#one of the gay boys was very drunk and very loud and very warm and affectionate to the

[rulesforthedance]

You guys would love the lesbian dive bar, I wish you could go with me

[leatherednlace]

Jolene

Dean Winchester x Male reader

Tags - Drinking, Tipsy, Sad, Phone calls, Mentions of Sam x Male reader, Revenge, Kissing, Dean Winchester puts the P in A, Riding, Hickies, Dirty talk, Praise, Slow sex, Aftercare

You watch as the man of your dreams, sam winchester fall in love with a women...you out of your mind, angry, upset for him leading you on, you call Dean to take you home...by telling Dean, now’s your chance to get back at sam...

A/N - Thank the “slowed” version of Jolene for this...

Taglist - @flamencodiva @wonder-cole @superfanficnatural @that-one-gay-girl

——————————————————————————

You took the last swig of your drink, the glass slightly cold in your hand, but the feeling was so comforting...the numbness.

“Another”

You slurred. Your eyes set on the pair in the far corner, you could already feel your blood boil, stomach turning, mouth twisting in disgusting.

There he was, hands on the strangers hips, moving there bodies to the music, he was heavily intoxicated clearly by the empty sets of glasses on the table they were once sat at.

You sigh...music filling the void, the drink making your head fuzzy with each beat. You continued watching them closely. Sam was never like this with you, his hands never travelled up your back, never wound up in your hair, lips never met yours...

Shaking your head...you had enough, you wanted more, anything.

You heard the regular knock of the glass being placed infront of you, the whiskey sat at the bottom, the brown liquor making your mouth water, you needed it.

You bring the glass to your lips, taking a swig, you feel the burn which was very addictive, your throat already revelling in the contact, but you wanted to go home, to feel those soft blankets wrap around your body keeping you warm.

Sam wasn’t paying any attention to you at all, as if you were invisible, non-existent. You could feel the usual pang in your chest, the hurt, the empty feeling, everytime you thought of him.

One of your hands steadily dove into your left trouser pocket, you pulled it out, as soon as the phone screen turned on, your eyes flicked over the 2 missed calls from Dean...why Dean?

Your eyebrows furrowed, without thinking, presumably letting the alcohol take over, you tap call. A wave of nervousness travelled across your body, hands standing up on your arm, why were you having this reaction?

“Hello?”

The deep, gruff, slightly soothing voice echoed in your ears, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips, not only was it Dean...but his voice...

“D-Dean...”

He could already tell, a sigh sounded from the speaker, you don’t blame him, you had told him you wouldn’t get drunk, but he can thank Sam for that.

“Are you drunk?”

You nodded, but blurted out a sloppy “y-yeh”. You couldn’t help think why Dean hadn’t hung up yet, but you were glad he hadn’t, nothing ever compared to how...horrible you felt right now...

“You want something?”

You paused, to regain a somewhat “sober” state.

“D-Dean can y-you come p-pick me up...Sammy left me alone f-for some woman.”

You awaited an answer, clearly he was annoyed, not at you, but at his brother. He felt kind of sorry for you, Sam had been leading you on for all these months...it’s not right...he would treat you so much better.

“Hold on...”

————————

Silence.

The silence was like a heavy weight, both you and Dean keeping your eyes on the road. You tried mustering up some kind of plan to forget about Sam and what he was doing...what his deal was with kissing that woman.

But you couldn’t, every touch, every kiss, they were like memories imprinted into the back of your head, everytime you closed your eyes, you saw the way Sam was with her...he was never like that with you.

You could feel the tears brim at your bottom lids. You could feel anger course it’s way through your veins, taking over your body.

“What Sam did...” Dean paused, correcting himself “is doing...it’s not right, it’s not fair” Dean kept his eyes on the road, glancing back at you and forth to see if you were okay.

“It isn’t...D-Dean nothing’s fair...not in this life, we are hunters, we hel-“

You were cut off by Dean pulling off the road into a lay by, he couldn’t handle seeing you like this, the guilt he saw in your eyes every time he looked at you, Sam has broken you.

Parking the car he switched the engine off, twisting the keys and sliding them into his pocket. Placing a warm, comforting hand on your thigh he shook his head.

“Listen...I can’t control my brother or his actions, what he did tonight shouldn’t really be any of my concern but I can’t bare to see you like...”

His voice had you shivering, it was a comfort at this point, deep, quiet, much like a whisper but loud enough to not be. You looked to his hand rubbing up and down your thigh, smiling weakly to yourself.

You look up into his green orbs, everything stilled as if time itself switched off, if only for mere seconds. “It’s nice to know i have someone fighting in my corner...”

Your words were rather breathy, both of you close...too close to be friends. Dean’s hand squeezed your thigh, his eyes asking if this was okay...there was a slight pause as you watch Dean closely, hungry tongue lapping over his dry bottom lip.

“I-Is this okay?”

Removing his slightly warm hand from your thigh, he brought it up to cusp your cheek, pulling your face towards his own, nothing could prepare you for the way his lips crashed against your own, this wasn’t needy...this was want.

This kiss was wet, deep, everything you had dreamed of...with Sam. But what was this feeling? Butterflies? Maybe...Maybe Dean was the problem solver here, What if it was Dean all along?

Dean sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, slightly tugging on it. A whimper escapes you as Dean took charge, his tongue sliding against yours in a fight for dominance, clearly he’s won.

Soft grunts left his lips at the sounds of your whimpers, they sounded oh so heavenly. You move closer wanting to feel more, his hands pulling you into his lap. You were now situated on his lap, knees at either side of Dean’s thighs, his tongue still in your mouth.

He pulled away, eye’s now getting a good look of you, your features. “God your more beautiful then I remember”. Dean already managed to make you feel good with just words…you wonder how else he could do that.

You feel yourself blush underneath the street light, Dean chuckled deeply, clothed cock brushing against your ass. “D-Dean please make me f-feel good” you moan sloppily, hoping he would take charge of the situation and make you forget.

His hands pushed down your rather loose bottoms past your hips, your bare ass on show. You hiss at the cold air now surrounding you, hands clinging onto his shoulders as he manoeuvres your trousers and boxers.

Your cock sprung free and rested against his clothed stomach. Dean smirked knowing it was him doing this to you, making you hard under his touch.

“I’ve always wanted to make you feel good…fuck” he groans into your ear, his deep gruff voice forcing a shiver out of you. Your hands wonder down to his belt, unlooping it from it’s confines, finding it easier to unzip his trousers.

He buries his face between the crook of your neck, hiding away as he nibbles on the soft skin. One of your hands dive into his now open trousers, grazing the plump hard on he was sporting.

You pull him out, now feeling the heavy weight of it in your hands. Dean moans at the slight friction your hand gives his aching member…god he was a mess.

“I-I need to feel y-you”

You place his aching tip at your wanting entrance, plunging into you.

The low rumbling moans that leave his lips make you clench around him, squeezing him tighter, “oh my God.” Dean can’t even find the words. 

You whimper in pain, the feeling of his thickness stretching you to accommodate his size.

Chanting your name over and over, whimpering as he sinks further into your warmth, as deep as he can possibly go. He grips onto you for dear life, as if he’d loose you.

His lips circle the shell of your ear, nibbling the soft area, breath fanning against it. “So fucking tight” he groans, using his hands to force your hips up and down, bouncing away in his lap.

Holding each other, you stay connected for a little while, enjoying the moment as Dean continues his harsh thrusts, rocking his hips into your tight heat, whimpers sounded out into the now fogged-up car.

“So much better then Sammy” you groan, this only had Dean slowing his hips, now pointing his aim at your sweet spot. “Love feeling myself deep in you…balls pressed to this ass” he gives it a smack, watching your face twist with pain and pleasure.

“Thought about this for years…’bout plunging my cock deep inside your little boy pussy…”

That’s all it takes for the coil to snap, you cling to Dean, hands squeezing his skin tightly as you scream his name, your cock twitched as you released your load onto his flannel, vision turning white.

“That’s it…squeeze around me, milk m- shit” Dean cums deep within you, load after load filling you making sure you knew who you belonged too. His eyes closed tightly…you could hear him pant, hardly able to catch his own breath.

He chuckles, half blissed. His eyes watched you closely, one of his hands coming up to cup your left cheek, taking in your features.

“How was it…” he mutters.

Your too fucked out and slightly tipsy to even open your mouth, instead you kiss him to show how much this actually means to you. Dean held you against his chest, kissing back with the same amount of passion.

Sammy was now a distant thought, everywhere you looked there was Dean…this felt right.

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

I decided to watch the Walker pilot so you don’t have to. #1

I don’t know why I’m doing this, but I’m doing this and the more I put it off the less I’ll want to do this. So. Let’s start.

The fist thing we see is Jared Padalecki, em Walker, driving. He’s vaguely smiling and there’s the sun behind him. He seems happy. He’s driving a truck, for some reason my mind goes to Twilight. I’d rather watch that. At least there are vampires (not dressed like clowns) there. Anyway. Walker is meeting someone. He’s meeting his wife! “Look at you!” she says. The camera makes us look at him. He looks like this

I am unsure whether we’re supposed to see this as sexy or cool. It looks frankly ridiculous. I don’t know if I’m just not American enough to appreciate the aesthetic of this. But I didn’t go through 15 seasons of Americana-in-British-Columbia for nothing. If a character appeared like this on Supernatural, it wouldn’t be presented seriously. It would be played for a chuckle or in a light-hearted way at least. Not even Dean Winchester would find this hot.

The Padaleckis tell something to each other. Apparently he needs to go home with the kids and his parents because it’s game night. My mind immediately goes to Game Night the episode and I am sad now. But Walker lifts my mood in its own weird way.  He doesn’t know the rules because every time she tells him the rules, he blacks out. I would make a fun quip about this, but the truth is that I relate to him a lot right now because I blacked out during the entire scene. I’m not sure what they said other than the game thing because I wrote it here. I already forgot the rest.

Anyway. What we’re supposed to get from this scene that they’re Very In Love (see that soft warm light?), and that he’s anxious because he’s not great at being a father because he’s shit at games apparently, but his wife is like ~don’t worry so much~ because she’s a kind, understanding wife. He tells her to be safe, because the Texan countryside is dangerous or something. She needs to stay on a route he approved for some reason. Is she traveling with supersoldier serum in her car? Is Hydra going to murder her? [cue the Marvel snipers shooting me to death because they don’t want Marvel to be associated to this]

Later, everyone is having fun playing fake monopoly, but Walker (whose mannerism is just Jared, he’s not even trying) is apparently too stupid to understand a game for kids. Plot twist, this is anti-cop propaganda because it says cops are dumb.

“Et tu Brute” Jared says when the kids point out he broke a rule so they get an extra turn. I thought I was safe from hearing Jared speak Latin! I thought I was safe! I am never safe!

Emily (Gen) suddenly texts him “SOS. Answer” which is OMINOUS! Oh my god! Aren’t you feeling the tension. The rest of the family keeps playing fake monopoly. Someone throws dice. Are we supposed to go “oh! The dice are ~symbolic because someone’s playing dice with her life” or have I been watching too much good tv.

She is running somewhere in the countryside, wearing a white shirt (is this the cowboy lady equivalent of the Wife Nightgown?). She says something is not right. He’s worried. Then he hears gunshot and her scream. He does the Alarmed Jared face, presses lips together and does a Upset Jared face.

Then he goes out, tries to call her again, and again, does a Jared Upset Sniff--

Oh! We actually see her! She’s alive, but she’s been shot in the stomach. Her white shirt is definitely the cowboy lady equivalent of the Wife Nightgown! Ah the blood coming from the stomach! How terrible! Her phone is ringing but she cannot reach it. She is definitely alive right now, though. She’s breathing heavily because of the wound, which is breathing, which is the opposite of being dead.

He decides that she’s dead, and lets out the already infamous manly scream of anguish.

It would be sad if it wasn’t that literally one second ago we saw her wounded but alive. Her turning out alive in the season finale or so will shock everyone. Nobody will have seen it coming. Who wrote this? They should have just shown the ringing phone and her bloody hand/side, making the audience assume she was dead, instead of showing her breathing. Now the audience is gonna assume she didn’t actually die, and wonder “why didn’t he call someone or went looking for her” but apparently Jared’s characters have forgotten that, like, ambulances are a thing. Jared’s manly screams of anguish are more important than common sense.

I’m not going to say anything about the manly scream of anguish. I’m not going to say anything about the manly scream of anguish. I’m n

We’re just 4 minutes in, guys. Why am I doing this?

Eleven months later, says the screen.

It’s night, outside a house. The son is waiting for him. The daughter doesn’t think he’s coming. On the porch there are two men, one is his brother and one is apparently his former partner, now new boss. He’s dressed like you’d expect a normal person to be dressed in a casual Texan night, hat and tie and all. If you are law enforcement in Texas and don’t wear a cowboy hat at any moment, you will be executed. That’s what the death penalty in Texas is for.

Somebody arrives, but to the kids’ disappointment is some dude whose function is to tell us the men’s names. The brother is Liam, the cop dude I forgot.

Walker is being sad on the back of his truck and drinking alcohol, which is the only way television can express a man having trauma. Holy shit - he reminisces of his wife like this is some emotional Lord of the Rings scene in a place where Elves live except this is not the Lord of the Rings and is just ridiculous, look

She’s seen running towards the gazebo, then she turns

This is exactly shot like the scene where Arwen has a vision of her son. Flowy hair and all. I cannot take this seriously.

He smiles sadly. Then a cop car arrives.

Mexican Lady Cop(TM), whose function in the story is to be a Mexican Lady Cop(TM) asks for his licence since he’s drinking alcohol in a public place.

“You ask so nicely” drunk Walker says. Ew. “Yeah, they train the girls special” Oh! Can you see? She is the Feminist Icon who Takes No Shit from the Dude! I’m so excited. I am slowly losing the will to live.

She drives him home on the police car. His legs don’t fit. At least this is realistic.

He does exposition in the car, including “I needed to visit a ghost instead”. There-there was no need to say it. What’s the demographic they’re aiming for? Five year olds? Do they have to spell everything out loud?

“It’s been a while since I had an actual conversation” he says, which supposedly explains why he’s making awkward exposition, but it’s just bad writing. At least they acknowledge it’s bad writing.

She figures he’s law enforcement coming back from an undercover mission from some drunken ramble he makes. This is worse than the Sherlock phone cable port thing.

She says she just got promoted from state trooper, ehe she will work with him wink wink nudge nudge. Is she going to be a cop-buddy-character slash love interest except when they’re almost about to realize they’re into each other, his wife comes back and draa~ama? I can already see it.

He goes home, makes some Jared grunts, and falls asleep on the couch.

