts in the area if we want to pull off our plan."

And just as Steve had predicted, not longer after they left the four of them alone, the lights flickered. Mike felt like his shoulders might be stone from how stiff he is, on Will's left as Argyle began to freak out.

"Oh god, we're dead, we're so dead, this creepy Freddy Kruger is gonna eat our souls." Jonathan is soothing him with a hand on his back and kind murmurs, eyes watching the lights closely. There's not much he can do when Will choked on his shaking voice and his eyes roll back.

"Will!"

"Oh god!" Argyle wheezed, eyes wide. Mike cursed and grabbed Will's arm, trying to keep him on the ground. "Oh god, what was his song again? They said we needed a song! Why didn't you ask?!"

"Shit, shit," Jonathan ran to Will's side, patting his face and looking around the room with fear. "His favourite song - his favourite song is-" His mind came up blank in his panic and Argyle looked ready to cry.

"You! You're his best friend, surely you know, right, little man?!"

"I-" Mike's thoughts felt like static the longer he stared at Will's shaking form. The walk man in his hand would have dents if he held it any tighter. "I don't know. I don't know." He had barely spoken to Will since he moved away, how was he supposed to know what his favourite song was?

"Shit, shit- I know! I'll- I'll go get the other guys! They'll know what to do!" Argyle practically sprints on the door despite Jonathan's protests and Jonathan can feel Will's weight being pulled up, harder, fighting his own strength. It's in the quiet, Mike and Jonathan's heavy breathing and the flickering lights filling the room, that it becomes clear to Johnathan — he knows. He knows because he heard it a million times through the walls of their house, when he was painting that painting for Mike.

“It’s the same.” Jonathan breathes, shaking hands riffling through his box of tapes from the van and forcing the cassette into the Walkman, cranking the volume. “It’s always been the same.” They can all hear it through the headphones as it blasts.

Darling, you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go?

If you say that you are mine

I'll be here 'til the end of time

So you got to let me know

Should I stay or should I go?

Jonathan turns his glare onto Mike, eyes filled with the frustration and pain only a brother who’s been there since day one could feel.

“Now’s your one chance. Your only chance, Mike Wheeler. Should he stay, waiting and pining for you say it, or should he go, and move on and away from you for good?”

Mike is torn between Will’s shaking figure, and where he’s cradled gently against Jonathan’s chest.

One day it's fine and next it's black

So if you want me off your back

“I—I don’t understand. I don’t—“

“He loves you!” The wind outside is clattering against the windows, the lights are making his eardrums ache, but Jonathons voice is ringing louder than any bell he’s ever heard. “He’s always loved you.” And he looks like he wants to cry, to bear all the burden of his brothers heartache.

Well, come on and let me know

Should I stay or should I go?

“I…of course he does. He—…he’s my best friend.” Mike’s throat felt tight, too tight, chest constricting as his eyes fought between Will and Jonathan.

“Is that all?” Jonathan’s eyes pleaded with him, like he knew what he’d say next and was begging him not to.

This indecision's bugging me

“I…Y-yes. That’s all. He’s my best friend, and I’ll— I’ll always— he’s my best friend!”

If you don't want me, set me free

“You can’t even say it, can you?” Jonathon’s jaw clenched. “He can’t keep going like this. He can’t keep waiting for you like he’s done for years. He deserves to move on! To be happy.”

Just who the fuck am I supposed to be?

“Will is happy! Will is happy because— he- he smiles! Whenever I looked at him, he was happy, how—“

“You make him happy,”

Don't even know which clothes'll fit me

“But his feelings for you? They make him miserable.” Jonathan watched as Mike’s face crumbled.

“Does…does he…”

So come on and let me know

“You’re so blind.” Jonathan laughed, looking down at Will with desperation. “Come on…Come on, Will.”

“I…” The world tilts; it feels bigger than the discovery of the Upside Down. Overwhelming, making his entire body tingle and heart thunder along with the storm outside.

He kneels besides Will, trying to control the panic in his chest, the one that crawls through every limb, into every blood cell.

Will likes him. Like, really, really likes him. Loves him.

“It’s not my fault you don’t like girls!”

He should have known when that silence rang louder between them than the screech of a Demodog. He thinks maybe he did know, and didn’t want to face it. He was in love; he adored El and envisioned a future with her, dreamed of it in the panels of comic books with childish wonder.

Then she moved. And over time the letters became less El and more Jane, more ordinary and that intense wonder and thrill and constant concern died down into soft warm feeling — like the one he felt when Dustin rolled a nat 20, or when Max skated circles around him, or when Lucas cracked a joke so funny he snorted out milk in the cafeteria, or even when Steve ruffled his hair and shoved him for being a smart ass.

He liked kissing her, she was soft and pretty and had the nicest smile. He liked making her happy. She deserves it after so much horror. But eventually he stopped missing her every night, mail would surprise instead of excite him, and he would think to himself “El would like this” but in the same thought lump her with Max’s interest, or Lucas’s, or even Dustin’s.

Yet everything reminded him of Will. For months everywhere he went reminded him of the decade of friendship he shared with him in their small town. The swings where they met, the crooked mailbox Will rode into when they were nine, the packets of candy he’d grab without a second thought along with his own because ‘it’s Will’s favourite’. It would only be after he paid that he’d remember the distance, sitting in his bed for hours eating candy he didn’t even like because he missed him.

Will’s lack of presence left a dent in his life that he never let himself think too hard about. And when he did, he’d pick up a pen, set to write something down for him only to reread it and realise how…wistful it was. How vulnerable every letter was, every one addressed “Dear Will” and signed “Love Mike”.

He hid everyone and sent the ones that didn’t make his stomach flip and squirm with discomfort while rereading his own feelings, his own thoughts. Eventually he stopped trying to write passable letters and just tucked them in his drawer instead without considering to post them.

Seeing him in person again — it brought that rush of discomfort again. That twist in his gut that made his hair stand on end and his ears hot and his flesh spring up in goosebumps. He couldn’t look Will in the eye like he used to, but hugging El, kissing her, it felt safe, comfortable.

The giddiness from before had simmered to nothing but it was better than thinking about why he was so reluctant to hug Will despite the rush of happiness at seeing his face again. He had grown, changed, but it was a good change. He looked — handsome. In a boyish way. In an awkward, bowl cut way. Handsome.

And the painting in his hands for the girl Will had been crushing on according to El was in his hands, plain at day, and Mike had never wanted to see something more but felt so reluctant to ask. Like his mind knew it was a bad idea to stare upon a piece that wasn’t made for him — after all, Will had always left his best work for Mike cause he was in best friend.

Mike is so dumb. He’s so dumb and he can’t believe he’s only realising now, that his best friend is so much more than he ever wanted him to be. But it’s scary, it’s terrifying, to look all his normal, not supernatural fears in the face and still want it, adore it.

“I…” Mike looked up, eyes full of tears, and Jonathan just smiled sadly.

“Do you finally get it, kid?”

“I—I can’t…I don’t know how—“

“Just say it.” Jonathan smiled. “Its there.” He rose a finger and pressed it against his pounding heart. “Its always been there.”

So you gotta let me know

Mike’s mouth felt like cotton, tongue useless, but it was there. Those three words, buried down in his chest.

“I…I love — him.” A hot flush of relief washed down his spine as he hung his head with a suppressed sob. “I—I do. I l-love him too.”

Should I stay or should I go?

Will’s eyes were fluttering, wild and blank to the world. Mike sniffed, breathing out hard as the revelation choked him. He loved his best friend. He was in love with his best friend.

He was in love with Will. A boy.

And like a dumb, teenage boy, he was overflowing with the knowledge at the worst time.

“Will. Will, come on. Will, please!”

He’s never been happier to see those big, brown eyes meet his, wheezing and gasping with a hand fisted in Jonathan’s sleeve; his other hand gripped Mike’s arm so hard he thought it might bruise.

“Will!” Jonathan gave a watery laugh as he hugged his brothers head to his chest, setting the cassette to loop back and restart the song. Will looked between the two boys, the song muffling the outside world. Wills eyes lingered on Mike, his scrunched up face and spilling tears, cheeks an ugly blotchy red.

“Mike, what’s wrong?” He rose a hand to move the headphone out of the way but Mike clasped his hand over his, keeping it there. “Mike…?” His favourite song filled his ears as Mike’s eyes tried to meet him but flickered away again and again until he took a visibly deep breath.

Will felt winded at the sheer determination in Mike’s gaze, focused and intent on keeping Will’s attention.

“I—I’m only gonna say it once, o-okay?” Will furrowed his brows, barely making out his words above the sound.

He can’t mistake the words his lips form though.

“I…I love you, Will.” Will’s eyes widened. “And not in a friend way.”

Jonathan slowly backed away from the pair as Will gazed at Mike with stars in his eyes. Slowly, he sat up on his own — their height gap had closed in the year apart and Mike swallowed hard, dropping his hands back into his lap.

“Really?” There’s so much hope in his voice, blinking rapidly as his eyes well, trying to hold back the pent up heartache that threatened to be relieved from his system.

Mike slowly nodded and Will bloomed like a sunflower, smile so bright Mike thought it might rival all the stars in the sky.

“Mike.” He throws himself at him; he crushes Mike in the hug he had been craving since the airport, feels his thumping heart as the music seeped into his bones. Mike holds him back just as tight, burying his nose in his shoulder like he’s trying to memorise his mere presence down to his scent and Will never thought he’d have his own pitiful love reflected when he takes in the smell of warmth and earth and weed that clung to the van and now clings to Mike’s hair.

When they part, Will stays close, hesitant as he meets Mike’s eyes. And for a daring second, he leans in closer, a breath away, but Mike flinches and embarrassment, shame, spills from its bottle and into his bloodstream.

“S-sorry,” He murmured, down casting his eyes and Mikes heart squeezes as the deep red staining Will’s cheeks, the tiniest pout of disappointment.

“No, it’s, it’s fine, I—“ But Will’s ears are occupied and Mike’s face burns as his hands awkwardly grab Will’s cheeks and kisses him hard and quick. They bump noses and it kind of hurts, but the overflowing warmth, the tingle like fairy dust that makes you fly, it settles into Mike’s being and he’s smiling a little too big for his freckled face.

Will stared at him in wonder, lips parted and moving like a fish out of water.

“I— I’m new to this. Be patient with me. Please?” He hoped Will can read his lips, and he thinks he must get it because he smiles softly and huffs a laugh through his nose, head falling into Mike’s chest.

“I love you too.” Will whispered, relaxed. “I have for…a long time.” It’s quiet and the Clash fills it softly. “Thank you.”

Mike doesn’t think he should be thanked for doing something as natural as falling in love with his best friend.

As natural as falling in love with Will.

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Fic: Make Your Bed, Then Lie In It (part 2)

Part 1

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: The Equalizer 2

Ships: Dave York x fem!reader

Additional tags/warnings: Infidelity (I do not condone cheating, I just wanted to make Dave and Reader as bad people as possible), (forced) voyeurism (auralism?), derogatory language/pet names, blindfolding, light bondage, forced orgasms/squirting, face fucking, belting, use of safewords, rough PiV sex without protection.

Summary: You work with Dave both at the CIA and outside of it, and you have a secret, sexual relationship with him. When he makes you wear a vibrator in your panties during an important meeting, things escalade in a way you could not have foreseen…

a/n: Thanks to @just-here-for-the-moment for the beta and ramblings by way of email! You made my night! And as always, @apascalrascal has patiently listened to me rave on about fic and writing and smut and god knows, so a big, consensual mwah to you!

He calls you at ten past eight from his work phone, when you’re driving home. You hit the answer button on the steering wheel and answer with your last name, as per the agreement.

"Mute the phone, stay on the line, no touching," he tells you without preamble before background noise tells you that he's putting the phone down. Then you hear Carol's voice.

“Who was that?”

“Work. Dammit, honey… I’m sorry, I have to go.” He sounds so sincere, so apologetic. You hear a rustle of clothes and then a kiss. “You got me all riled up, too.”

You hear his wife moan softly. “Dave… we have time for a quick one, don’t we?”

He groans before you hear the soft smack of a kiss. “You want to?”

You can almost see her nodding. Who wouldn’t want to? You start to tremble as you realize what’s about to happen. Fuck. Dave, you absolute fucking asshole, you can’t be serious…

He gets her off with his fingers first and you swear that he’s not only addressing her when he talks about her sweet little wet pussy; he’s also talking to you. You hear the wet squishy sounds and her heated moans and it’s so wrong, you almost feel sorry for Carol, you shouldn’t be listening to this but fuck, it may be wrong but it’s so fucking hot, you can’t not listen to it, you drink in every word he breathes about the wet pussy, come on my fingers, baby, that’s a good girl. She cums in muted moans, no doubt thinking about not waking up their two daughters, asleep in their rooms down the hall.

“I want you in me,” she whimpers and it pulls an even louder whimper from you. If you were in the same room as Carol and Dave right now, you would probably put a bullet in her skull just to be fucked by that cock.

He fucks her fast and hard while talking dirty to her. You note that he uses completely different words than he uses with you. He would never call you a good girl or his wife a whore. But you lap it all up, despite not being your kind of language: his words, her sounds, the slap of skin against skin, the rhythmic rustling of the sheets, the occasional creak of the bedframe. These extremely private sounds invade your car through its speakers, and you crank up the volume to catch every single filthy sound. Your pussy is weeping and you feel dizzy with how absolutely disgustingly horny you are. You probably shouldn’t be driving but you know you can’t stop because you’d probably end up fucking the shifter.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Carol orgasms a second time and right after, Dave announces his climax with a grunt. Judging from Carol’s subsequent gasp, he must have thrust into her quite viciously, and it makes you moan out loud. FUCK.

“You think that’ll keep you satisfied for tonight?” Dave murmurs to his wife and you run a red light, earning blares from several car horn. You don’t care. If you get pulled over, you’ll just flash your CIA credentials.

You just need to get home.

The call is ended and the music you were listening to returns at full blast. You lower the volume and gnash your teeth as you hit the turn signal and slow down. Your apartment building has an underground garage and for a short moment you consider helping yourself once you’re in your parking spot.

But Dave would notice. And besides, it’s a lot more fun like this.

You get a text when you’re in the elevator. Take out the box. I want you in bed, naked, cuffed, and blindfolded.