Next morning, he goes out and jogs to where he left the truck. He puts on a cowboy hat which is supposed to be an artistic shot.

I’m slowly dying. He makes some Jared Deep Breaths, at least this made me laugh.

Wait, he’s now wearing a black hat. He’s in mourning, see? What.

He drives to his father’s ranch. His father is Super Not Impressed. It’s awkward. They took about horses. Mitch Pileggi is thinking that at least the other show was more exciting and there was Jensen Ackles in it.

He gets into his parents’ house and the dogs run to him, he does the Jared Dog Chuckle. He hugs his mom. He hugs his son - “August, my boy!” he says, like a normal person his age says.

He hugs his brother and they joke-wrestle and he says “I’m still the big brother” and did I mention I’m dying inside. I just can tell this is SUPPOSED to be reminiscent of Dean and Sam’s first meeting at Stanford in the pilot except Jared is the big brother now. Ew.

We learn that the brother is a DA and gay. All pilots suffer from Forced Exposition Syndrome but it’s like this isn’t even trying.

He goes to work and hugs (very manly hug of course) his friend-now-boss, who is called James. James asks him if he’s good and he’s like yeah I’m good, which our I’m Fine Lie Moment #1. Some things never change.

Enter the case of the week - a cop offered roadside assistance but he was assaulted. We’re already starting with a “Oh No Poor Cop :( Someone Doesn’t Like Cops And Gets Violent” plot. Yay.

Ta-da! Mexican Lady Cop appears, cowboy hat and all. James says she’s Walker’s new partner. My heart cries while Walker says “figured you’d be a guy” and she replies “so did my mom”. The feminism is so strong :’) She’s such a strong female character :’) I’m so happy :’)

Then Walker makes such a quintessential Jared thing with his mouth that I need to stop this here and take a break.

It’s been 13 minutes. So much still to go. I’m bored. Why am I doing this.

[winterscaptain]

pretty/drunk

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: this doesn’t have any gendered pronouns, but some of the content was fairly fem-coded and i didn’t want anyone to experience anything triggering/unpleasant, so i tagged it fem. all my gals, gays, hes, and theys can be pretty and wear fancy underwear!! (i can always adapt a super super gender neutral version if anyone wants it! or hell, even male-coded. we’re inclusive in this house!) also my smut taglist is...not updated. yikes.

words: 2.5k warnings: alcohol use, drunk!aaron, smut (oral w/reader receiving, penetrative sex, creampie)

summary: “compliments cost nothing, yet many pay dear for them.” - thomas fuller

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | requests closed!

“You’re so pretty,” Aaron says, his words only slurring a little. He’s followed you into the bathroom at Will and JJ’s like a lost puppy and can’t keep his hands to himself. 

You laugh, pulling his arms further around you. “Aaron, honey, you’re really drunk.”

His brow crinkles. You can see it in the mirror. “Do I… not tell you you’re pretty when I’m not drunk? Because I should do that.”

“No,” you assure him with a pat to the back of his hand. “You do, but you have less of an agenda when you’re sober.”

He laughs in that delightful little way he does when he’s drunk and he knows he’s been caught. “That’s not true. I always have an agenda.”

As if to make his point, his mouth drops to your neck, finding that spot that makes you sigh. You can feel your heartbeat in your bits at this point, but you won’t give him the satisfaction. 

You turn, holding his face in your hands. His eyes are only a little glassy - he���s playing it up because he knows it makes you laugh. “You’re not very subtle, sweetheart.”

“But you’re so pretty,” he grumbles, tucking his face into your neck again. 

“Okay, love. Let’s go. C’mon.”

You eventually get him back down the hallway and into the living room. 

Emily smirks at you, but you only roll your eyes and shake your head. 

Don’t be ridiculous. 

She shrugs. Not the first time it woulda happened. 

Fair point, your eyebrows say. She laughs. 

Jack’s running soccer drills with Henry in the backyard - still full of energy despite the ridiculously late hour - and JJ’s offered to have the boys over at her place tonight. 

“You’re sure?” 

“Pfft, absolutely. What’s one more? Jack’s easy.” 

You laugh lightly. “Can’t argue with that.” 

“And,” she adds, “I figure you guys could use the night. You know, sober up and stuff.” 

Squinting at her, you say, “I’m not drinking tonight.” 

“Just sayin’.”

With a roll of your eyes, you take Aaron by the elbow and lead him out the door and into the car. He’s terribly floppy when he’s just passed buzzed, but you know he’d never get drunk enough to actually make you babysit him. 

He’d explained it to you once. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not in my twenties anymore so wicked hangovers are an inevitability. And it’s inconsiderate.” 

+++

He’s particularly handsy as you walk up to the apartment, impeding your forward momentum as he drags you back against him, grinding playfully against you at every opportunity. 

“Aaron, quit!” You whisper-shout at him, mindful of your neighbors. It’s much later than your usual arrival time and you’re actually aware of the sleepy nature of the suburban apartment complex on a Saturday night. 

You finally let yourself into the apartment and lock the door behind you, setting the alarm as soon as you take your shoes off. 

Aaron’s leisure is apparent - he’s taking his time with his winter trappings (though you’re pretty sure he’d trip if he went at his normal pace). You watch him methodically place his shoes into the rack and hang his coat, brushing imagined debris off the sleeve. 

When he’s done, he turns back to you with a look he might think is smooth. Really, he just looks rather undone. 

Delightfully undone. 

You sigh and cross the room, pulling his lips to yours and winding your fingers in his hair. He moans into your mouth and you’re violently reminded of the other perk of an inebriated Aaron: while already vocal, his lowered inhibitions increase his volume in… almost every situation. 

“Come to bed, baby,” you whisper against him. 

You can feel his smile. “Okay.” 

Taking him by the hand, you drag him to your bedroom and close the door behind you out of habit. 

He presses you against the wall, his hands wandering down your ribs, your hips, your ass, up your shirt as his searing kisses poke holes in your desire to sleep. 

You pull back, your head against the wall. “I have something for you. Wanna see?” 

His eyes are firmly stuck on your mouth, but he nods. 

“Wait for me. I’ll be right back.” 

With a wolfish grin, he steps back (carefully) and starts to undo his belt buckle. As nice a visual as that is, you know you have a limited window before he crashes. 

Drunk Aaron often means Sleepy Aaron. If your estimation is right - you have about ten minutes. 

Slipping into the bathroom, you dig around in your side of the cabinet until you find the little bag you’ve been hiding. It’s lingerie you bought last year on his birthday, but hadn’t had the occasion to show him - between cases and Jack, there was never an opportune time. 

You change somewhat leisurely, giving yourself the time to get really worked up, thinking about the way Aaron’s hands and mouth feel on every square inch of your skin. When you’re well and truly warm, you open the door -

And find Aaron completely zonked, naked, halfway-under the turned-down covers. 

Looks like it was more like five minutes. 

You can’t help but smile at the sight. He’s adorable with his face all squished into the pillow, curled toward your side of the bed. 

You strip, leaving the treats back under the cabinet, and slip under the covers wearing nothing at all. 

+++

You’re sure you’re having the best sex dream of your life. Getting all worked up before bed often had its own consequences, but you find yourself waking before you can really grab onto the feeling. 

A bit frustrated, you rouse yourself and realize Aaron grinding against you isn’t part of your dream. You reach back, tangling your fingers in his hair - not enough to pull, but enough to let him know you’re awake. 

“Aaron?” 

“Hmm?” 

You let out a shaky breath and arch your back, sending your ass right into him. He groans and you feel his hand wander from your abdomen to your center, aching and soaked all the way to your thighs. 

His talented fingers wander over your heated skin, circling your clit and dipping into you but not enough. You wiggle against him impatiently, but he shushes you, laving your neck and shoulder with languid, wet kisses that leave you squirming. 

Your eyes flutter shut as he ducks under the covers, his kisses traveling down the curve of your spine, to your waist. You squeak when his teeth sink into the soft skin above your hip, immediately soothed with his tongue. Letting him lead, you wait until his fingers wrap around your knee before you swing your leg over his head. 

His pleased hum is audible and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

Your heel slides up his shoulder in your attempt to get him where you want him, but you can feel the muscles of his back ripple as he resists you, pillowing his head on your thigh. 

Aaron presses kisses to the crease of your thigh until you’re well and truly squirming. 

He lets out a drawn-out moan as his tongue makes contact with your slit and you swear he drinks from you before sloppily licking and mouthing his way to your clit, rolling the little nub on his tongue. 

“Perfect,” he whispers against you, wrapping his lips around you and sucking for a moment before taking one long pass from stem to stern with the flat of his tongue. 

You whimper, pressing the back of one hand to your mouth while the other tangles in his hair, holding him in place. 

He lifts, even against the pressure of your hand, and looks up at you, his nose, mouth, and chin glistening in the low light. “Nobody’s home, baby.” He drops a kiss to your clit. “Let me hear you.” 

You keep your eyes on his as he positively devours you. After what seems like forever, he drops his gaze, giving you a breathtaking view of his long eyelashes resting against his cheekbone. 

His arms slide over your lower back, wrapping around you to hold you steady as he rocks his face into you. It’s sloppy, loud, and immaculate. 

Closing your eyes and relaxing everything you can, you focus entirely on the sensation of his tongue against your clit, the way the whole lower half of his face burrows as far into you as he can get, ever seeking something more, somewhere closer. 

Your walls flutter on their own, pushed to the brink by his ministrations. Your hips buck a little and you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding in a huff. 

“Fuck, Aaron. You’re so good.” 

“Mhmm.” His hum doesn’t leave your skin, but he still sounds way too full of himself. When you yank on his hair in light admonishment for his own self-awareness, he lets out another groan from deep in his chest. 

It rumbles through you, all the way to your bones. You can’t help but shudder again and his arms tighten around you.  

You can feel his muscles pull and flex under your calf as he chases friction, grinding into the sheets. His expression belies none of it - there’s not a grain of tension in his forehead, his eyebrows sit relaxed when they’re not pulled together in surprise or pleasure. 

One of his arms slides out from under you, running his fingers over your thigh before lifting his mouth from you. He wets his fingers, pulling them slowly from his lips and dropping them to tease your entrance. 

He raises his eyebrows expectantly, meeting your eyes. 

You give in. 

“Please.” 

With a smirk, he runs his fingers from your bundle of nerves to your slit, slipping them inside you with unbearable lack of haste. You wiggle against him and he relents, diving back into you with more than enthusiasm. 

Your voice is somewhere between a gasp and a whine. “Aaron, you’re gonna make me come.” You twist, but his arms hold you fast as you curl into your pillow. 

He doesn’t falter for a second, going down on you like it’s his favorite thing to do (it is, actually) until you’re overcome, shaking and overwrought with pleasure. His gentle guidance through your peak only prolongs it, sweetening the pleasure until it hums through your body. 

Finding his way back to you, he takes the same route he took on his way down, kissing his way to your knee, taking your leg back over his head, and wandering up your back with his lips and tongue. 

He settles behind you again and wraps you in his arms, pressing kisses to your neck. 

You turn your head and he meets your lips with his own. It’s an awkward angle, sure, but sex by definition is awkward - what’s one more element? 

You kiss the taste of yourself off of him, his little pleased noises only egging you on. Impatiently, you reach behind you and wrap your hand around his cock, stroking just the way he likes it (with a twist of your wrist at the tip) until he stops you with a hand over yours. 

“Either I come inside you or not at all.” 

With a little laugh, you release him. “By all means, darling. Be my guest.” 

Aaron’s got a stupid little smile on his face you can only see half of, but you make it clear you have no intention of moving, arching your back again to give him more access. 

Positioning himself between your thighs, he runs his cock over your heated flesh, between your lips, still sensitive from your orgasm. You relax into him with a shaky exhale, rocking back and seeking friction. 

His breath is hot at your ear as he eases into you, the angle from this position new and tight. You move with him, meeting him inch for inch as he slowly gives you more and more with each thrust. 

He brings his hand to your waist and you can feel him trembling. You bring your knees closer to your chest and he shifts so the top of his thighs are flush with the back of yours. 

You whimper as he finds that place inside you, and hits it over and over and over with alarming consistency. He’s bottoming out with every thrust and you’re seeing stars. 

The arm underneath him snakes under your pillow and around your shoulders, his fingers splayed over your chest. The arm at your waist sneaks down to your clit and you do him a favor - lifting your knee as close to your shoulder as you can get it. 

He loops his arm around your thigh, holding you open for him, while he drowns his fingers in his handiwork from before. It’s been almost two years and he's mastered that angle on your clit - the one that has you nearly in tears within seconds, gasping little sobs leaving you as you’re once again pushed to the breaking point. 

“Harder,” you tell him. “More.” 

His lips glued to the slope between your neck and shoulder, he pounds into you faster, harder, the sound of his hips snapping to yours filling the bedroom. 

Your orgasm crests over you all at once and you can’t even thrash as your vision whites out and your legs violently shake - his hold on you is tight and all-consuming. He well-and-truly fucks you, chasing his pleasure while riding you through yours. 

He gasps and you know he’s close. You bring your hand behind you to his hair again and hold him to you, the softness of his ungelled hair grounding you as the rest of your body continues to alight with sensation. 

“Fuck, I’m -” His brief warning is rough, breathless, and relentlessly hot. You look in front of you, seemingly for the first time, and realize your mirrored closet doors are right there. 

Your mouth drops open as you watch Aaron drive into you, deep, and unlatch from your neck, his eyes squeezing shut and mouth open, a groan leaving him. You can feel him inside you, warm and full, as he releases, his hips barely leaving yours as he shallowly ruts into you. 

You can’t tear your eyes from his reflection. He’s beautiful - perfectly undone and entirely blissed out. You clench and flex, milking everything you can from him until his body seems to melt into yours, the tension drawing out of his fingers, arms, then finally his brow. 

He hooks his chin over your shoulder, laying his cheek against yours. A low hum leaves him and a content smile curls at his lips. 

Yours matches, and you lace your fingers through his, pulling his arms tighter around you. “Did you tick off all your agenda items?” 

His eyes remain close as he answers with a little nod. “Mhmm.” 

“Are you still a little drunk?” 

“Hmm…” He actually thinks about his answer for a second. “Only a little. Mostly wanted to make you laugh.” 

You’ll have to go clean up eventually, but he snuggles impossibly closer, still inside you as he softens, and kisses your cheek, sweet and chaste. 