You swallow hard. As you leave the elevator and walk down the hall to your front door, you feel like you’ve peed your pants, that’s how wet the crotch of your panties is. When you finally come inside and start to strip, you see that your pants have a wet patch as well.

You put the box of sex toys on the foot end of the bed and open it. The cuffs are CIA issued; you took those from work. The silky blindfold shines in the soft light and you shed the last pieces of clothing and climb into bed. Familiar with the accessories, you blindfold yourself before cuffing yourself to the headboard. The key is between your lips and will stay there until Dave comes and takes it from you.

You wait, your body burning with want. You know that the time is precisely nine pm when you hear the lock of your front door click. Dave has a key. You know he could have had one made without your knowing about it, but he waited until you gave him one.

You hear his footfalls come closer and you spread your legs a little to show off the glistening slick on your inner thighs.

There’s a drop in the mattress when he sits on the edge of the bed. Your breathing grows slightly shallow as you wait, absolutely hurting for his touch. You sense his breathe against your face and it makes you flinch.

“I got you,” he murmurs before his lips pick up the key from between yours with a brief kiss that despite its innocence feels like fire.

That’s all you get for now and you whine his name when he gets up from the bed.

“You haven’t touched yourself, have you?” he asks, as if he didn’t know the answer. You hear a soft clink when he puts the key on the bedside table.

“I haven’t,” you confirm, desperately fighting the urge to close your legs and rub your thighs together for at least some kind of friction. Hot and cold shivers run up and down your spine and you know you’ll go batshit crazy if you don’t get to cum soon.

“I believe you.” You hear the smile in his voice. “I could smell your cunt the second I walked in. I didn’t expect a cock-hungry little slut like you to obey me, but I guess even a broken clock is right twice a day.”

“That’s certainly the pot calling the kettle black,” you spit back. “Who was so hungry for pussy they had to fuck their spouse with their lover listening in?”

“You’re not my lover, you’re my whore,” he reminds you calmly. “And just for that, you can forget about me eating you out.”

You hear his belt buckle come undone and right after, the hiss of his leather belt pulled through the hoops of his dress pants. Soon after, he swats you high up on your inner thigh with the belt. You wince as you cry out, more from surprise than pain.

“Legs together.” You obey eagerly and he buckles your thighs together with the belt.

“Do I have to check the cuffs?” he asks you and you shake your head.

“They’re good and tight.”

“You’re learning. I honestly didn’t think you’d be able to keep your hands to yourself,” he muses while he makes sure you can’t separate your legs, “but since you did, I’m going to let you cum right away.”

He takes something from the box and puts his hand on your knee.

“As many times as you want.”

He pulls up the belt and slides something under it. Your wand.

Now, the small, secret panty vibrator may not have done anything to you, but the wand is an entirely different affair. The wand will not only make you cum, but it will also make you squirt, and multiple times.

And Dave is strapping it to your legs and pushing the head against your dripping pussy, angling it so it’s just underneath your clit, just barely touching.

“Have fun,” he tells you, and switches it on.

The vibrations immediately make your thigh muscles contract, and you exhale in a long moan as you try to hump the wand, longing for the release it’ll provide.

“You really did wait,” Dave comments with satisfaction and you can only whimper where you lie, arms cuffed above your head, legs bound together, body writhing as the stimulation draws all your fire to that one spot between your legs. Pressure starts to build instantly and your body tenses up, every muscle clenching as you moan and move in a feeble attempt to get the sweet torture of the wand away from you but also try to get it closer.

“Dave,” you gasp, “oh God, Dave, fuck, I – I’m gonna cum, fuck!”

The first orgasm gushes out of you and soaks your thighs and the vibrator, which immediately sprinkles droplets all the way up to your chest. Through the wet drone of the wand and the blood rushing in your ears you hear Dave curse to himself in a low voice.

You don’t get to come down: the wand buzzes on and you start to build up again almost immediately.

“God,” you moan, arms struggling against the cuffs. “Oh God, fuck, oh God, Godddddd…”

“God can’t help you, beautiful,” Dave tells you, his voice eerily calm, almost indifferent. “Because he ain’t here.”

You squirt again with a helpless sob, soaking the sheets and yourself as the wand spreads your juices all over the place, like a pornographic sprinkler. You squirm to get some respite from the wand but as soon as you lose contact with it, Dave’s placing it back against you, much firmer this time.

“You wanted to cum. Now cum.”

You cry out as the round head of the wand continues to work your overstimulated clit. The handcuffs cut into your wrists and the chain between them rattles against the wooden bars of the headboard. All day you’ve thought you’re going to go mad from lack of stimulation, now you’re going mad from too much of it.

Being involved with Dave will lead to that. Everything is a game to him, a power play, a way of testing your limits. And so far, you haven’t broken.

Not even now. You let go of yourself, lean into the intensity, let it tear you apart time and again with no thought of what you and the sheets look like and how loud you are. Your pussy is burning, your whole body is burning, and you don’t care, you simply allow yourself to drown in the flames that somehow are both hot and wet, until Dave finally removes the wand and unbuckles the belt. By then you’re sobbing and shaking, and his touch makes you curl up.

“I got you, beautiful,” Dave soothes you, caressing the curve of your hip up to your waist. “Breathe. You did well.”

He’s not a caring person by nature so you appreciate the effort, and draw a deep, stuttering breath.

“Color?” Dave queries. You try to swallow but your mouth is too dry.

“Green,” you tell him weakly. “Just give me a moment.”

He surprises you with a swat to your pussy and you shriek.

“Fuck! Asshole!”

“You said green,” he replies coolly, and you bite back on another curse. You did say green.

“Is it still green?” You flinch when his fingers run down your inner thigh. You consider for a second before making up your mind.

“Still green,” you confirm. Thick, strong fingers dig into the soft flesh on the inside of your thigh.

“Such a desperate slut. I'm going to enjoy fucking you.”

“You’re going to have to give me a minute first,” you ask him again. You get a chuckle in reply.

“Oh, beautiful. I’m not talking about fucking your cunt.” His dark voice is now dripping with desire and you know that if he were to ignore your overstimulated sex and just shove his dick into you, you would still thank him.

Motherfucker, how does he do it, how does he set you right back on fire with only a few, filthy words? He knows it and employs his skill frequently, has done so ever since you two first started to have these secret meetings. And you eat it up, bask in his sanctioned abuse of you, enjoy every orgasm, because you know this affair has an end date. It's not one of those things that can last. Fires like this one don't burn for long, they take it all, bright and fierce, and when they've used up all the oxygen in the room, they die quickly and without drama.

So you enjoy the flames while you can. You hear the rustling of fabric as Dave gets undressed and then you feel his thigh against yours when he sits down beside you. Next thing you know, his breath is on your face.

“I could smell you on my fingers all day,” he whispers before taking a kiss from you, fully, searingly. “Such a sweet, needy smell.” The kiss breaks and you lean forward, mouth open, wanting more.

“Keep that mouth nice and open for me.”

The mattress moves and then he straddles your chest. His hand comes to the back of your head, cradling it gently when he lifts and props you up with a pillow underneath. The strong, musky-warm scent of his cock invades your nostrils and makes your heart skip a beat.

“Open wide now, sweetheart. Make me feel good.”

The smooth, salty head of his cock touches your lips and your tongue darts out to swirl around it. The precum lies thick and you lick it off with a little smile, hearing Dave's breathing change.

“This what you want?” you rile him up in a low voice. “Want to fuck my mouth?”

“Tell me I can,” he grunts, seeking your permission first although you can tell from how tight his voice is that he's ready to snap.

“Fuck my mouth, Dave,” you allow, and he pushes the head between your lips, giving you a moment to adjust to having him in your mouth. You flatten out your tongue and press the length of it to the underside of his cock, and when he grabs you by your hair, you anticipate his next move and bob your head forward, taking in all of him, almost gagging when he bottoms out at the back of your throat. You've trained your gag reflex, but it still requires focus, and you start to salivate immediately.

“Fuck.” The word comes out strangled and tense as Dave withdraws. “H-headshake for red, okay, beautiful?” You love that you can make this intimidating man stutter. You hum to let him know you understand and accept, and he takes care to not hold your head so hard that you wouldn't be able to move it if you need to put a stop to this. You stick your tongue out underneath his cock and press it up against him, feeling every vein and ridge of him. You know the taste of his cock intimately but there's something unfamiliar about it tonight. Gradually, you realize that he must have not washed himself off after sex with his wife and it is in fact her flavor you're...

The thought that Dave went from fucking his wife just to tease you, to coming straight to you with his cock hard and ready to go again is a huge turn-on. You growl low in your throat and although you can't see anything, you sense the tremors that your vocal cords send throughout Dave's body. Before he can thrust into your throat again, you push the back of your tongue up to prevent access, not letting him pass further.

“Fuck,” he grunts again as he starts to fuck your mouth and within moments, you're drooling out the sides of your mouth. “Jesus, look at that filthy fucking mouth of yours, taking me so well. So fucking wet and sweet.”

You whine a little and he strokes your hair before taking a new grip on it. Your scalp stings just right and the ache between your legs is renewed. You need him in you, deep in your hungry pussy. But that's not where you're getting him, at least not yet. He's not done with your mouth.

The mask over your eyes is beginning to feel warm and you can only imagine what your makeup looks like underneath. Your mascara feels sticky, and the salt of dried tears are straining your skin, and new ones are forming in the corners of your eyes as Dave assaults your mouth. The dominion he has over you is so complete, but he never goes beyond what you can take. He's gentler than he seems, and he knows that if he slips up, this thing he has with you is over. Not just the sex, but also the other things you do together, outside of law and order. It's so fucked up that the most trusting relationship you've ever had with a man is this: fucking a married man that you work and kill with. But then again, normal relationships were never really your thing. It's difficult to build trust with another person when you kill people on the side.

Dave lets go of your hair and moves his hands to your shoulders instead, loosely closing his forefingers and thumbs around the base of your neck, remaining fingers spread out and digging into your shoulders. His thrusts turn more insistent, the slap of his balls against your chin rougher.

“That's it, take it,” he mutters above you, thumbs pressing lightly against your windpipe. “Take it, you filthy slut.”

You let him all the way in, taking him in your throat. His surprised groan is strangled with pleasure and the taste of cum grows stronger. He thrusts deep into you and curses in a low growl before pulling out completely and staining your face with hot, wet ropes of cum.

Panting loudly, you lick your lips, catching some of the salty, thick liquid on your tongue. Dave, still straddling your chest, hums low.

“That's a good look on you, beautiful,” he comments, a little short of breath himself. “Covered in my cum, tied up... I wish I could take a picture and use it as my background image.”

“I never said you can't,” you tease, earning a chuckle.

“Such a nasty bitch.”

The fine hairs on your arm rise when he trails a finger down your upper arm. “Arms okay?”

“Arms are okay,” you confirm. “Dave... I need you to fuck me.” Your request is eager and pregnant with the longing of your empty cunt. “You left me wanting your cock all day and when you finally give it to me, you don't even fuck my pussy. I need you in my pussy, baby.”

“You're just never happy, are you?” he sighs before getting off of you.

“What's the matter?” you taunt him. “Can fuck my whore mouth but not my cunt? Is it only your wife that gets that big cock of yours in her cunt?”

Dave exhales with an amused little scoff. “I know what you're trying to do, my cock-hungry slut.”

“Or maybe you just can't get it up a third time in one night?”

You hear him pick something up from the box of sex toys. His big hand strokes down your thigh when he sits down between your legs.

“Spread your fucking legs.” You obey him immediately, lower lip caught between your teeth. Please. Please, please, please...

“How are we for color?” he asks.

“Green.” Your answer is pathetically instantaneous, as is the swat Dave gives your pussy. You moan loudly and squirm until you feel the blunt head of your favorite dildo against your slick opening.

“Yes,” you whimper, “please, Dave…”

“So desperate for cock that anything works, right?” he growls before pushing the entire length of the dildo into you, making you arch your back and gasp at the sudden stretch. He immediately begins to fuck you with the toy and you’re keening, begging him to go harder. He curses low under his breath, and you hope he’s working himself hard again.

“Are you getting hard?” you whimper, arms straining against the cuffs. “You want to fuck my tight pussy, don’t you?”

“Beg for it,” he tells you, his voice icy with control and searing hot with want at the same time. “Beg, beautiful.”

He doesn’t need to tell you again: you beg, like you have never known pride.

“Ruin me,” you implore him, “I need you to fucking ruin me, Dave!”

“Fuck.” He pulls out the dildo and tosses it to the side, and you hear the rattle of the belt buckle.

“You squirted on my belt. The leather’s all stained.”

“I’m not the one who used it to bind my thighs together,” you remind him feebly, catching your breath and preparing to beg for him to finish you.

“You know I can’t show up at home with a belt filled with stains from your dirty cunt.”

“But you can show up here with your cock stained by your wife’s angelic little vagina?” Your voice drips with sweet sarcasm because you know it’s going to make him punish you. You’re right: he slaps your thigh, making you flinch. But that wasn’t the punishment he had in mind.

“How about this, you dirty whore: I give your sweet little ass two strikes with this belt that you ruined, and then I’ll fuck you so hard you’ll never let anyone else but me fuck you ever again.”

You swallow, muscles trembling in trepidation. You’ve never been struck with a belt before but by God, you want him to do it.

Slowly, you nod. “Spank my ass with your belt, Dave.”

“Turn over.”

He helps you to roll over onto your stomach and you rest your face on top of your arms, body tingling, your cunt throbbing, buttocks ready.

“Remember your colors,” Dave tells you, his voice almost gentle now, and then you hear the prong jingle against the metal frame the split second before the leather lands across your buttocks. The sting is so much different from that of a palm, it burns hot and the pain knocks both voice and breath out of you, only growing and spreading for each second that passes after the strike itself.

“Yellow,” you choke, panicking for the first time. It’s so intense, so unexpectedly painful and raw.

The belt falls to the floor and Dave's hand is on your shoulder, his voice close to your ear. “Do you want me to uncuff you and take the mask off?”

“No...” you hesitate and take a deep breath, tasting the pain and almost gagging on it. “No... I... I'm good. But please don't do that again.”

“I won't,” he promises, his fingers dancing down your spine, up the curve of your ass and down between your butt cheeks. “Breathe, beautiful. You got this. I got you.”