“You’re so pretty.”

tagging:  @quillvine @stxrrywildflower @ughitsbaby @rousethemouse @criminalsmarts @shrimpyblog @genevievedarcygranger @ssaic-jareau @angelsbabey @writefasttalkevenfaster @venusbarnes @ogmilkis @marvels-agents100 @hotchslatte @risenfox @mrs-dr-reid @captain-christopher-pike @dwellingsofrosie @pinkdiamond1016 @aaronhotchnerr @violentvulgarvolatile @mooneylupinblack @ssareidbby @ssa-morgan @violet-amxthyst @capricorngf @pan-pride-12 @mandylove1000 @joanofarkansass  @cevanswhre @infinity1321 @zizzlekwum @popped-weasels @mandylove1000 @jeor @capricorngf @missdowntonabbey @nuvoleincielo @ssahotchnerr @bwbatta @roses-and-grasses @winqhster @the-falling-in-the-danger @iconicc @mangoberry43 @crazyshannonigans @ceceguajardo-blog @deagibs

[yikesharringrove]

Egg the Cat

Chapter 3

Read on Ao3

-

Billy had to double-check to make sure he hadn't accidentally followed someone else home from the party.

Because Steve lived in a fucking mansion.

“Jesus Christ .” Billy stared at the house. “You didn’t tell me you’re fucking royalty .” Steve rolled his eyes, leading Billy towards the house.

“Can it. You got the booze?” Billy shook the bottle at him.

Steve looked better. Like maybe he had gotten a bit of a handle on himself.

Billy followed him into the pool of light cast over the porch, the unmistakable scream of a very excited cat sounding from inside.

Steve pushed open the door, bending immediately to scoop up his purring cat, holding her close to him as he went inside.

Billy gave a low whistle as he took off his boots, lining them neatly next to Steve’s shoes.

Steve just climbed the stairs, assumed Billy was following.

Steve’s bedroom was nice enough.

Felt as impersonal as the rest of the gaudy house, but there was a cat tree by the window, and a cat bed Egg ignored in favor of curling up on Steve’s lap as he settled in bed, sitting up against the headboard.

Billy didn’t know what to do with himself.

Last time he was in another boy’s bedroom, very different things were happening.

But then Steve gave him an odd look, eyes flicking to the spot next to himself, and Billy took that as his cue.

“I can’t drink a lot. Gotta be home in three hours.” His dad had a very clear rule about curfew: You miss it, don’t bother coming home.

“This is for me, anyway.” Steve gave him the weakest smile Billy’s ever seen, taking the bottle from Billy’s hand, and taking a long pull.

He grimaced at the taste, gasping for breath.

“That’s fucking rank .”

“Not used to cheap liquor?” Steve swatted at his arm, but took one more pull before passing the bottle to Billy.

Egg was still settled in his lap, and Steve ran long fingers through her dark fur.

“She can always tell when I’m feeling bad. Gets extra snuggly.”

“More snuggly than at the diner?”

“Nah, that was the more. She could tell I had been freaking out looking for her.” Her ear twitched and her tail swished, like she knew they were talking about her. “She’s the smartest cat in the world, I think.” He was quiet for a few moments as Billy took a drink from the bottle. “Took better care ‘a me than Nancy ever did. That’s for damn sure.”

“Sucks that she dumped you like that. All drunk and shit.”

“Isn’t there an expression? Drunk words are sober thoughts? Wish she had gotten drunk a year ago. Woulda saved me a lot of fucking trouble.” Egg perked up, standing to pace on Steve’s lap, curling up again, her chin resting on his tummy. “See? Has a fuckin’ sixth sense for when I’m upset.” She purred, her eyes closing as Steve scratched between her ears, down her back.

“How long have you had her?”

“Like five years? Someone was just, giving her away. Said he didn’t need bad omens, or whatever. ‘Cause she’s a black cat. I think that’s fuckin stupid. She’s brought me nothing but good.” Egg purred again, blinking slowly at Steve, nipping playfully at his fingers.

She really was cute.

Billy had never been much of a cat person, always favored dogs a bit more.

But Egg was so human, the way she tracked their conversation, like she could understand it.

“Man, don’t laugh.” Steve took the bottle from Billy, taking another long pull, shuddering halfway through. “I’m already feelin’ this. Haven’t drunk in so long .”

“Pussy.” Steve huffed a laugh, Egg meowed as his stomach shifted, jostling her head. He let the silence sit for a moment, just watched Steve’s fingers stroke through thick dark fur.

“So, uh, are you like, friends with Tommy?” Steve’s voice was way too measured, his tone far too light and casual.

“Who?”

“Tommy. The guy that was parading you around all night.”

“Oh, uh Karate Kid, guy?”

“Yeah.”

“No. He just kinda started talking at me, told me to do a keg stand. Said the guy that still held the record was a poser.” Steve outright laughed at that.

“Yeah, you broke my record tonight. I’m the poser.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

Billy turned to look at Steve, found him smiling this stupid fond smile at the cat on his lap. The room was dim, only one lamp clicked on, throwing a warm glow around the room.

“Can I ask you what happened? You said you used to be hot shit.”

“Nancy.” Steve’s smile evaporated like a flash. “I used to be a real douchebag. Ruled that fucking school. I mean, it’s not like I liked myself. I could definitely be called a bully, like, which sucks. But, you know. I had friends. I was popular. All that.”

“But she didn’t like that.”

“Nope.” Steve made sure to pop the ‘p’. “It’s not like she blatantly said that, but I could tell. I think that, I think that the changes have been good, like I’m nicer to people now. But I kinda cut off all my friends. Just hang out with her most of the time. And now-” Steve trailed off, taking another swig of shitty tequila. “Guess it’s just me and Eggy.”

“You say that like I’m not sitting right here.” Steve smiled at him, a real one, not the tight ones he’s been using all night.

“You hang out with me, you’re gonna be a fucking laughing stock, new kid.”

“Oh, come on. Have you seen me? I could literally never be a laughing stock. If anything, I'll make you cool again.” Steve just hmmmn ed at Billy, his eyes going a little far away.

“I don’t know if I really, really care about that anymore, if I’m being honest.” He swallowed thickly. “Some major shit went down last year. Like, more than Nancy shit. Kinda put things in perspective, I guess.” Egg had sat up, kneading at Steve’s stomach, making a noise like a little cat alarm.

Egg was so in tune with Steve it was utterly fucking ridiculous. They must be wired directly into one another’s brains.

“What kinda major shit?” Steve was quiet. Egg began walking up him, stepping softly until she settled on his chest, her chin resting on his shoulder, little pink nose tucked into his neck.

“Just like, major shit. Like, like people died kinda major.”

“Damn.”

“Like, I legally can’t talk about it kinda major.” Egg sniffed in his neck.

“What, you get mixed up in some kinda lawsuit or some shit?” Steve just sighed.

“Man, I just said I legally can’t say anything.” But he had a ghost of a smile on his face when he turned to look at Billy. “Can I ask you something?”

“Free country.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Why Hawkins ?”

“You asked me that like, three times yesterday.”

“And you never answered.”

“I said my dad remarried and wanted a-”

“Fresh start, yeah. But you could move one town over and have that. You could stay in the same damn state and do that. Why Hawkins ?”

There was something more behind Steve’s voice, something strained.

Billy just looked back up at the ceiling.

He had to take a breath, talking himself out of actually telling Steve. Telling him how Neil wanted him out of California, where gay bars were only a short drive away. Where Billy could cruise the piers, where a carefully toned you goin’ my way? could lead to a sloppy blowjob in the car.

Hawkins wasn’t necessarily specific, but Neil had wanted a small, God-fearing town. One where he would know if Billy got up to anything unsavory.

“He found a job here,” he said lamely.

Everything in him was screaming to trust Steve. To tell him the truth. Which was just a fuck of a lot. Billy doesn't trust people. He just does not.

He blames Steve.

Blames those soft brown eyes.

“Well, that’s thrilling .” Billy rolled his eyes, smiling a little to himself.

“What were you expecting?”

“Something more exciting. You moved here from California. That’s like, the coolest place ever .”

“I lived in L.A., too.”

“So like, the coolest place in the coolest place.”

“You ever been?” Steve just gave him a dark look.

“Last time I left the state was ten years ago. My parents took me to Chicago.”

“Damn. You’re like, a true hick, then. Only know this little town.”

“That’s me. Pure hick .” He scratched Egg’s back hip. She purred softly. Billy took another long drink, officially calling that his last one. He needed to be sober by the time he went home. Couldn’t be loud and clumsy as he made his way to his room.

He just pressed the bottle into Steve’s hand.

They spent the rest of the time before Billy had to leave just talking.

It was nice, Steve filling him in on the Hawkins drama, told him which gas stations had better candy selections, that the liquor store on the corner of Haven and Burbank didn’t card. He told him that Andrew Conner always had good weed, but it was cheaper to buy from Lisa Kendle.

And the more Steve drank, the more his eyes drooped, the lazier his smiles got, the closer he scoot to Billy.

He was warm, pressed up to Billy’s side, cat still curled on his chest.

He listened with rapt attention as Billy gave him stories about California, about the boardwalk and metal shows, told him stories of his best hookups, told him they were girls.

He was in the middle of one story, switched out the name from Daniel to something more appropriate, when he looked over, found Steve knocked out, mouth hanging open, tequila dangerously close to spilling, cat sleeping soundly on his chest.

It made Billy falter.

He just took in the scene, wanting to remember it.

He moved slowly, tried not to shift the bed too much, and turned out the light in Steve’s bedroom as he left.

[starlocked01]

Toddlers Scare the Living Shit Out of Me

AO3 Link

Dukexiety Week Day 4- Parents

WC: 3k

Summary: Virgil is very surprised when he's brought home by a fascinating stranger at the bar. A kid wasn't exactly what he agreed to in a one-night stand. Nor did he expect a relationship.

Content Warnings: Alcohol Use, Talk of divorce, Swearing, Mild gory language

@dukexietyweek

(also thank you @suchaswearemads for their OC Teddy 🧡)

Virgil was mildly aware that he might regret this if he lived until morning. His roommate would probably have a statistic at the ready about criminals luring victims away from clubs with whispered promises of sex or drugs, and how often they target gay men. Virgil snorted a laugh to himself. Poor Lo would kill him himself if he knew what Virgil was up to. This guy even looked the part of an unhinged surprise organ donation scheduler, all covered in spikes and tattoos of anatomical cross-sections all over his visible skin. If Virgil were any drunker, he'd probably mistake him for a skeleton or half dissected cadaver.

He really didn't care. He was drunk and Remus said pretty words that made him feel wanted. He'd follow the cadaver man halfway around the world like this. Exactly proving Logan right that he shouldn't go out drinking alone. He giggled and stumbled and giggled because he stumbled and the ground was spinning under his feet.

"What’s so funny, Dr. Gloom 'n' Giggles?" Remus caught Virgil and pulled him back upright, even as his brain fought to stay closer to the ground and made the whole damn world lurch in protest.

"Hey! 'M fine. Yourrr gonna kill me, bad man mad man. Fuuuuuuuck I had way too- didya spike 'e?" Virgil struggled to form a single, coherent sentence, feeling the alcohol's effects acutely and in increasing measure with each step towards doom and destruction.

Remus laughed, "ya caught me. Why don't I call you a taxi home?"

"Nooo! I sssaaid I'd come home withya- ssooo I am," Virgil shook his head and tried to stand and remain upright. His attempt lasted all of a second before Remus had to catch him again.

"Look, I don’t need you trying to puke all over my dick or something. I'm calling you a fucking cab," Remus tried to reason but Virgil heard none of it as he yanked himself away to hurl in the bushes.

"'M fine. Commmmming down," Virgil panted, trying desperately to steady himself. After several deep breaths and false starts, he managed to stay upright and reach for a steadying hand. Whatever had knocked him on his ass so quickly was also fading just as fast, "shiitt, did you spike my drink?"

"Nah, man. Come on, we're almost there."

---

Remus stared at this drunk little catch from the bar and was glad he was the one who'd picked him up. Someone must have tried something funny with his drink. Bad enough news for everyone else still at the club but at least this one was safe.

Remus shook his head and checked his phone to call a cab only to find the phone dead already. Shit. No way to warn Roman now. Remus waited for Virgil to finish puking his guts out on the neighbor's lawn, pretty dead set on getting this guy help as soon as they got home and he convinced Ro he needed a favor.

Slowly, he helped Virgil towards his front door, surprised at how fast the intoxication seemed to be turning around as Virgil got steadier on his own feet. Remus winced when he couldn’t find his keys and cursed when Virgil reached out and rang the doorbell.

"Stop! It's way too late for that!" Remus hissed as the door quickly opened to a very pissed-off looking Roman.

"Are you crazy! Pat's asleep- oh… oh who the fuck is this?" Roman asked, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him, "Remus, you promised tonight!"

"Ro, calm down. This is Virgil. Yes, I promised, but do you think you could take-"

"No!" Roman exclaimed furiously, "I have work tomorrow! I can't take Pat. Send Virgil home and be a grown-up for once!" Roman grumbled and turned abruptly back inside.

"Roman! Someone tried to spike him-" Remus hissed, pulling Virgil inside with him "-and before it hit, he was the best guy I've met in my life."

"Oh you mean just like Mr. Wonderful?" Roman snarked back in a low voice as he gathered his belongings. Remus winced at the reminder.

"Don't be a dick, brother dearest. That's my job. Please, I promise this time will be the last-"

"I can't! Teddy is already worried that I'm out this late. We love Patton but we're not raising him for you. You're not a kid anymore, Rem. Learn to date like an adult because we're not babysitting while you go out clubbing like this again," Roman huffed and stormed toward the door, "sorry to meet you like this, Virgil. I hope you feel better soon."

Virgil barely lifted his hand to wave as Roman left and shut the door with a dreadful finality. Remus slumped and sat at the foot of the couch Virgil had sprawled on.

"Sorry about him. How ya doing, Virgie?" Remus asked quietly.

Virgil groaned, "head hurts. Still tipsy. What the fuck did you do to my drink?"

"I didn't do anything but save you from whoever did," Remus shook his head and stood, "I'll get you some water. Or gatorade. Or milk. Fuck what do I even-"

Remus was suddenly cut off by clattering dishes and a small whimpering coming from the kitchen. In a few swift steps, he entered the kitchen and flicked on the lights to find a plate toppled from the counter to the floor, the fridge cracked open, and a toddler trying very hard to hide behind the trash can.

"Pattycake! What are you doing sneaking around in the dark?" Remus slapped on a grin and swooped the child into his arms with a grunt, "oh big boy. Getting too old to pick up like this."

Patton squeaked in his father's arms as he was lifted up, "got loud, Papa. Unkie Ro promised me a second cookie before bed."

"He did now?" Remus asked, eyebrows raised in mock shock.