You hate the feeling of having failed to deal with the pain but cherish the care Dave demonstrates when making sure you're okay. He may fuck you like he's a heartless asshole, but he would never hurt you - unless you asked him to.

“Was it too hard?” he asks quietly. Is that regret in his voice? You can't be really sure.

“Maybe, I don't know. I just didn't think it would feel... like that.”

The pain is now subsiding into a more manageable throbbing and you clench your buttocks, feeling a faint sting. The adrenaline is starting to flood your body.

“It's okay,” you tell him in a soft moan. “Please... I still need you to fuck me.”

Dave puts his hand on your right buttock and squeezes, making the welt heat up. You hiss at the sting, more delicious than sore now.

“Fuck...” You lift your ass up into his palm and hum when he grips your flesh again. “Dave... fuck me like you hate me.”

“You sure you can take it?” he breathes, and now there's a hint of taunting in his voice. “You sure you can take my cock?”

“Why don't you find out?” you dare him in a low moan when he grabs you by the back of the neck.

He fucks you into the mattress, methodically and roughly, the snap of his hips against your buttocks causing a titillating sting which you now embrace as he pistons into you. Your face is pressed against the sheets and it's for the best because his harsh onslaught is making you cry out desperately. He's so deep, he's so hard, he's so strong, you can feel him in every fibre of your being and you're loving it, the pleasure bordering on pain bringing you ever closer to a climax which you hope will be your last one because you won't be able to take any more after this.

“You made me do this,” Dave growls between his short huffs of breath. “You made me fuck your wet, filthy cunt like this, with your slutty behavior today. You made your bed, now fucking lie in it. I would have taken you on my desk, but I can never trust on you to keep your filthy fucking mouth shut.”

You only wail in reply, the thought of being fucked in the office turning you on so much it almost hurts you more than his assault on your oversensitive pussy.

“Maybe I should fuck you in front of the brass next time, you'd like that, wouldn't you? Rip open your shirt and have your tits out, bend you over the conference table and take you from behind like I'm doing now, show everyone what a whore you are...”

“Fuck, Dave...!” you whimper as your brain begins to black out and you’re nothing but body and sensation. The deep, fast grind is casting you out further and further into the darkness and Dave’s hands on your shoulders are your only lifeline. The way he claims you is primitive, messy, and nasty, and you love it, you love it so much because yes, you’re his whore, his cumslut, and you want him to go faster, harder, deeper, fuck you like he’d never fuck his wife, fuck you like no man has ever fucked you or ever will, only David fucking York can fuck you like this –

The orgasm is an explosion that tears you apart, soundless on the outside but deafening on the inside: your limbs and organs and mind are scattered all over the place and you couldn’t be happier. You wouldn’t notice Dave finishing if he bend down over you to suck a toothy brand of ownership into your shoulder as he empties himself with a couple of final, devastating thrusts that make you whine.

“Take my cum,” he mutters before his teeth snag another piece of flesh between them, drawing another whimper from you. “Nasty bitch, take my cum.”

He doesn’t always finish inside you and every time he does it, it’s a form of praise. You love the warm stickiness of it, the feeling of it oozing out between your swollen lips, staining your skin and the sheets…

You’re only vaguely aware of it now, and how he releases your wrists from the cuffs. Your arms leave where they are, too heavy from divine sexual exhaustion to move. Dimly, you hear him turn off the lights before he returns to bed and carefully removes your blindfold. You blink, your lashes sticking together with smeared-out mascara, tears, and sweat. The bedroom is almost dark, only the lamp on the nightstand is spreading a soft light from behind you, but it’s still almost too much for your sensitive eyes.

“Easy.” Dave comes back from the bathroom and crawls into bed, into your field of vision. “Talk to me.”

“Can’t,” you mumble, your eyes falling shut again as another ripple of lingering pleasure runs through you.

“Good, that means I did my job right.”

You want to laugh but all you can muster is a sound somewhat reminiscent of a scoff. Dave nudges your shoulder and you force your eyes open. He’s holding a glass of water to you. With a labored sigh and limbs as heavy as the sins you’ve just committed, you prop yourself up on your elbows and accept it. Greedily, you empty the entire glass in one go before slumping back down into the soiled but oh so soft sheets.

“How’s your ass? You want me to put something on it?”

“I’m good. Thank you.”

“Can I use your shower?” Dave asks, and you smile softly. He’s asking. He knows full well you’re capable of sending him home to his wife smelling of cum and sweat, and still he asks.

“Go ahead,” you allow. He trails his fingers down your spine quickly before getting up.

You doze off to the soft drizzle of the shower that travels from the bathroom into the bedroom, and jerk back to consciousness when Dave returns and touches your leg.

“Sorry,” he apologizes for surprising you. “I gotta go.”

“Sure,” you mumble as you will your muscles into working for you. Gingerly, you sit up, testing how well your ass takes to sitting, and finding it manageable. Dave gives you a lopsided grin as he pulls his pants on and you hand him the belt.

“You look thoroughly fucked, beautiful,” he tells you, not without pride. “I’m sorry to leave you. I’d like to just look at you for at least a couple of hours.”

“Needs must,” you shrug, not really keen on having him stay anyway. It’s not a part of your deal, and you need to sleep. “Thanks for tonight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He buttons his shirt and grabs his jacket before ducking down to give you a possessive kiss, one hand sliding to the back of your head.

“Delicious,” he murmurs, tugging on your hair a little before letting go. He’s by the bedroom door when you call his name, making him stop and turn around. “Yeah?”

Your makeup is smudged, your body is covered with sweat and cum, your hair is a mess, but there is no mistaking the gravity in your voice when you speak.

“Don’t ever try to fuck with me before a big meeting again. I’ve worked too hard and for too long to let someone like you jeopardize my career. Do you understand, David?”

He lifts his chin slightly as he takes in your words, his eyes narrowing when he looks at you. You know what he’s capable of, you’ve seen him snap people’s necks, put bullets in the backs of people’s heads. And yet, you are not afraid of him. You’ve never been afraid of him.

“Understood,” he finally confirms with a nod. “Good night, beautiful.”

[yikesharringrove]

It’s a book Steve’s actually read.

Well, Nancy kinda mostly read it to him. Which really just makes the whole thing hurt a little bit more.

His speakers were crackling and he had turned the bass up high enough that the song was distorted, vibrating through his car.

It was embarrassing. Scream-singing to Kate Bush while sobbing into your steering wheel in the high school parking lot.

He’s just got a lot of feelings, and Nancy dumped in that alleyway, he can literally see it and Heathcliff, it’s me, I’m Cathy. I’ve come home, I’m so cold.

Which, it’s all just bullshit. Pardon the word.

Because, Catherine and Heathcliff don’t even fucking end up together. There’s something about family difference and he remembers Nancy saying socioeconomic like that word meant anything to him and Catherine winds up dead of bad brain-itis and Healthcliff is a dick so they never should’ve been together anyway.

But, whatever.

He’s feeling very much like Catherine right now. Standing on the moors with a broken heart.

Because fuck Heathcliff. And fuck Nancy.

Kate Bush is the only one he can trust anymore. 

Her and her red dress and Steve’s insides feel like that red fucking dress in a way he can’t explain and Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window-

He just about jumped out of his skin when the passenger door opened.