"Mhmm. Said Unkie Teddy'd bring it. Where's Unkie Teddy?"

"Oh no! Ro was gonna call the cookie monster himself to get ya?" Remus gasped as he shifted his hold on the child and nudged the plate under the sink to take care of in the morning, "Uncle Ro promised you a cookie monster and didn't show up? That fiend!" Remus giggled with Patton as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge, shutting the door with his hip.

"Unkie Monsta!" Patton giggled, clinging to Remus’s neck.

"Mhmm. It's really late buddy. You should get back to bed," Remus cooed as he dropped one of the water bottles on Virgil’s chest.

"What the hell-?" Virgil tried to sit up, utterly confused who Remus was talking to now.

"Hey! You don't get to cuss in front of my kid until date five!" Remus snapped, holding Patton close. Virgil blinked at the baby blue eyes, curly blonde hair and the overwhelming amount of freckles as the child stared back at him with a mixture of fear and curiosity.

"Papa, who's that? He looks spiky," Patton whimpered, quickly hiding his face from Virgil.

"Baby, I'm spiky. I like spiky people," Remus carefully soothed, running a hand through soft curls, "he's one of Papa's new friends."

Virgil watched, unamused, "you didn't say that you have a kid. What, were you planning on bringing me back here with a toddler who could walk in and see anything?"

"Look, I was trying to ask my brother to babysit him overnight. You're hella cute but I didn't expect to make this introduction so quickly," Remus huffed, "Pattybear, be nice and say hi and then you best be headed back to bed, mister."

Patton peeked one eye out to appraise the stranger in his spot on the couch. After a long moment, he waved and barely audibly whispered a small, "hi."

Virgil smiled at the typical child response to his neon purple hair and uncountable piercings, but Remus laughed loudly, startling both the drunk man and the child, "oh Come on! That was weak shit, Pat-Pat. Say it like you mean it!"

"That's not necess-"

"HI!" the tiny voice bellowed over his protests. Father and son laughed together as Virgil sputtered.

"Now that's what I'm talking about, my little monster! Alright, enough fun. Back to bed, you rascal. Papa has to take care of the baby who drank too much apple juice," Remus beamed and set Patton down on the ground, waving as the child sped off back to his room.

"Cute kid. You didn’t mention a kid earlier," Virgil groaned and laid back down on the couch, head swimming.

"Yeah well, kids are chick magnets," Remus replied, not meeting Virgil’s eyes.

"Okay?"

"I'm into dudes…"

"And? It's not like a kid is gonna send good guys running," Virgil shrugged, very much regretting his choice of drinks that night.

"Yeah, you haven't run yet. But that was a very tired out and pacified little scamp you just met. You'll see in the morning- unless you wanted me to call you a cab now?" Remus asked with a raised eyebrow.

"I don't wanna move," Virgil murmured, "but I would like kissesss."

"Direct. I like it," Remus smirked and slid down to kneel next to the couch, "but that would be taking advantage of your weakened defenses. Sleep it off and ask me in the morning."

Virgil whined and pouted at the denial, "please? I came all this way."

"Well, if you insist," Remus grinned and leaned in close. Virgil smirked and pulled Remus forward that last inch. Virgil tried hard to enjoy the kiss but the fact of the not yet sleeping child in another room tempered his desires greatly. After a minute, Remus pulled back and grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch.

"To be continued, Dr. Love."

"Fine. Good night," Virgil sighed and watched Remus stand and leave the living room, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

---

Virgil awoke the next morning to a warm palm pressed against his cheek. He slowly blinked his eyes open to find bright blue eyes framed with thin black wire-rimmed glasses. Squinting out the light to protect himself from the impending headache, Virgil finally recognized the child from the night before.

"Hey, Patton-"

"Angels sing and demons cry, but we can't tell the difference," Patton stated sweetly, head tilted to one side.

"Hey Kiddo, breakfast time!" Remus called from the kitchen, "is Virgil up yet?"

Virgil felt a chill run down his spine as the child giggled, patted his face, and called back, "yes Papa! We're coming!"

Virgil groaned and sat up slowly, sore from sleeping on the couch with his piercings still in. How he'd managed to fall asleep in skinny jeans absolutely baffled him, almost as much as the peculiar little kid staring at him expectantly.

"What d'ya want, kid?"

"A kitty!"

"I don't have a kitty."

Patton’s eyes immediately brimmed with tears and his lip quivered before the child ran screaming back to the kitchen.

Virgil was sorely tempted to roll back over and hope he woke up somewhere quieter, but the smell of bacon and the temptation of seeing Remus in the daylight pushed him to his feet.

The guy he'd met in the bar had practically disappeared once Patton showed up. Remus had been flirty and suggestive and very interested in Virgil all night but nothing in his behavior would have ever led Virgil to suspect he had a kid and was capable of acting so.. fatherly. The man’s duality was almost unsettling.

Virgil walked over and stood in the door of the kitchen, silently watching Remus encouraging the weeping little boy to sit down and eat toast. He still wasn't sure why Patton had thought he would have a cat with him, but the disappointment had surely gotten to the little fella.

Remus looked up and gave Virgil a tired grin, "heya, sleeping beauty. How's your head?"

"Threatening to disown me. I didn’t touch him. He asked if I had a cat," Virgil nodded to Patton, hoping that Remus didn't think he'd purposefully hurt the kid.

"Oh don't worry. He asks everyone. His dad promised him one and well, do you see a litter box?" Remus rolled his eyes, standing and guiding Patton to the table, "you'd think after so many empty promises, the kid would know better, right?"

"Wait… you're his dad, right?" Virgil frowned.

"Nope!" Patton giggled, twirling his spoon between his fingers, "Dada lives in the big house!"

"Patton, eat your breakfast!" Remus barked, not unkindly before turning back to Virgil with a sigh, "no offense, but Patton’s dad is not exactly first date story material. Neither is Patton but well, that can't be helped now."

Virgil bit his lip, "right. None of my business… Except I shouldn't be here if you're married."

"I'm not married, sweetheart," Remus held up his hand to show off the lack of a ring.

"And this mystery father isn't… ya know," Virgil drew a finger across his throat in a wordless question.

"I fucking wish! Look, it's none of your damn business, Virgil. You want breakfast or the door?" Remus snapped, turning back to the food on the stove.

Virgil sighed and sat down next to Patton at the table, idly arranging shaped blocks in a haphazard pattern, "I'm sorry. I just don’t want to get in the middle of something complicated without knowing that's what's up. Yo, got another triangle for me, Pat?"

Patton grinned and grabbed a triangle from the table before shoving it somewhat painfully into Virgil’s palm. Remus watched the interaction and sighed overly dramatically.

"Hey, baby, why don't you go get dressed and pick out a movie?" Remus ruffled Patton’s hair, "no horror movies today though."

"Awwwww but I love the scary ones," Patton moped but obediently left the table.

Remus waited until Patton was out of sight before replying, "look, I don't have any secrets. I got nothing to hide. The only complicated thing right now is custody. My ex and I are separated and don't talk. Hell, I try to get him to pick Pattom up from Roman and Teddy's every chance I get. I love the little tyke but his dad pisses me off."

Virgil bit his lip, "that does not sound ideal."

Remus shook his head, "it's not. Like one day you're planning a wedding and processing an adoption, then before you know it you're divorced and fighting with the man you love for custody of the child he said made him sick to look at." Remus gritted his teeth, "Pat deserves so much better…"

Virgil nodded along with Remus’s story, "so why go out clubbing during your time with Patton? He doesn't need two absent fathers."

Remus chuckled, "don't freak out, but the first one of us who remarries has a huge advantage in getting full custody. Because neither of us is biologically related to Pat-Pat, it's become way too much of a battle.

"I'm sorry," Virgil whispered, studying the grain of the wood in the table.

"It's alright," Remus shrugged, "you're alright, Virge. Can I get that number now?"

Virgil laughed and took the offered phone, "yeah, call me when you've got some free time and Patton is with his dad."

Remus grinned and pocketed the phone, "oh you'll see how this works, sweetheart."

---

Patton was nearly a constant whenever Virgil met with Remus, but at least Roman had been mollified by Remus having a steady date so he and Teddy resumed babysitting during more adult dates. The Remus he'd met at the bar never quite resurfaced in the same way, sometimes the actual image of the tatted-up punk caring for a sweet little angelic-looking demon spawn of a kid took Virgil by surprise, and sometimes he was shocked with the things this man would say to his kid. Teddy constantly questioned Virgil why he had stayed even after learning more about the whole situation.

Virgil wasn't certain why. Patton had definitely tried to scare him off a few times. The kid was terrifying when he wanted to be.

But this little family was so very compelling, and Virgil was more and more certain with each date that he wanted a place in it.

"So, sugar…"

"Yeah, Rem?"

"I have a modest proposal for you-"

"Nope. Not gonna eat babies."

"Wha-?"

"Oh, shoot I thought for sure you were talking about the satirical essay. What's up, babe?" Virgil winced and turned to face Remus.

"How would you… like to start the process to become one of Patton’s legal guardians?"

"You're asking your boyfriend to adopt your kid who already has two dads?"

"Well yeah, because-"

"Because then the paperwork is ready to sign right after the wedding," Virgil interrupted with a grin, "you sneaky son of a biscuit!"

Remus laughed, "please, baby?"

"Not my call, sweetheart," Virgil smirked, "hey, Pattycake!"

Little feet pounded down the hallway, Patton skidding to a halt in the kitchen, "yeah? Prince Sparkles is in danger so this better be important!"

"You can save the Prince soon enough, kid. How would you feel-" Virgil suddenly felt very nervous as the gravity of the question finally hit him, "-how would you like… another dad?"

"Umm.. do I have to meet him?" Patton looked disappointed and confused.

"No, Pat-attack, Virgil is asking if he can be your dad too," Remus explained gently.

"You aren't already? I demand you be my dad this instant!" Patton bellowed at Virgil, pouting with the most betrayed expression he could muster.

Virgil laughed, "don't worry kid, this is just gonna be the paperwork that makes it official. You know I got you."

"Yay! New Dad! New Dad!" Patton beamed and ran around the table to dive into Virgil’s arms. Virgil caught him with a grunt and leaned into Remus.

"I think that's a yes from me," Virgil murmured

"Most excellent. Now I've got both my boys!" Remus grinned and wrapped both in a bear hug to seal the deal.

[biggest-stupidhead]

Bad Timing (Levi x reader) Part 9

Summary: How do you tell your friends that you’re falling for your big brother’s best friend? 

Word Count: 4.3K

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You bounced your knee impatiently to the beat of the loud party music that was so loud it was vibrating the walls. For the first time in a long while you weren't in the mood to drink. So here you were sitting on a sofa in the middle of a crowded living room on a Saturday night. You were watching Sasha and Connie play a rousing game of beer pong against Bertholdt and Reiner. Annie, the only other sober person at the party, sat to your left scrolling through her phone. The rest of the people at the party were crowded into the kitchen or the basement. You had only been here about an hour and already the majority of the guests were drunk. Mikasa, Armin, and Eren had not yet arrived, you hoped that they would get here soon. Jean and Marco had disappeared about twenty minutes ago, leaving you stranded in the living room. You sighed and looked down at your phone, it was already eleven thirty. Just as you were setting your phone down you got a text.

"Be there in twenty" Mikasa's text put you at ease, you could survive for twenty more minutes.

"Okay, drive safe." You shoved your phone back into your pocket and stood up. Maybe you should drink tonight, your week had been stressful your homework load increasing substantially due to the end of the semester approaching. You wandered into the kitchen, pushing past a group of boys to get to the alcohol. You poured yourself a full shot glass of Pink Whitney and knocked the beverage back with ease.

"I didn't know Erwin's baby sister drank." A voice drawled from your right. You scrunched your nose, still feeling the burn of the alcohol as you turned to see who had addressed you.

"She does." you grumbled as you reached for a bottle of Smirnoff ice.

"I'm impressed." now his hand had crept into your line of sight, hungry for your attention. Hoping to deter the stranger you turned and frowned at him. You noted that he was clearly older than you with a shock of light blonde hair atop his head, when you met his eyes you couldn't help but admire his hazel hues as his own gaze took in your appearance. He slowly lifted a red solo cup to his lips and took a sip, his eyes now locked on yours.

"So, what's your name?" he asked.

"Thought you knew me." you countered as you lifted your own drink to your lips.

"I do, just asking out of courtesy." he shrugged, a sly smirk spreading over his face.

"Fine I'll play along. My name is (Y/n), and yours is?" you scoffed with a dramatic eye roll.

"Pleasure to meet you miss (Y/n), my name is Colt Grice." the boy said with a light chuckle.

"So tell me, how exactly do you know my name?" you quizzed, the alcohol making you feel bolder. The boy sighed and glanced up at the ceiling in thought.

"Hm well let's see...for starters I follow you on instagram. I also went to a football summer camp with your brother once." He answered, flashing you a bright smile.

"Ah gotcha." you nodded as you took a long sip of your drink. You turned, quickly losing interest in this conversation.

"Say, where is your brother?" Colt pressed, ah there it was.

"Out." you answered curtly as you turned to flee. You were shocked to feel a strong hand clasp around your bicep and pull you back. You spun around with full intention of smashing your bottle against this handsy creep. But he caught your wrist, with your hands out of commission he pulled you backwards into a dark hallway. Your eyes felt like they were about to pop out of your head as he pushed you against the wall.

"What. Are. You. Doing." you hissed a blind sense of rage washing over your senses.

"Look, just listen okay? I've been trying to get in touch with him for a few days now, I've got some questions for him." Colt's hazel eyes were wide and vulnerable as he begged for your attention once more.

"Let go of me."

"Please just ask him to check his instagram DMs, tell him it's important."

"Fine, let go of me." he dropped his hands and quickly shoved them into the pockets of his joggers.

"Sorry." he mumbled as he kicked the wood floor with the toe of his shoe.

"Just don't do that again." you snapped as you wrapped your own hand around your wrist, where he had held you.

"I promise I won't." he looked embarrassed now as he waved his hands in surrender.

"Good." you eyed him suspiciously as you moved to slip past him. He let you past, you walked briskly back into the kitchen, which was still busy. Just as you turned to wander back into the living room you bumped right into Eren. Thankfully your drink was mostly empty and Eren seemed to have just walked into the room so he was empty handed. His hand grabbed your bicep to steady you, which you were thankful for.

"Eren, when did you get here?" you asked as he squeezed your arm and smiled down on you. He had recently gone through a huge growth spurt, now standing at 5'9 instead of his previous height of 5'7.

"I just got here." he answered, still holding you close to him.

"What about Mikasa and Armin, did they come too?" you asked as you lifted your drink to your lips to finish the bottle.

"Armin wasn't feeling up for this scene so Mikasa is taking him home." Eren answered as he shifted his weight to prop himself up against the wall, bringing you with him. You grunted as your shoulder hit the wall, Eren let his hand slide down your arm slowly, leaving goosebumps in his wake. It had been quite some time since Eren had been to handsy with you, ever since you had started seeing Jean he had kept his hands to himself. Before you had began talking to Jean, all of your friends predicted that you and Eren would get together.

"Sounds like him." you giggled, craning your neck to peer around his broad shoulders to get a glimpse of the living room. Sasha scampered after a stray ping pong ball, loosing her footing she face planted, the sound of laughter filled the room and you smiled as you watched her snatch the ball and pick herself up.

"Yeah, I don't think Mikasa is coming back here either..." Eren continued, angling his body to block your view of the living room and redirect your attention back onto him.

"Really? Why? I was looking forward to seeing her." you pouted as you looked up at Eren.

"Where's horseface huh?" Eren quizzed, a playful gleam in his striking green eyes.

"Who knows?" you shrugged, your attention turning back to the counter where all the alcohol was. Eren chuckled and followed your gaze, he nudged you off the wall and the two of you crossed the room to get more booze. You poured out two shots of  pineapple Bacardi Eren accepted the shot glass with the most alcohol with a smile. You clinked the glasses together before knocking them back. Eren hissed as he sat the glass down, you coughed and slammed the shot glass down next to Eren's a triumphant grin on your lips.

"That was some pussy shit huh? " Eren laughed as he licked his lips.

"Yeah." you agreed. The alcohol left your stomach feeling warm, and your tongue felt numb already. Eren pulled out two more screwdrivers for the two of you and once again grabbed your bicep to drag you down the hall. You were a bit confused but you trusted Eren so you allowed him to guide you through the house, it was clear that he knew his way around. He paused in front of a door to knock, when there was no response he pushed through the door. You realized that Eren had pulled you to a den, a couple of arm chairs and a love seat. The back wall had a huge window with an oak desk. The walls were lines with bookshelves and a large fireplace that radiated heat and light across the cozy room.

"Why'd you bring me back here?" you asked as Eren dropped down on the love seat.

"There's something you should know." Eren's eyes turned dark as he leaned forward to prop his elbows on his thighs.

"Okay I'm listening..." you sank down on one of the arm chairs opposite of Eren, your mind spinning due to the drinks.

"Jean's cheating on you." Eren stated rather bluntly. You blinked stupidly at him, Jean hadn't even asked you to be his girlfriend yet, and now Eren was accusing him of being a cheater? Nah this reeked.

"Ha ha very funny Eren." you rolled your eyes and stood up, not wanting to get into this.

"I'm serious. Connie told me that he saw Jean and Marco kissing in his car after Marco's shift at the cafe." Eren pressed, reaching out to grab your wrist.

"Marco?" you whispered, everyone knew that Marco was gay, but Jean? Not that it would be a bad thing if Jean was gay but the cheating thing....that was bad. But then again could you say anything after what you had done with Levi?

"Yeah, I'm sorry but I had to tell you before things got too messy." Eren apologized as he dropped your wrist once he realized you weren't going to run.

"I mean Jean hadn't even asked me out yet so is that really cheating?" You pondered as you dropped onto the sofa by Eren.

"I don't think that's any excuse for him to be fooling around with other people while seeing you." Eren shrugged, turning his eyes to the fire instead of your face. You followed his gaze a cloud of sadness was settling above your head as you thought back to every interaction you'd had with Jean. Where had you messed up? When did he decide that you weren't enough for him? You took a long chug from your screwdriver. Eren watched you with a blank expression, his green eyes filled with pity.

"What should I do Eren." you moaned, dropping your head into your hands as you slumped forward. Eren inhaled sharply as you tried to hold back your tears.

"Well if it was me...I would confront Jean." Eren answered earnestly. You nodded and blinked away your tears.

"But how? I honestly wouldn't had known if you hadn't told me." You fretted, sitting up to face Eren once more. Eren brought his hand up to cup his chin in thought.

"Just tell him what I told you." he shrugged, clearly not interested in how this confession would affect his relationship with Jean.

"But I wouldn't want to make Jean mad at you." you pointed out, Eren scoffed and rolled his eyes at that.

"As if I care about that. Jean and I always make up." Eren replied nonchalantly. You envied him, if only girls could be as simple.

"Agh this is all too complicated." you groaned and pulled your phone out. You couldn't stay here any longer or else you'd do something you would regret.

"What are you doing?" Eren asked as he tried to peek at your phone screen.

"Calling Hange to come pick me up." you mumbled as you scrolled through your contacts.

"Stay." Eren insisted, once again catching your wrist and demanding your attention. The firelight was casting a warm shadow over Eren's angular features. His teal eyes were shining with determination.

"I really shouldn't. I don't want to do something I would regret." you sighed as your eyes flickered over his features. He squeezed your wrist and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"Just stay, you don't even have to see that horsefaced jerk." Eren shifted closer to you on the couch, his hand sliding from your wrist and into your own hand. Your mouth fell open in surprise, Eren usually wasn't so clingy, not even when he drank.

"Eren..." your tone was warning as he brushed his thumb over your knuckles.

"Don't leave me here all by myself (Y/n)." Eren chuckled as he licked his lips and lifted his gaze from your intertwined hands.

"Eren I-" you were cut off by the sound of your cell phone ringing. You both turned to see who it was. Eren frowned when he saw Levi's name and contact photo lighting up your screen. You answered the call and lifted the phone to your ear, grateful for the interruption.

"Hey, hope I didn't wake you." Levi greeted. You smiled at the sound of his velvety voice.

"No, not at all. I'm actually out right now." You admitted.

"Really? Where at?" Levi quizzed, you could hear the sounds of water being poured and glasses tinkling.

"Marco's." you quipped as you shot Eren an apologetic glance.

"Ah the freckled brat." Levi mused as he dunked his tea bag in the boiling water.

"Yeah that's Macro." you chuckled nervously.

"You been drinking?" Levi asked as he allowed his tea to steep.

"Uhh yeah." you admitted as you rubbed the side of your tingling face.

"Tch." Levi clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Sorry did you need something?" you asked, Levi scoffed once more, you heard him take a sip of his drink before responding.

"No, I was just....checking up on you." Levi grunted, the last part was spoken softly, so quiet you almost missed it.

"O-Oh well thank you...I'm fine." your voice came out a bit shaky, Levi frowned at your unsteady tone.

"You don't sound fine." Levi observed, clearly not in the mood for your bullshit.

"It's just a bit overwhelming here." You admitted, not really wanting to dump your issues on Levi. Eren still had a firm grip on your hand as you spoke on the phone.

"Then leave." Levi's blunt response made you smile.

"I'm trying." you chuckled humorlessly.

"Call me when you get home." Levi grunted, before you could say anything else he had ended the call. You huffed and pocketed your phone, shooting Eren an apologetic glance before slipping your hand from his grasp.

"Sorry Eren but I really should go home." you cringed at his disappointed expression, but you knew that you needed to be alone.

"Text me when you get home." was all the brunette said before he got up and left the room. You took your phone out and texted Hange.

"Can you drive?"

"Yeah why?"

"I need a ride."

"Where are you?"

You shared your location with Hange before you also left the room, you had about twenty minutes before she would arrive. So why not knock back another shot? You were relieved to find the kitchen empty because the party had moved into the living room. You leaned against the counter as you retrieved a fresh solo cup and a bottle of Captain Morgan rum the golden liquid sloshed into the cup quickly, you scowled at the large amount of liquor and decided it would go down easier with some coke. You dumped in the soda, filling the cup the rest of the way. You took a long chug before wandering towards the living room. The room was crowded and loud, drunk teens milling about engaged in drunken conversations that they wouldn't remember in the morning. You slid your shoes on undetected and slipped out the front door. You tapped your shoe on the front porch as you looked out at the snowy trees.

Marco's house was like yours, nestled in a grove of trees with a large lawn. However Marco's house was mostly surrounded with pine trees, which were drooping under the weight of all the snow. You sipped your drink as you looked out at the quiet scenery, you tensed when you heard the sound of someone trudging through the snow. Your breath caught in your throat when you recognized Annie padding through the snow. Her cold eyes were distant, she hadn't noticed you yet. Your eyes were drawn to a small blunt that she had balanced between her slender fingers. She lifted the blunt to her lips and took a short drag. You knew little about the blonde, what you did know was that she had moved to the states from Russia when you were in middle school and that she was good friends with Bertholdt and Reiner. You tilted your head as you watched her blow the smoke out of her nose. Odd, you smiled and took a sip from your cup in an attempt to muster enough courage to talk to Annie.

"Staring is rude." Her voice echoed off the trees and the side of the house, startling you.

"Sorry..." you say meekly as you brush some snow off the porch railing. Annie scoffed and kicked a the snow in front of her.

"What are you doing out here?" you asked in an attempt to fill the silence.

"What does it look like?" she quipped as she lifted the blunt back to her lips. You chuckled awkwardly and gripped your cup a bit tighter. Annie exhaled another cloud of smoke before dropping the butt of the blunt and stalking over to the porch. She paused when she reached the top step, her eyes roaming shamelessly over you.

"You look like shit." she commented before she stalked past you and disappeared into the house, leaving you confused. You didn't have long to analyze Annie's cryptic way of conversing before Hange pulled up the driveway. You grabbed your drink and carefully stepped down the stairs and shuffled over Marco's icy driveway. You pulled the door open and climbed inside.

"Hey sweetie what's wrong?" Hange asked, her brown eyes softer than usual.

"Hey Hange, sorry to bother you. I guess it's just not my night." you muttered as you fiddled with your scrunchy on your wrist. Hange frowned but turned her attention to backing out of the driveway, throwing her hand over the back of your seat as she turned to check behind her. You relaxed into the seat, your head spinning from the alcohol.

"Erwin will want to know." Hange broke the silence a few minutes into the drive.

".....Jean cheated on me." you admitted, knowing that she would only continue to pester you for answers.

"O....kay." Hange was clearly taken aback by your bluntness. She said nothing as you knocked back the rest of your rum and coke and crushed the plastic cup.

"It's fine, I was thinking about ending things anyway." you shrugged nonchalantly as you looked out at the snowy scenery.

"Still..." Hange mumbled as she turned onto your road.

"You should know, Kenny is over....for dinner with your mom." Hange informed you, carefully choosing her words.

"Great." you huffed as you brought your knuckle to your lips and took the skin between your teeth.

".....great?" Hange was thrown off by your standoffish attitude and your indifference to being cheated on and your mother having a man over for dinner.

"Yeah, I mean this night wouldn't be complete without one more thing turning to shit." you chuckled darkly as you leaned back into your seat.

"I think that you're drunk and you need to go to bed." Hange said sternly as she pulled into your driveway.

"Me too." you agreed, your head spinning. You barely registered Hange shutting off the car and rounding the car to help you out and up the stairs into your house. You leaned heavily into Hange as she guided you through the kitchen and up the stairs, not even bothering to take your shoes off. She dropped you onto your bed with a grunt, you felt her tug your shoes off and then your jeans.

" Woah, Hange you're dating Erwin." you state gripping her wrist as she tried to lift the hem of your shirt over your head.

"Yeah I am now let me put you to bed." she was becoming impatient as she tugged your shirt off the rest of the way.

"No I....I have to call Levi." you insisted, your hand reaching for Hange's in an attempt to keep yourself grounded.

"No that's not a good idea sweetie." Hange frowned as she took your hand and helped you under the covers.

"Yes it is. He told me to call him when I got home." you stated as you tried to sit up to find your phone.

"You can call him in the morning.... not that you'll remember much of this anyway." Hange muttered the last part as she watched you pat your sheets down.

"Please Hange." you pleaded as you pawed around your messy bed.

"No (Y/n) just go to bed." Hange scolded as she stood up, subtly slipping your phone into her pocket. You whimpered as you leaned back into your pillows.

"What if he stops talking to me? We just started being friends Hange I don't want him to leave me." you whined as you gave Hange puppy dog eyes. Hange frowned, not sure who exactly you were referring to.

"Just....go to sleep." Hange sighed as she stood and crossed the room, pausing at the door as she flicked the light off. You sniffled and rolled over with a sigh of defeat, Hange's shoulders sagged with relief when you stilled and your breathing became steady. As soon as she shut the door she felt your phone buzz, she pulled it from her pocket and unlocked it.

"Did you make it?"

Her eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Levi's message. So you weren't lying about Levi wanting you to call him. How odd, Hange pursed her lips as she scrolled through your previous messages. Her eyes widened when she realized how many messages the two of you had shared over the past two weeks. What made Levi want to get so chummy with you all the sudden? She ducked into Erwin's room, Erwin rolled over in bed and sat up to see what all the ruckus was about.

"How is she?" Erwin yawned as he watched Hange pull the covers back and slip underneath them.

"Eh she's been better, but get this! Levi's been texting her, can you believe that?" Hange squawked as she held your phone up for Erwin to see.

"Huh that's weird." Erwin mused as he took the phone and scrolled through at his leisure.

"I know! I'm so proud of them, I knew that one day they would look past their differences!" Hange giggled as she took the phone back and plugged it in.

"Yeah that's a relief, hopefully they can be civil when he comes back." Erwin sighed as he rubbed a hand down his face as he reclined back into his pillows. Hange rolled over and pulled the covers up over her shoulders.

"Hopefully." Hange yawned, Erwin reached up and flicked off the lamp.

"Only time will tell." Erwin commented as he pulled Hange flush against him and nuzzled his nose into her shoulder.

______

Levi frowned at his phone, you still hadn't called or texted him. He hoped that you had made it safely back to your place, he would certainly scold you in the morning for failing to communicate with him. He sighed heavily and reached to pour himself a fresh cup of tea, the sun was casting soft morning rays across the kitchen. He dunked in a fresh tea bag, leaning heavily on the counter, although he had already spent a full two weeks in France, his body was still struggling to adjust to the time change. Not that he got much sleep when his body was in sync with the time zone anyway. He assumed that you had managed to get a decent amount of sleep since you had stopped responding to his texts and snaps around one am your time.  He frowned, catching himself thinking about you for what felt like the millionth time within the past couple of weeks. He had fallen into a strange rut, thoughts of you running rampant in his mind. He found himself wondering what you were wearing, who you were with, what were you thinking about?