One too-tan hand reached out to crank the volume down on the song, and a too-pink tongue slid across too-white teeth and

“Harrington, I’m obligated to tell you that you’re acting like a pussy.”

Hargrove.

Y’know, he’s the top of Steve’s Fuck List. Right there with Nancy and Heathcliff, and everyone else who sucks shit and makes people feel bad.

“Can it, dickhead.”

To be fair, Steve was ugly crying to Kate Bush by himself in his car, but he’s allowed to be a pussy by himself in his car.

Hargrove just gave Steve a look that Steve’s pretty sure meant I’m resisting the urge to punch you in the face right now, but was undercut by that stupid fucking tongue of his lolling around like some kinda hyper-sexual golden retriever.

Meanwhile, Kate Bush was still singing and Steve was still Cathy on the moors.

“I’m fucking sad, or whatever. Let me be a pussy.”

“Oh, come on, Harrington. You really this cut up about some prissy little princess? She’s not even the best this town has and that is saying something.”

“Y’know, for a guy that’s constantly calling all the girls in town ugly, you sure do fuck a lot of ‘em.”

“At least I’m getting some. When was the last time the princess put out, eh? Or was she savin’ it for marriage? I could see her bein’ one of those types.”

He said those types like he wasn’t wearing a saint’s pendant around his neck. Like Steve didn’t see his family all sitting uncomfortably silent together in the diner after mass every single Sunday afternoon.

It was weird, seeing Billy in a nice shirt. All buttoned up properly with his hair looking all respectful. Especially since Steve was usually high off his ass and slurping down a strawberry milkshake with cheese fries like he’d die if he didn’t.

“I’m not gonna talk about my sex life with you, Hargrove.”

“Aw, why not, Harrington. Don’t wanna compare body counts? You embarrassed or something?” Billy was grinning that shitty sharp grin of his, still waggling his fucking tongue as he leaned closer to Steve. “You still a virgin, King Steve?”

The song ended. Steve rewound the tape. It started up again.

He needed Kate now more than ever.

“Of fucking course I’m not. I’m just not some gross asshole that goes around telling everyone who’ve I’ve fucked. It’s called being a decent guy.”

“It’s called being a prude. Now, c’mon. Tell me who’ve you fucked. Maybe we’re tunnel buddies.”

Steve wanted to throw up. Kate was on the moors again.

“You’re disgusting. Tunnel buddies. How gross can you even get?”

“I hope that’s a rhetorical question.”

“I don’t know what that means and you’re a shithead.”

Hargrove tossed his head back and laughed, showing off those teeth that looked like they could take a chunk out of Steve’s flesh if Billy got close enough to try.

You had a temper like my jealousy. Too hot, too greedy.

“Seriously, though.” Billy had stopped laughing. “What is this shit?”

“She’s Kate Bush and she speaks to my heart.”

Billy just stared at him.

Yeah, that was a pretty pussy thing to say.

“I just got fucking dumped, dude. Let me be sad about it,” Steve backpedaled.

And then Billy did something very unexpected.

Well, he did something very normal for his character, and then he did something unexpected.

He lit up a cigarette.

And then passed it to Steve.

Steve filled up his lungs with a thick drag of smoke. He held it for as long as he could.

Which was really long.

Swimmer’s lungs. And that.

He blew out the smoke. Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window.

“Is this fucking song based on Wuthering Heights?”

“Yeah, you dumb dumb. It’s fucking called Wuthering Heights.”

“Okay, dumb dumb, I clearly don’t even know this song.”

“Maybe you’d be less of an ass if you did. Dumb dumb.”

Billy lit a cigarette for himself, letting the smoke trail out of his mouth like he was some kind of dragon.

Billy probably fancies himself a dragon. Thinks he’s this big scary creature that just goes around breathing fire and ransacking villages for their gold.

Ooh, it gets dark, it gets lonely on the other side from you. I pine a lot, I find the lot falls through without you.

Really, he’s probably like a dog of some kind.

Domesticated.

“You’re staring at me.”

Yeah. Steve was staring at him. Watching him smoke while Kate Bush played loudly. The speakers still sounded like shit even though Billy had turned down the song considerably.

Steve didn’t know when he had stopped crying.

Probably right when Billy had let himself into his cave of self pity, but his face was still wet.

He wiped it off, not pointing out that Billy had been staring at him too.

“Why are you here so late? Practice ended like, an hour ago.”

Billy shrugged lamely. He kinda looked like a little kid.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

“Bored. Didn’t feel like being home.”

“So you came to sit in the break-up mobile with me. How nice.”

“Mostly I just wanted to make fun of you for listening to this garbage. I could hear it across the lot.”

And sure enough, Billy’s car was parked a good ways down from Steve, about as far away as their two cars could be from one another.

Steve doubts Billy heard Kate all this way, but what’s he gonna do, bring that up?

No. He’s rather sit in this weird silence that settled between them, feeling awkward about himself and his body and listen to Kate.

I'm coming home to wuthering, wuthering, Wuthering Heights

“She’s not worht it, y’know.”

Steve had to do a double take to make sure it was still Billy sitting in his passenger seat, and not some cheap imposter wearing a Billy-suit and saying almost nice things to Steve in a not-mean voice.

“What’d you say earlier? Plenty of bitches in the sea?” Steve would’ve laughed at that comment when Billy made it if they weren’t naked together.

There’s something things you don’t do while naked with another guy, and laughing just isn’t one of them.

Plus, he had been a little too focused on figuring out why Billy’s nudity had given him that same hot feeling that nearly seeing Rob Lowe’s dick in The Outsiders movie gave him last year.

“I mean, it’s true. Don’t sweat this break-up. She seemed like an uptight bitch anyway.”

“Hey.”

Steve was still a little too sore, a little too fresh from the split to trash talk Nance like that.

“Whatever. Get high. Look at some porn. You’ll be fine.”

Ooh, let me have it. Let me grab your soul away.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Silence again.

Kate was back to the chorus.

The song was almost over.

“You could always go on the rebound. get her out of your mind with someone that’ll actually put out.”

Hargrove had barely even said it before he was yanking Steve forward, giving him no time to prepare as their mouthed smooshed together in something that was very very awkward, and very very sloppy.

Steve still had tears on his cheeks, and his cigarette was getting dangerously close to the filter, threatening to burn his fingers, and Kate was still singing, and Billy was kissing him, and dear God Steve’s at least a little bit gay.

Heathcliff, it's me, I'm Cathy. I've come home, I'm so cold. Let me in your window. 

They drifted apart from one another just in time for Steve to rewind the song again.

“So, uh, yeah,” Billy said, and his cheeks were this wonderful shade of red, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking about Kate’s red dress and that fucking kiss and he was on the moors again, but this time he and Billy were making out in the grass and oh fuck, oh fuck-

“Yeah. Good.”

“Good?” Billy raised on of those dark eyebrows at him, his cheeks still burning.

“Good. Very good.”

Billy nodded a few times, sucking on his cigarette. Steve suddenly remembered he had dropped his on the floormates and tried to stamp it out before it got singed to bad.

“Okay then. Good.” Billy opened the passenger door, stepping out and flicking away his cigarette. He seemed to think for a moment, before turning around, leaning his upper body into Steve’s car.

Steve thought they were going to kiss again.