Did you think about him they way he thought of you? Probably not, why should you? He was puzzled on his sudden infatuation with his best friends younger sister. At first he figured it was textbook lust, but now he was doubting that. He had lusted after others before you, but none had held his attention for so long. He scoffed at the thought, of course he would become attached to the very person who had been a thorn in his side for the past six years. Someone who he'd had honestly, little to no interest in until he was supposed to leave the fucking country.

"Bit early to look so angsty don't you think?" Farlan hummed as he padded into the kitchen still in his pajamas. Levi simply clicked his tongue and took a long sip of his tea.

"I'm not angsty, it's called thinking, you should really try it some time." Levi jabbed as he watched Farlan shuffle around the kitchen as he went about making breakfast and brewing a pot of coffee. Farlan snorted at his response, pleased with Levi's snarky attitude.

"I was thinking that we could visit campus today? Maybe grab a beer." Farlan offered as he cracked an egg into a pan.

"Hm."  Levi hummed as he stared into his dark beverage.

"You might like it, maybe enough to stay and study?" Farlan smirked as he turned to see his friend engrossed in his tea.

"Maybe." Levi agreed, images of him sitting in a lecture hall, of him up late flipping through a textbook, sitting in a cafe with an open laptop. It was a bit disturbing how easy it was to imagine a life away from his friends, away from you. He frowned, suddenly it didn't seem so glamorous, in fact it seemed lonely. But necessary, once he finished his degree he could come home, to you, to his friends. He had made a promise after all.

[darkisrising]

Five Times, by DarkIsRising, pt1

Oh, yes, it is time for me to at last tackle this beloved fic convention! So excited, I’ve wanted to try one for years but it never worked out.  This WIP is a DinLuke, will eventually be Explicit, starts pre-Mandalorian S1 and will end post S2 Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted) 

1.

He’s drunk, and he isn’t quite sure how that happened.

That’s not true, Luke  does remember vaguely how it happened, more or less, and it all started with Han.

He’d been the one that had brought Luke here. He’d said there was a guy with information and the only place they could find him was this one bar on Flausy. Well, they happened to be on the Millennium Falcon, and Flausy was just around the star system from them, so, sure, it made sense that they ought to swing by and find the guy. Get the information.

“Han,” Luke had said when they’d walked in and looked around at the bright lights cutting through the dance floor, the tight press of bodies grinding to the music together, the flirtatious finger waves as they passed by the lower-lying tables. “Han, is this a gay bar?”

When it became evident that yes, this was in fact a gay bar, and Han had in fact brought him here, a few other pieces of this plot had begun to come together. “Was there ever even a guy with information?”

“Not really. Lando mentioned this place. Said it might be a good one to bring you to.” Luke’s legs stopped working and Han had been forced to throw an arm around his shoulder and frog march him the rest of the way to the bar. “Come on, kid, loosen up. You’re too young to be this serious, and I figure the best thing I can do for my dear, sweet, too-serious brother-in-law is get him out of his head for a bit. Get him drunk or laid. Or both, that would be ideal.”

“Does Leia know about this?”

“Whose credits do you think I’m using?” he replies with a lazy grin as he slaps a card on the bar. A droid comes whirring up, towel slung over it’s cybernetic shoulder, and bleats out a question. “Shots. Lots of them.”

Now here he is. Drunk. A tiny glass with a swirling purple drink in it and each one he throws back makes his mouth feel more and more like a spaceship entering hyperspace.

Han is taking his job as Luke’s wingman very seriously. He’s leaning against the bar like rough trade—blaster strapped to his thigh, leather vest gaping open, a knowing slant to his crooked mouth—and every guy that tries to pick him up is nimbly redirected toward Luke. Han talks him up in a voice that is loud enough to carry over the music, but not nearly persuasive enough to do much good.

It would hurt his pride more—that not even Han’s classic bait-and-switch can do much for his dismal love life—but he has purple shots to keep him warm and if Leia is buying, Luke figures it would be rude not to keep ordering them.

“That tin can is checking you out,” Han says, nodding to a dark corner, and Luke lifts his head from counting the drink rings on the bar to find a Mandalorian in full, if a little worn and poorly matching, regalia standing there.

He’s also wearing a silver helmet with the kind of blacked-out visor that’s impossible to see what he might be feeling or doing or checking out under there.

Luke rolls his eyes. “Ha. Ha. Very funny,”

“He could be checking you out,” Han says with a shrug. “No way to know for sure.”

“Another round?” Luke calls to the server droid who scurries to obey. “You sure he’s not here for you? Maybe you’ve got another bounty on your head.”

“Ha. Ha.” Han repeats with an eye roll of his own. “Didn’t you hear? I’m respectable now. All bounties on me have been squared away, Leia’s orders. Now I’m just a faithful husband and a soon-to-be doting dad.”

Luke can’t help the hysterical laugh that takes him then, and for that he blames the liquor. He gets a punch to the shoulder for it that is harder than a friendly tap yet not quite hard enough to mean business.

“I do think Tin Can is checking you out,” Han says a few minutes later, thoughtfully, as he idly rolls an empty shot glass between his fingers.

“Maybe I have a bounty out on me,” Luke says, snorting down into his drink. *

As it turns out, Luke does, in fact, have a bounty out on him.

* “This is all a misunderstanding,” Luke says standing behind the Mandalorian in the cockpit of his ship as he prepares for take off.

His wrists are bound in front of him, something he could probably get out of with one well placed thought if he wanted to but, well, Han had been right. He has been too serious lately, too lonely, and there’s something about the tall, aloof type that gets to him. And he can’t get much more aloof than a Mandalorian whose face he has yet to see and who has only said a handful of words between capturing Luke and bringing him back here.

Also, Luke’s been drinking. That might also be part of it.

“So, is that bar like,” he tries to think of a tactful way of putting it, very aware that it’s been a long time since he’s tried this talking to (potentially) handsome men thing. “Do you go there a lot, or…?”

“No.”

Luke waits for him to elaborate but that seems to be all he’s going to get.

“Oh. Well, me neither. It was my first time at that place.” The ship tremors as it leaves the atmosphere and Luke lurches forward. He catches himself on the back of the Mandalorian’s chair with his shins since his hands aren’t good for much in these cuffs. “First time having those nurple shots. Have you ever had a nurple shot?”

No response.

“They’re purple,” Luke says helpfully. “Really, really purple. Strong, too.”

The ship makes a sharp turn and Luke staggers to the side along with it.

“I think I might be drunk,” Luke confesses and the Mandalorian snorts out a laugh, the first sign of an emotion he’s shown yet.

“You think?” And then because apparently Luke’s luck is holding he tilts his head and keeps talking. “How about you sit before you hurt yourself?”

“Wow,” Luke says as he falls into the copilot seat. “That was like a whole sentence. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were flirting with me.”

Another snort, but that’s all the answer he’s apparently going to give Luke.

“That’s not a no,” Luke points out.

The silence continues on and the white out of hyperspace starts to lull Luke to sleep which is probably not great for his future escape plans, but he feels himself start to slump over nevertheless.

Kriffing Han, he thinks as he comes ever closer to passing out. Kriffing nurple shots.

Just as he’s drifting off he hears the Mandalorian say: “It’s not a no,” but he can’t for the life of him remember what they’d been talking about before darkness takes over. *

The thing is, if Luke were in his right mind he’d try making a pass at the Mandalorian.

Luke doesn’t have the most sexual experience, but for a farm boy from a nearly uninhabitable rock, he’s done pretty well for himself. He knows he’s got the blond thing going for him and that aw-shucks-I’d-be-delighted-to-go-down-on-you thing, and together that can be a pretty winning combo.

Or at least it is according to the holovids that he used to watch and then swear to Uncle Owen that he had no idea how those charges ended up on their plasticard account. Which is to say, he might not have experienced it all but he’s seen some things and if that one ‘vid ‘Mand-ooooooh!-lorian, vol.9’ had anything to say about it all it would take is the right smile, the right wink, and Luke would see himself bent over the cockpit’s console in no time.

Instead he wakes up from a dead sleep and manages to turn his head away from the man he’d really like to impress before vomiting nurple shots all over the floor.

“I'm sorry,” Luke moans. “I’m so, so sorry.”

If the Mandalorian is disgusted at Luke, it's hard to tell with that helmet on.

“I'll clean it up. Just tell me where you keep your supplies and I'll take care of it.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t so much as move from where he’s fiddling with the ship's controls, but still the cockpit door opens behind Luke with a whir.

“Right, yeah, okay.” Luke scrambles up from his seat to the door. A piercing pain is starting above his right eye that he tries to blink away. “I can figure it out.”

The ship’s compartments are narrow and the lights are flickering just enough to make his nausea even worse, but he’d said he would clean up and so he will. A storage door opens with a snick and Luke is staring at more weaponry than he’s seen in one place since the Rebellion ended.

For the first time since he’s been captured Luke wonders where his lightsaber has gotten to.

He remembers fumbling for it with fingers that had gone nerveless from the shots, but then the Mandalorian was hauling him away with some sort of cable line and Han was no help at all, laughing himself into a stupor as he leaned against the bar.

And that’s as far as he can remember.

Luke closes the weapons storage door, turning away a little too fast and the headache is worse now.

He’s wincing, reaching up with his bound hands to pinch at the space between his eyes when he realizes he isn’t alone any more.

“This’ll help with the hangover,” he hears over his shoulder before he’s swung into a carbonite chamber and unceremoniously blasted with freezing gas. *

By the time he’s rescued the Mandalorian is long gone, having collected on his bounty, and all Luke has to do is wait out the shivering aftereffects of the carbonite with a bemused Han shape that he can barely see through the hibernation blindness.

Squatting down to where Luke is sprawled across the floor, Han presses the hilt of Luke’s lightsaber into his hand and asks: “Did you at least get his comm code?”

“I didn’t. Even. Get his. Name,” Luke forces out through chattering teeth.

A warm hand claps him on the shoulder.

“Tough luck, kid. Maybe next time.”

[yeah-all-of-it]

I wrote a fic the other day (my first!) that included a brief appearance by an original character named Rhonda, who is Ian and Mickey’s neighbor across the hall. Decided to write a bit of a prequel, exploring how they came to be friends with her. It’s 2 parts because it’s 4.7k and I don’t have an Ao3 account. Link for part 2 is here and at the bottom. Hope you enjoy!

Spill Your Guts: Part I

“Mickey, shut the fuck up! We’ve only lived here for like four days!” Ian whispers, dragging his slightly inebriated husband down the hall toward their apartment door. “We don’t want everyone to hate us already!”

“No, you don’t want everyone to hate us. I don’t give a fuck.” Mickey replies.

“Mickey.”

Ian’s trying to convey irritation, but the truth is, he’s so giddy about the evening’s surprise anniversary party, he’s struggling to come off as anything other than completely fond of his loud-ass, thoughtful husband. He’s a little drunk himself which isn’t helping matters.

“What? The only person I want to like me is you, Gallagher,” Mickey says, trying to be only slightly quieter.

“And I do like you, very much. But it would be nice to make a couple friends here too. Waking people up at 2 am probably isn’t the best way to do that,” Ian explains.

Mickey stops walking and gently pushes Ian up against the wall, holding him in place with a hand on his chest. Mickey says slyly, “Oh, you like me, huh? How much? D’you like me… this much?” Mickey plants a soft kiss on Ian’s neck.

“Umm, yeah, I like you that much,” Ian responds.

“Okay. What about… this much?” Mickey steps closer, placing his hand on the side of Ian’s face and softly kissing his lips, just barely slipping his tongue in.

“Mmm, yeah,” Ian replies once Mickey pulls away. “I definitely like you that much.”

Mickey steps right up to Ian, pressing his body into the wall with his own. Their faces are so close, they can feel each other’s breath hitching. He slowly slides a hand down the front of Ian’s jeans.

“You like me this mu-,” he doesn’t even have the words out before Ian is devouring him. Bodies pressed together, hands gripping each other’s hair, tongues tangled together.

Things are so intense that they didn’t realize that they have somehow moved and are now up against their across the hall neighbor’s door.

The next thing they know, they are both plummeting toward the ground. It takes them a moment to realize that their neighbor, apparently hearing strange noises coming from her door, had opened the door they were leaning against.

Ian is flat on his back on the floor and Mickey is directly on top of him. Their arms are still wrapped around each other and it’s blatantly obvious what they’ve been up to.

“Do you know what time it is? I thought someone was trying to rob me! Scared the life outta me!” a slender lady, likely in her late 60s who had clearly been in bed based on her attire, yells at them.

The two men scramble to their feet, Ian panicking when he realizes that at some point Mickey had managed to undo his belt and his zipper. His plaid boxers were on full display as well as an obvious display of what’s underneath them.

“We’re… so, so sorry, ma’am,” Ian says sheepishly as he pulls his pants closed. “It won’t happen again.”

Ian grabs Mickey by the jacket and yanks him out the door and across the hall. He pulls out his keys and unlocks the door as quickly as he can, the neighbor eyeing them suspiciously the whole time. Once she’s presumably satisfied that they do actually live there and aren’t burglars, she closes the door to her own apartment.

They stumble through the doorway, slamming the door behind them and Mickey bursts into laughter.

“Holy shit, that’s one way to make friends, Gallagher! Wonder how long it’s been since that woman’s seen a dick?” Mickey laughs, as Ian’s face turns the same color as his hair.

———

It’s been almost a week since Ian inadvertently flashed their new neighbor and so far, they’ve managed to avoid running into her in the hallway.

Saturday morning, Mickey is sleeping in and Ian goes for an early run. He sneaks out the door, hoping the lady across the hall is still in bed, and walks quickly down the hall to the elevator. He manages to evade her again but when he returns, she opens her door before he’s able to get his key in the lock.

“Well, hello there,” she says cheerily. “Long time no see, neighbor!”

“Um, hi there,” Ian nervously replies.

“So, the name’s Rhonda. I figure we should be on a first name basis, you know, since I’ve seen your penis and all.”

Ian blushes and chuckles uncomfortably, but for some reason, finds himself feeling a little less embarrassed. He likes this woman already and they’ve barely spoken. She seems like a pretty no-nonsense, calls a spade a spade type of person.

“Oh, uh, I’m Ian. Ian Gallagher.”

“Well, Ian Gallagher, I was about to head out to the pool to get a little sun. Care to join me?” Rhonda inquires.

Ian looks down at his watch and figures Mickey will be asleep for at least another hour. And he does want to make friends.

“Umm, sure. That sounds nice,” he ultimately decides.

“Well, let’s get goin’ then!” she exclaims, linking her arm with Ian’s as they take off down the hall.

———

Once they reach the pool, they find two lounge chairs. Ian drags a patio umbrella over by his.

“Ginger,” he points to his hair. “I fry in the sun, even in the morning.”

Rhonda nods understandably as they kick back in their chairs.

“So,” she begins. “What’s your story, Ian Gallagher?”

“Umm, my story?” he answers, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. He’s just met this woman and his “story” is… a lot. They’d be here all day if he told the whole thing. He decides to stick to the basics.

“Well, I’m from the Southside. Born and raised. Have a huge family, five brothers and sisters. Got married last year and moved here with my husband a couple weeks ago.” He decides that’s enough of an introduction for now.

“That’s all? That’s your story? I imagine it’s way juicier than that, but I get it. You don’t know me. I’m sure we’ll get to the good stuff eventually,” she winks after she says it.

This Rhonda, there’s just something so warm and vibrant about her. She has long wavy hair, white with a little gray mixed in. She has on a bohemian style dress and some turquoise jewelry. Ian imagines she’s had quite a life, well traveled and all that. Probably been outside of Chicago more times than he’s been to the Alibi. Her laugh is melodious, and her voice is cheerful and friendly. She’s one of those people you instantly like, that makes you want to open up and share your deepest secrets with.

“So that man that you were ravaging in the hall the other night. Your husband?” Rhonda asks.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s Mickey,” he replies. “Sorry again, about the uh, disturbance that night. We had just come from our first anniversary party and were, um, celebrating. Mickey planned the whole thing as a surprise for me.”

“A surprise anniversary party? Well your Mickey sounds like an absolute gem.”

“Yeah, he really is.” Ian can’t hide his sweet smile and look of adoration in his eyes. It makes him so happy when others notice the goodness in Mickey.

“So, how’d you two boys meet?” Rhonda asks, like she’s waiting for Ian to give her the real dish.

“Uh, well, we’ve known each other since we were kids. Grew up around the block from each other. I didn’t even know he was gay too until we hooked up as teenagers. The rest is sort of complicated, but that’s the gist of it”, Ian replies, and hopes that satisfies her curiosity. He’d love to tell her more but the whole unvarnished truth is a lot to unload on someone you’ve just met.

“Another Cliff’s Notes version, I see, but I’ll accept it for now,” she laughs.

Ian glances down at his watch and notices the time. Mickey is surely awake by now.

“Listen, this has been really great but I need to get back upstairs. Mickey is probably awake and we always make a big breakfast together on Saturday mornings. He’ll be pissed if I’m not there to flip the banana pancakes.”

“Oh I understand! This has been lovely and we should certainly do it again soon, Ian Gallagher!” she says with that cheery voice. Makes it hard to say no.

“Absolutely, Ms. Rhonda. That sounds great.” Ian rises from his chair and heads back inside, offering her a friendly smile that she returns.

———

“Where the fuck you been?” Mickey inquires as Ian walks through the door, not heated, just a question.

“Good morning to you too,” Ian replies teasingly. “I went for a run, then I was sunning by the pool with Rhonda.”

“Rhonda? Who the fuck is Rhonda?” Mickey asks, confused.

“Uh, the lady that lives across the hall from us.”

“The lady that liv- the one that caught us the other night? The one that saw you with your cock out?” Mickey is growing slightly agitated.

“Yeah, that’s her.”

“What’s she want with you? She tryin’ to pull some Mrs. Robinson shit on you? Saw somethin’ she liked?”

“Relax, Mickey. She’s just a friendly older lady. She didn’t do anything, we just talked for a bit. She’s nice,” Ian tries to assuage the situation. “Plus, you are aware I’m not attracted to women, right? And she’s old enough to be my grandma. Don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

“Whatever, man. Come in here and flip some fuckin’ pancakes.”

———

The next Saturday morning, Ian decides to skip his run and knock on Rhonda’s door to see if she wants to take a walk with him. He really enjoyed their chat last week; it felt good to talk to someone new, someone who had no preconceived notions about him or his life. He wanted to continue that.

He knocks on the door and Rhonda answers, dressed in lilac colored athletic wear, long hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was in remarkable shape for her 65+ years.

“Well hello, handsome. I was just getting ready to go do some yoga on the roof. Would you like to come?”

“Uh, sure,” he replies. “I was actually going to see if you wanted to come on a walk but yoga sounds nice. I’ve been wanting to try it but didn’t wanna go alone, and yoga’s not really Mickey’s thing so…” he drifts off.

“I have an extra mat, let me grab it and we’ll head upstairs!” Rhonda says cheerfully.

Once they’re all set up, Rhonda begins, ”I like to start my mornings with something called sun salutation. Do you know what that is?”

“No. I don’t really know anything about yoga, just that it’s supposed to be good for you. Always wanted to try it, especially since moving here. Show me?” Ian requests.

She walks him through step by step, reaching up to the sky and back down. They go through some basic flows, downward dog, warrior, tree pose, cat-cow. She makes sure he concentrates on his breathing.

“All done!” Rhonda chirps and they sit up from their final shavasana position.

Ian feels amazing. Relaxed and limber and strong. He’s surprised how difficult some of the poses are, especially because he’s always considered himself to be in pretty good shape. Yoga is definitely something he wants to continue. Rhonda really knows her stuff, too. Maybe he could convince Mickey to do yoga on the roof so he wouldn’t have to go to an actual class with people.

“Wow, Ms. Rhonda, that was incredible. I see why people love yoga. I feel amazing.”

“We can make this a regular thing, if you like,” she offers.

“Sure, I’d love that. Maybe I could bring Mickey sometime?” he asks.

“Sure thing, handsome!” She smiles at him.

“So, your Mickey. Tell me about him. What made you fall in love with him?” Rhonda asks casually, like she’s just making conversation but he knows she’s trying to dive deeper, get to know him better. He can’t figure out why she’s taken such an interest in him but she’s just so sincere. He can’t help but feel a connection with her.

“Well, Mickey is… complicated. He’s rough and tender. He’s vulgar and beautiful. He’s tough but so kind. He’s… everything.” Ian pauses and Rhonda doesn’t say anything, indicating she wants him to continue.

“He had a rough upbringing. I did too, actually, but not nearly as rough as his. I had druggy, absentee parents and was mostly raised by my older sister Fiona. Struggled to pay bills. Had to steal to survive sometimes. But Mickey…” Ian drifts off, not sure how much deeper he should go. There’s just something about this kind, welcoming woman in front of him that makes him want to open up. He wants to be careful though, as Mickey’s story isn’t entirely for him to tell. He wants to be respectful of that.

“Mickey was raised mostly by his dad who was in and out of prison. His dad was homophobic and violent and was awful to Mickey. Obviously he didn’t support us being together. Mickey had to hide who he truly was for so long which made it tough on our relationship. But we survived all that and Mickey now is just… he has rough edges. Anyone that is around him can see that. He’s Southside through and through. But when you really get to know him… he’s the best person I know. I guess that’s why I love him. Because he’s just… good. And he’s always had my back no matter what. He’s damn good in bed too, so there’s that,” he laughs.

“Oh trust me, I can tell you boys have no trouble in that department!” she cackles and Ian blushes.

Her tone turns a little more serious after that. “So when you say his father was homophobic and Mickey couldn’t be who he really was…” she leaves it open ended for Ian to fill in the blanks.

He sighs, “Yeah, um. His dad had threatened to kill him. And me. Actually tried, after our wedding. He caught us together once, years ago, naked in the living room. It was… really bad. Traumatizing but I won’t go into details. Mickey spent his whole life hiding deep in the closet because of his dad. My family always supported me and loved me no matter what, but Mickey didn’t have that. We had to hide our relationship for years which was tough. I just wanted to be a normal couple, be able to hold his hand in public, shit like that. But he was scared. Wanted to make his dad proud. He finally came out… I kinda pushed him which wasn’t my proudest moment. But he came out and his dad beat us up. It was awful, but he was out so it was kinda freeing too, I guess? I don’t know. Then there was my diagnosis in the midst of all this. I don’t really tell a lot of people about it but I’m bipolar. Did some crazy shit when I was in a bad manic state several years ago. Then spent some weeks in bed, couldn’t even get up. Mickey never left my side. I’m really not sure where I would have ended up if it wasn’t for him. He saved my life. I’m stable now, on meds that are working well for me. Plus Mickey is really good at picking up on shit, like if he thinks I’m starting to get depressed or something. He’ll say something or do something to help me through it, but like, subtle.” It’s all coming out like word vomit. But it feels so therapeutic at the same time, like just saying these words out loud lightens the weight of them.

“I don’t know. We broke up a few times over the years, forced apart by circumstances out of our control. Oh, and we were in prison together for awhile. We’ve been through some shit. We’d be here all day if I told you even half of it. But despite all that we found our way back to each other and never have to let go again.”

“How long have you two been together?” she asks.

“On and off for ten years. Since we were just dumb teenagers, banging secretly in the walk-in cooler at work,” Ian answers.

“Well that’s one hell of a story, Ian. I’m sorry things were bad for so long but I’m so happy you are in a good place now. Your Mickey sounds just wonderful though and I can’t wait to get to know him better. Maybe we could do dinner one night! I’m a pretty fantastic cook.”

“That actually sounds really great, thank you. I’ll check our schedule,” Ian replies.

“Anytime next week works so just let me know.”

They get up and begin to roll up their mats.

“You know, I just realized,” Ian states. “I don’t really know anything about you. I’ve just been droning on about myself. What’s your story?”

“Oh, Ian. I promise, we can discuss my wild life at dinner,” she laughs.

“Sounds perfect,” Ian smiles.

———

“We gotta do what?” Mickey complains.

“We are going over to Rhonda’s for dinner this Friday. It’ll be fun. She’s wonderful. You’re gonna love her. She’s really excited to get to know you better.”

“Better? You’ve already fuckin’ told her a bunch’a shit about me, haven’t you?” Mickey grumbles.

“Listen, Mick. Yes, I’ve given her the gist of our lives and our relationship, nothing too in depth. I didn’t go into great detail about your history because I didn’t think it was my place,” Ian explains. “Just told her how rough we had it in the past. She’s just so kind, and she really listens, no judgment.”

Mickey hesitates. “Alright, fine. I’ll go. But if this woman isn’t as amazing as you say she is I’m leaving. Unless the food is really good or there’s free booze. Then I’ll stay.”

Ian just rolls his eyes and gives him a hug, whispering a quiet “thank you” in his ear.

———

Friday is here before Ian knows it. He’s chatted more with Rhonda this week, seeing her for a few minutes in the laundry room, waiting for his clothes to dry. Then again out by the pool when he went to swim some laps. They were both looking forward to dinner.

“Mick, you about ready? It’s almost 7,” Ian yells back to the bedroom from the living room.

Mickey walks out into the living room wearing his black skinny jeans with the ripped knees and a gray long sleeved waffle knit shirt with his black boots.

“Wow, Mickey, you look really nice.” Ian walks up and kisses him on the forehead. “You smell great too, what is that?”

“Some cologne I found at some fuckin’ hipster shop the other day. Thought it smelled nice. Wanted to make a good impression on your new best friend,” Mickey states, with a slight hint of feigned attitude.

“You’re my best friend, Mick. Rhonda’s just a nice lady that I enjoy talking to and hanging out with. She’s definitely a friend though, the only friend I’ve made here and I really like her company.”

“If you insist. Let’s go, I’m fuckin’ starving.”

PART 2

[gas-station-trackphone]

Fic Recs/Mandatory Reading for Reddie fans

Here is an incomplete list of some of my favorite Reddie fics on ao3, because i cannot get over the sheer talent of this fandom’s wonderful writers! A lot of these are the Greatest Hits that you’ll find on almost every fic list, but that’s why I consider them mandatory reading. like if you haven’t read some of these, what are you doing?

the years go by like days by georgiestauffenberg, rated M

the 27 years in between, but better because richie and eddie stay together. every time i think of this fic, i think of that lady gaga meme where she’s like “brilliant, incredible, amazing, show stopping, etc” and maybe it’s bc this is one of the first reddie fics i ever read, but this one is always gonna be my favorite

broken record by spunknbite, rated E

the mother of all time loop fics. every reddie veteran gets chills at the phrase “the house on Neibolt was still standing”

literally everything by stitchy

like seriously just clear a few days bc you’re not gonna want to stop reading this author once you start. no other author has made me literally fucking cackle in one paragraph and sob in the next like this one, pls do yourself a favor and devour all their works like i did 

the night we met (take me back) by camerasparring, rated E

ch2 fix-it where eddie shows up at richie’s door alive and with no memory. great slow burn with a wonderfully conflicted richie, 10/10

let’s hear it for my baby! series by cloudings, rated E

OOOOOOOHHH boy! a modern teen!reddie grindr AU that’s both steamy AND sweet?? more like a fucking blessing amen hallelujah

a heart that laughter has made sweet by marjaani, rated E

another lovely teen!reddie fic that’s got it all! sweet, stupid boys, humor, a teeny bit of angst, and some 5-alarm fire smut with some top eddie, as a treat

keep talking. i’ll keep walking toward the sound of your voice. by theappleppielifestyle, rated T

angst with a happy ending is my favorite, and this one is just fantastic. so sweet, so sad! and stan is featured as eddie’s afterlife buddy and idk about y’all but i cannot get enough of stanley uris in my reddie fics. read this, then read all this author’s reddie fics, they’re all amazing

collateral by loosecannon, sheepknitssweater, rated E

a post-ch2 fic that i guess could be classified as fix-it, BUT with some very interesting twists. they beat the clown, everyone lives, but no one really gets the tropey happy ending. the WIP sequel is also incredible and i live for the updates.

the greater fool  series by mischiefmanager, mostly rated T with some E

this is a series i’ll reread a lot bc it’s so fucking good. follows young reddie into early adulthood, mostly a bunch of cute shit where they figure out themselves and their relationship. also contains the single best teen reddie fic in existence, he came in through the window, but reading the whole series is a must

brokeback derry and everything else by Amuly, rated E

27 years in between, richie and eddie reconnect in their 20s and meet back up in derry twice a year to remember and love each other before going back to their lives and forgetting. so much pain. there’s a lot of sweet stuff in there, but you can see shit’s gonna get complicated from miles away and the anticipation almost gave me stomach ulcers (in a good way). ultimate angst with a happy ending.

let me name the stars for you by playedwright, rated M

speaking of angst with a happy ending...Martian AU!!!!! this one fucked me up in the best way, i literally called my roommate at 2am to vent to her about my emotions after reading it. i go back and reread chapter 8 just to be overwhelmed by it, and it makes me cry every time. plus, there are awesome sequels/companion pieces in the series! read this, i beg you!

walk through fire for you by hyruling, rated T

unwind after all that angst with some cute, drunk, confused eddie being very upset when he finds out richie is engaged. richie only teases him a little before pointing out the matching ring on eddie’s finger. 