He was ready to go for it, ready to let his eyes close and maybe let it lead to more. He was Cathy and he was ready for some action.

But Billy just grinned again.

And skipped the song.

[courferre-stan]

my friends are on trips without me too, you aren’t alone <3 i’m thinking about road tripping with adrian and singing in the car with the windows down

Dude this is so awesome!! Honestly a road trip would hit really hard rn with spring on the way and the days getting longer where I am! And thanks for the reassurance, I really appreciate it <3

- Adrian is either the best person to take a roadtrip with or the most annoying (really only if you don’t love him or aren’t friends with him cause I imagine he’s a joy to be around if you give him a chance). He talks a lot, says a lot of goofy ass shit, etc., but I think hes easily entertaining when you’re on a long stretch of highway and music is getting boring.

- Doesn’t matter where you’re going, Adrian is just happy to spend time with other people. He’d probably talk your ear off with random stories about high school, stuff that happened at work, etc., depending on how long its taking (he’ll share some really weird shit about himself if you’re on the road long enough overnight, prepare yourself).

- You like D&D? He’s gonna tell you all about every single character he’s made and every campaign he’s done. You enjoy true crime? Boy does he have some stories for you.

- If you’re bored of talking, Adrian has a bunch of curated playlists of music for y’all to listen to the rest of the way. He understands he can be a little too much sometimes, so he’d rather still share something with you than be in dead silence. He definitely has an entire playlist specific to long car rides, and it definitely includes way too much One Direction and Taylor Swift (he went to high school in the early 2000s and was in his early 20s by the 2010s, he’s got taste-).

- Adrian doesn’t listen to music at a respectable volume, its either at 3 or cranked up to 10. The perfect scenario (for me personally lol) would be Live While We’re Young blaring from the radio, windows cranked all the way down, wind blowing in as you’re cruising down an empty highway at sunset going at least 65 MPH. You’re screaming the lyrics while Adrian is driving, but he isn’t any less into as you are— in fact he’s probably giving it his all with singing if it’s just the two of you, knowing you could absolutely care less if he isn’t the best singer, cause he feels the exact same way about your singing (whether you’re good or not, he’d probably melt just hearing you).

- Adrian wouldn’t care if you’re just friends or something more, the dude will tell you he loves you. He’s not the best when it comes to emotions, but you having a great time on a roadtrip with him and enjoying his company is probably the closest he’ll come to truly feeling in love (unless you’re actually dating, in which everything related to you makes him feel head over heels in love).

If you haven’t checked it out yet, I have a playlist over on Spotify titled “Adrian Chase’s Top Bops,” which is a complete 11hr playlist of music I think he absolutely adores listening too (fitting for this headcanon, you could say-).

[vicious-vixxxen]

Kirishima X Male!Reader: Late Night Gaming Session

More of the bestest shark boy! Something short and sweet, not sure where it came from, but I had the scenario in my mind for a while, and finally wanted to get it written down tonight. Hope you guys enjoy it :) ))

Shifting slowly, and stretching your limbs out, you sighed contently- outstretched arms shuffling over the other side of the bed- a frown tugging at your lips when you realized it was empty. What the fuck? You cracked your eyes open then, blinking blearily at the clock on the nightstand, the bright red 2:37 blinking back at you. That’s when you finally clued in to the soft sounds from across the room, the incessant ‘taptaptap’ of a keyboard, and the quiet, intense muttering. Of course. Your boyfriend was so textbook.

“No no he totally downed me! I’m right here, Kamin-no! No Sero don’t go in there, don’t go in there!” Kirishima hissed into his microphone, furiously clicking his mouse, and squinting his eyes, as he’d brought the brightness of his screen all the way down. “What?” Kirishima asked suddenly, silent for all of two seconds before leaning half an inch away from his monitor, and pouting. Shoulders hunched in that adorable way you’d recognize from a mile away. The one that meant Kiri’s brows were drawn down tight, his cheeks were puffed, and his tongue was peeking out. “No, /no/, I can’t turn my headset up, I told you Y/N is sleeping, and he needs his beauty rest..” A pause. “Whoa dude, not cool. He’s the most beautiful thing...creature...person..boyfriend....being..cosmic force EVER. Don’t insult my guy like that, come on...no I know it was a joke, but still- besides, those are his words, not mine. He totally went beast mode in a private with Present Mic today, and now he’s totally out of it. Barely made it through fifteen minutes of our nightly cuddle session before passing out on me.” Kirishima explained- shoulders tightening up even more as he finished, and you couldn’t help the stupid smile that was front and center on your face as you stared at your boyfriends back. He was such an adorable dweeb. Swinging your feet out and over the side of the bed, you stood- arms stretched high above your head, a yawn forcing its way out of your mouth. Smacking your lips together gently, you reached back to grab the blanket off the bed- wrapping it around your shoulders, and shuffling as quietly as possible to stand behind Kirishima as he played. Peeking over his shoulder slowly- trying and failing to recognize the first person shooter he was playing. All you knew, was that barely being able to hear his teammates, or see the screen, was going to frustrate the redhead into a frenzy. His fingers would harden and snap the keyboard and house, as they’d done before, and it was expensive as fuck to replace. “Babe,” You whispered finally, waiting for a response, but Kirishima was deep in strategic thought over the game, and you were happy his back was still turned when you rolled your eyes. “Kiriiii,” You sang, right next to the boys ear- nearly jumping back yourself as the other boy jerked back in his seat- headset ripping off as he looked all around himself- pout returning quickly as you buried your face in his neck, laughing. “Dude! So not cool! I thought you were asleep?” Kirishima whined, turning his desk chair around, arms crossed over his chest, as he looked you up and down- leaning back, pout clear as day on his face. “I didn’t wake you, did I?” He asked, as an afterthought, features softening, shoulders even falling slightly, as you shook your head. Spreading your legs to sit in Kirishima’s lap, cuddling the blanket around the both of you now, as you rested your head in the crook of his neck, and closed your eyes. “I’m feeling...restless, and you weren’t in bed like you usually are for me to wake up and talk about nonsense with you while you’re half asleep,” You explained, fondness lacing your tone, as you leaned back, blush bright even in the dark, as Kirishima gave you one of his signature warm smiles- your hands finding their way into his thick, spiky locks. “Jokes on you, cuz I’m fully awake, and now /you/, have to listen to /me/ play video games, while I explain in great detail how all the mechanics work. Even my custom settings.” Kirishima’s smile turned predatory, sharklike, even, as he bared all his teeth, and spun his chair back around. Popping his headset back on, and cranking the volume and brightness back up. Aware enough to look at least slightly apologetic, as you cringed back from the brightness of the screen- lifting your legs up, and curling into Kirishima’s lap, as the both of you settled in, and he started playing again. “Ah, so sleeping beauty is joining us? Welcome back to the world of the living, princess!” Kaminari shouted through the mic, and you huffed- feeling sorry for whoever’s room was next to his. “Maybe if you spent more time resting, and less time gaming, you wouldn’t short circuit every time you touch a battery,” You called back casually, an eruption of laughter coming from the rest of the group chat- you thought you could just barely make out Bakugou and Mina in there somewhere, maybe even Sero. “Low blow,” Kami muttered into his mic, as you sat up a bit, and actually paid attention to what Kirishima was doing. Before long, sitting up straight, and taking control over the keys, while Kiri worked the mouse- movements in sync, both of you screaming through the same headset, cheeks bumping together as you both tried to work one earpiece over each of your heads. Your noses bumped together roughly the third or so time you tried- both of you cringing, before giggling into each other's faces. And then you were kissing, suddenly, and sharply. Kirishima’s hands on your waist, your hands up in his hair- matching smiles pressed against one another as you kissed. And kissed, and kissed. Soft, needy sounds pulled from Kirishima, as you bit at his lips, and swiped at them with your tongue. “I don’t know if I’m horrified, or if I want a live show of whatever is going on on Kirishima’s end right now,” You both barely heard from the headset on the floor- laughing out loud, and turning your attention back to the game. For the time being. “Half an hour?” Kirishima offered, and you nodded. “I can think of something even more fun we can do, one v one.” Kirishima blushed, growling at you playfully, before ordering Kaminari to mind his own business, as you both got back to the game. Kirishima’s arms wrapped around you, and on his keyboard this time. 

[mercurymilkshakes]

Look After You | Joe Mazzello

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: joe mazzello x gn! reader

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): eXtra fluffy but that’s not really a warning

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: there’s been a heavy weight in joe’s mind, and an equally heavy weight in his pocket.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓(𝐒): look after you- the fray

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 1.2k

Quiet days like these were what you lived for. Days where you didn't have to worry about work demanding your attention, or the loving yet unwanted company of friends coming along and knocking at your door. Today was just you, sweatpants rolled up at the ankles, music cranked up to an almost dangerous volume, and your cat.

Though, you couldn't help but admit you wished Joe had gotten a day off too.

It wasn't often you and Joe had the same days off. Your schedules always clashed in that way. It was almost impressive that your relationship had managed to get as far as it had, with all the last minute change of plans, the long distance phone calls, the teary eyed video chats, and those times where a 'date' was really just getting coffee together before dropping Joe off on set.

Sometimes you'd go days at a time as passing ships in the night, being too exhausted and overworked to do anything but order takeout and fall asleep in each others arms.

Joe always expressed how guilty he felt because of this, wishing your schedules would line up for just a while and he could be there with you on these quiet days off. He worried sometimes, that those late night whispers and early morning kisses weren't enough for you.

Granted, it was hard, but you couldn't picture yourself with anyone else. You'd wait for Joe- even if it meant the only time you heard his voice was through the crackle of your headphones.

At the very least, Joe's current film project wasn't too far from home, which made it so his schedule was a lot less stressful, and he had thankfully been home every night since the project started.

This didn't change the fact that he wished to be home with you, watching as you sorted through your CD shelf that could never stay organized, or laughing as you slow danced with your cat around the kitchen. He wanted to be there for those moments, no matter how small and seemingly mundane they were.

Though while the back of his mind felt guilty, the voice in his heart spoke love. He, too, couldn't see himself coming home to anyone else.

How could he? To him, you were home.

That's how Joe felt as he got back to the apartment in the early evening, patting a pocket of his jacket as he hung it up and glancing around at the freshly mopped floor, smelling the scented candles you loved to burn and hearing a soft ballad coming from the speakers in the living area. It was you he came home to, and it could never possibly be the same without you.

As Joe went to call out for you and announce his presence, he noticed a mess of fur peeking out around the corner. A mess of fur that meowed and blinked at him as he came closer.

"Hey there, Peaches." Joe cooed, managing to crouch down close enough to run his fingers along the fluff of Peaches' belly. "Where's Y/N? Can you find them for me, bud?"

Peaches seemed reluctant to get up from his spot, ever the lazing sort, but dutifully rose from his comfortable floorboards and began trotting along towards the bathroom just down the hall, of which had a citrusy cleaner scent radiating from inside.

As Joe came upon the open bathroom door, there he saw you, laying on the pristine mopped floor- directly in the centre, chewing on a liquorice wand.

You hadn't heard him come in due to the music down the hall being much too loud- not to mention you'd been persistently humming along to the lyrics.

Peaches took initiative and hopped up onto the counter, which brought your attention to him, and ultimately, Joe.

"You're home!" You exclaim, sitting up and reaching out a hand towards him.

Joe chuckled, grabbing hold of your wrist to safely and securely pull you up to stand, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek.

"I am," Joe smiled, taking a bite from the liquorice wand when you offered it to him, "how was your day?" He asked.

You finish off the liquorice and rest your forearms on his shoulders, linking your hands behind his head as you both begin to sway to the music together.

"Good," You hum as Joe leans his head against yours, “Peaches and I got a lot done.”

“I can tell.” He observed, recalling the shiny floor in the front hallway, and the couch pillows that had been placed neatly and aesthetically along the cushions.

Joe listened to you hum happily along with the music, and he danced with you, one hand resting on your waist while the other reached over along the counter to give Peaches’ a couple loving scratches.

“How was work?” You asked, playing with the hair at the back of his neck.

Joe grumbled tiredly, sighing against your shoulder, “I missed you.”

“Well, I’m right here.” You assure.

He shakes his head, “I want you to always be right here… I know it’s hard sometimes, and I’m sorry-”

You cut him off, pulling away only enough to look him in the eyes, “Joe, stop.”

He does as you ask, sighing as you analyze the love he has in his heart and that doubt in the back of his mind. You pick him apart so easily, as if his emotions are a book to be read.

“I’m always gonna be right here, Dino Boy, I’m not going anywhere.” You smile, pulling back and cupping his jaw in one hand, gaining a small quirk of Joe’s lips as you do so.

“Marry me.”

You freeze entirely, looking stunned at Joe’s adoring yet nervous expression.

“Really?” You whisper.

“Really, really.” He breathes out, matching your tone, taking your hand from his jaw and holding it against his chest. “I mean it, Y/N, marry me.”

The phrase registers, and your dazed demeanour bleeds away into joy and amusement, “Joseph Francis Mazzello the third, you most certainly did not just propose to me in our bathroom.” You chuckle, a little teary eyed as his forehead presses against yours.

“Is that a no?” He chuckles along too, knowing his timing wasn’t exactly perfect- if anything, it’d just slipped out before he could bite his tongue- but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about it for a while.

He just couldn’t believe he’d been carrying around that damned ring in his jacket pocket for two months only to end up blurting out the proposal as he and the love of his life swayed along to ballad music in the citrus air of their recently cleaned bathroom.

“That’s an ‘I can’t believe I’m gonna be dealing with you for the rest of my life’, Mr Mazzello.” You beam, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he laughs.

“Would you like to see your ring?” Joe asks, taking your hands and guiding you along down the hall.

You gasp, “There’s a ring?”

Peaches brushes up against your legs as he passes by on the way to his litter box, meowing as he went, while you and Joe maintained the lighthearted and excited conversation of a newly engaged couple.

“I think you should wear that dinosaur printed bow tie of yours at our wedding.” You tease, watching Joe fumble with his jacket.

“Oh, absolutely.”

Joe Mazzello deserves the world, I said what I said. Also stan Peaches the cat he was a delight to write for, AND EXCITING TIMES: WE GOT OUR FIRST REQUEST!! It’ll be written up and posted v soon, thank you to that anonymous person for being the legend they are -♠️

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