in the heat of the summer (you're so different from the rest) by kaboomslang, rated E

post-ch2 slow burn with tags that really say it all, including but not limited to: eddie moves to california and richie is a mess, Eddie Kaspbrak’s Hot Girl Summer, and cute middle aged man dates

pivotal moments by danfanciesphil, polypocket, rated E

high school reddie has a sort of fwb thing goin on, but emotions get in the way. featuring wonderful bevchie friendship, hella miscommunication, cute double dates, high eddie, and a happy ending

like a bullet in the back by jerry_duty, rated M

adult idiots in love! a personal favorite trope of mine! slow burn with a fair helping of angst but a really great ending. richie stays with eddie in new york while he’s there on business, and it takes these losers SO LONG to figure it out but the way they dance around it is very cute

no sense of living without aim [WIP] by liesmyth, rated E

richie and eddie meet on grindr in the 27 years between and hey, whadda ya know, they fall in love! i really love this fic but i’m pretty sure it’s been abandoned. i’ve had it open on my phone browser for like 3 months with no update but i still check it regularly bc i’m pathetic and this fic is just so good i’m DYING to know what happens next so read at ur own risk

a strange sense of familiarity [WIP] by Katranga, rated E

another “they meet and fall in love without remembering” fic, and even though it’s not complete yet, it gets regular updates. oh, also, i’m obsessed with it. they’re long distance fuck buddies who can’t admit they’re in love, and then they get hit with the childhood memories! and everyone lives! what’s not to love!  also PLEASE read kisses take like mint and every other reddie work by this author, they are all fantastic

adult friends by sudowoodo, rated T

AU where adult reddie meet at a first aid seminar for work (immediately fall in love), become friends, become best friends, and finally get to be happy. has some super repressed eddie and intensely pining richie, which is always fun, and genuinely made me laugh out loud. also please check out this author’s other reddie fics, there’s some super sweet kid reddie in there that really warms the heart

the mind's a funny fruit by joldiego, rated T

eddie wakes up barely alive in derry, has 0 memory, calls himself richie, and moves in with some lesbians. an absolute must read that ought to be on every reddie fic rec compilation. i read this a long time ago and just thinking about it makes me want to read it again.

now what i'm gonna say may sound indelicate [WIP] by IfItHollers, rated E

it took me entirely too long to find this fic since i joined the fandom, and it’s truly a fucking masterpiece. it’s almost at 200k now and still unfinished, and the slow burn is excruciating, but this is a legendary fic for a reason. eddie spends the first chunk of this fic in the hospital recovering from the massive chest wound, and then he and richie move the recovery to ben’s cabin in the woods. the author’s notes for each chapter are a story in themselves

signs of a new lifetime by swordfishtrombones, rated T

one of the sweetest, most romantic reddie fics i’ve ever read. a fresh take on a classic concept: post-ch2, they’re in love, they haven’t said/done anything about it yet, BUT!!! it’s not angsty! they are all cute and giggly like “you say it first!” “no, you say it first!” and it makes me fucking MELT

broadcasting tower by swordfishtrombones, rated E

back-to-back recs from the same author! bc i love these fics so much! sort of similar to the last one in that they both know what’s up and just haven’t said it, but this one’s got the angst! i didn’t know when i read it that it was the same author as the other fic, and i thought how funny, i found another reddie author that perfectly captures this pair in such a wonderfully romantic way! i also just noticed there’s a follow up to this so now i have to go read that immediately

eurydice; the original comeback kid by Vulcanodon, rated M

for the love of god please read this and the other work in this series. it’s a ch-2 fix-it with some intense action sequences and major pining, and it has haunted me since i first read it

love on the telephone by tempestbreak, rated E

okay this one is really just 30k of pure smut but it’s also so sweet and features a mini sexual awakening for eddie and some insecure richie with an emphasis on how much they love and trust each other. also it doesn’t hurt that the smut is fire, like does anyone else want that twink obliterated, or is it just me?

the boy who loves you by candlejill, rated E

eddie lives, richie confesses, things are chill and then they’re not. richie’s career flourishes, which is always nice to read and is what ultimately catalyzes eddie’s gay awakening and realization of his love for richie. it’s got some sad angsty parts and a very sweet ending, and it up there as one of my favorite reddie fics of all time

richie and eddie break up [WIP] by skeilig, rated M

a refreshing and realistic take on life ch-2 for the losers, because being in love at thirteen doesn’t mean you can fall into a perfect relationship at 40. i’ll admit, i’m hoping this will ultimately be a “richie and eddie get back together” fic, but it’s still a very good read (and often very funny in the second chapter) at the moment in the midst of their break up

september 1989 and everything else by pineapplecrushface, rated T

cute kid reddie figuring it out and making me smile. the follow up to this and the after derry series by this author are also personal favorites

go west by ssstrychnine, rated T

road trip fic! an absolute work of art slow burn with teen reddie in the 90s. it’s so beautifully written i just wish i could go back and read it for the first time again

the edification of eddie kaspbrak by tozier, rated M

character study with some incredible fucking prose, my lord it gorgeous. explores how eddie learns about love as he grows up, and it’s super fucking sad sometimes bc the poor boy doesn’t know how to have the things he wants and i just want to give him a hug, but it’s really a spectacular fic

circular motion by sinchronicity, rated M

soulmate!AU that follows book canon and even though it’s been a long time since i’ve read it and the details are fuzzy, i remember absolutely loving it and thinking it was incredible

tell me you know by RichiesToesHurt, rated E

college losers with some severely pining and jealous richie with a lovely ending 

predicament bondage [WIP] by dgalerab, rated E

i resisted reading this fic for so long, recently broke and binged all of it, and now i’m like frothing at the mouth for updates. richie’s a closeted actor/comedian who meets eddie, a professional Dom, when he needs help researching a role. they become friends, they develop crushes, richie realizes he’s a sub, and it’s just so much fun to read

there’s a lot more fics to rec so i might add on to this in the future, but in the meantime my biggest tip for for reading fanfiction that took me embarrassingly long to figure out: focus on the authors! if you read something you like, check out the rest of the work by that author bc odds are you’ll like that too. i mentioned it in a few specific works above, but check out the authors catalogues for these fics. if i included every work by these authors that i loved, this list would be miles long

feel free to add on any great stuff i missed, there’s sure to be tons of it!

[kellanbee]

Okay so I've been holding on to these for a while and I just need to yell about them, but here are some of my favorite headcanons I have for our resident shark boy, Eijiro Kirishima:

• hes gay. obviously.

• he is lactose intolerant but will still eat a whole pint of ice cream and then complain about his stomach hurting for hours afterwards

• he drinks beer bc it's manly. not because it tastes good

• speaking of drinking, he's a lovey drunk. He talks constantly about how much he loves his friends and wants to give everyone a hug. He loves drunk cuddles

• he is a very touchy person, he will take any opportunity to touch your hand or wrap an arm around your shoulder, but he is so respectful of boundaries at the same time

• he's got them shark teeth and they tend to give him a little trouble with normal things. like breathing. he's a mouth breather, especially when he sleeps. like he's got the WORST dry mouth when he wakes up in the morning.

• adding on to the mouth breathing, he also snores. So. Loud.

• he's definitely a night owl and will sleep all day if given the chance

• absolutely a dog person, but he likes all animals

• he is a human furnace. he's so warm, just radiating heat all the time. the rest of the bakusquad tends to gravitate toward him in the winter for hugs and cuddles

• this is canon but he has no fashion sense

• crocs, of course

• he doesn't know how to tie his shoes. sometimes I'll say he does know how, he just prefers not to wear shoes with laces, but its funnier if he just. Can't tie his shoes

• he's a "can drive but can't do math" gay

• and one of my favorites, he is absolutely disgusting. He's such a nasty little man!! Like. He's so fucking sweaty all the time. He thinks using axe body spray counts as taking a shower. Bakugo has to remind him to change his fucking underwear on a regular basis. He doesn't know when to replace his toothbrushes. He's a gross 16 year old boy and I stand by this

[pop-punklouis]

would you mind reccing some podcasts? i listen to podcasts from time to time but the sheer volume is overwhelming and my indecisive arse takes forever to decide on one.

hi!! okay i’m also like you— i will begin listening and then i will forget to listen or i don’t have anywhere to commute so i just. don’t listen lmao but i do have favorites i come back to when i do get in the mood for a good podcast:

• The Basement Yard

comedy podcast ran by youtuber Joe Santagato where he and a friend host, talk shit, and just ramble about anything and everything every week. think of it as drunk himbos just. having a time. not many things make me laugh audibly out loud but this podcast does it every time. save it for sad days.

• It’s Been a Minute with Sam Sanders

each week, Sam Sanders interviews people in the culture who deserve a platform. plus weekly wraps of the news with other journalists. His show is based on free-form conversation and dialogue and it is incredibly effective.

• No Dogs in Space

a killer podcast to initiate you into the punk-lore if you aren’t already. amusing, interesting, and very entertaining

• Rabbit Hole

distills the history of internet discourse by zeroing in on a few widely influential online personalities and movements

• Getting Curious with Jonathan Van Ness

every week is something different with the skyrocketing reality star discussing everything from queer spaces to neuroscience and political activism. the guests he has are superb and having his over-the-top personality in the mix gives such a fresh spin on the transfer of conversation and thought had on the show.

• Ologies with Allie Ward

Volcanoes. Trees. Drunk butterflies. Mars missions. Slug sex. Death. Beauty standards. Anxiety busters. Beer science. Bee drama. Take away a pocket full of science knowledge and charming, bizarre stories about what fuels these professional -ologists' obsessions. Humorist and science correspondent Alie Ward asks smart people stupid questions and the answers might change your life.

• Switched on Pop

one of my favorite podcasts that dissect and discuss in length the making and meaning of pop music with industry professionals as hosts and as guests. i cant recommend this one enough if you’re into pop culture analysis and song breakdowns

• Cult Liter

A riveting true crime podcast tied together with personality and humor. it’s truly the best

• New World Witchery

a show about magic predominantly focused on the magic practiced in North America. hosted by veteran witches as they explore traditional american witchcraft

• The Moment

On The Moment, the writer and actor Ingrid Haas interviews couples from many different age groups, cultures, financial backgrounds, genders, and sexual orientations about what happened before they knew they wanted to commit to each other—which is to say, the good stuff. Their stories are exceptional and regular all at once, and because each installment focuses on an uncertain time in a relationship, listeners can feel the suspense even though the premise of the show guarantees a happy ending

• Decoder Ring

Decoder Ring is the show about cracking cultural mysteries. In each episode, host Willa Paskin takes a cultural question, object, or habit; examines its history; and tries to figure out what it means and why it matters. my favorite eps are the one on bart simpson and the other on hotel room paintings.

• My Brother, My Brother, and Me

An advice podcast for the modren era. The McElroy brothers are here to take your questions and turn them, alchemy-like, into wisdom. it’s funny too.

• Sex, Drugs, and Spirituality

A comedy podcast exploring the fun and weird aspects of our world

• Jenna & Julien Podcast

my favorite gal jenna marbles and boyfriend julien solomita ran this podcast for years before wrapping it up last year. it can be laugh out loud funny to emotional to serious all within a few eps of each other. the snake oil and shark tank eps are a couple of my favorite running games they do on the show. another to watch/listen to when sad

• Pop Culture Therapist

A podcast where two therapists analyze how mental health is portrayed in movies and TV

• Mobituaries

Mo Rocca’s long love of obituaries has him led to create Mobituaries, an irreverent but deeply researched appreciation of the people (and things) of the past who have long intrigued him—from an unsung Founding Father to the first Chinese-American superstar, from Neanderthals to the station wagon. it is a warm and heartfelt podcast.

• My Dad Wrote a Porno

My Dad Wrote a Porno is a British podcast hosted by Jamie Morton, James Cooper, and Alice Levine. Each episode features Morton reading a new chapter of an amateur erotic novel, titled Belinda Blinked, written by his father under the pen name Rocky Flintstone.

• Gay Future

a hilarious podcast focused around the satirical version of a futuristic dystopia: in 2062, everyone is gay except for one boy, Miley Pence, who is called to save the world from the authoritarian gay agenda of President Clay Aiken. it’s. wonderful.

[neerasrealm]

Kagekao’s Day

A fic that follows the average day in the life of our favorite demonic trickster as he gets up to...whatever it is he gets up to. Please note I am not Japanese so the japanese used in this fic is google translated and may be inaccurate or wonky. Apologies in advance for that. Word count: 3489

Shinjuku’s Golden Gai. Arguably one of his favorite places to spend long nights drinking in. The Golden Gai, or Golden Street as tourists would call it, was a quaint little labyrinth of bars, shops and clubs. He’d squeezed himself into a random bar, he wasn’t sure if he’d been there before but the place did serve some damn good umeshu. He’d already drank maybe two bottles worth. It was surprising they would still serve him after so much. Maybe it was because he didn’t get drunk very easily. He was tipsy at most.

He snapped his fingers as a waiter walked past his booth. He propped his clawed feet up on the table as he turned to look at him. He held up his empty glass, shaking it a bit. The ice clinked quietly as he did so. ‘’Motto kudasai.’’ he chirped. The waiter nodded and walked off to grab him another drink. He settled down again, ready to get himself comfy for bottle number three, but then his phone rang. He scowled and reached into his pocket, hitting answer without even looking at the caller ID. ‘’Osu.’’ he grunted, playing with his scarf. He heard a deep chuckle on the other side of the phone.

‘’Well hello there,’’ the voice was deep, and oozed charisma. He smiled and sat up. ‘’Is this a bad time, Kagekao?’’ 

He giggled. ‘’No, no, kami-sensei. Not at alllll.’’ he purred. ‘’To what do I owe the pleasure, hmmmmm?’’

The man on the other end of the phone chuckled again. ‘’I have a job for you. Think you could drop by? We’d love to see you again.’’

He swung his feet off the table and grinned, giggling. ‘’Of course, of course!’’ he chirped. ‘’Sounds fun! Very very fun, kekekeke!’’ he reached into his dress, pulling his wallet from one of the ever-so-delightful pockets. He pulled out the yen and tossed it onto the table. ‘’I’ll be there soon!’’ 

‘’Good, good. I’ll see you soon then.’’ the voice on the phone purred before hanging up. Kagekao skittered out of the bar and off to see Zalgo.

Getting to Zalgo’s realm was easy enough. Find a wall, draw a giant ‘Z’ on it and simply wait for the gates of hell to open up! Kagekao gleefully waltzed through the tunnel to the barren wasteland Zalgo resided in. It was a very dreary place...and Kagekao loved that! He took his time getting to the house. He liked messing with the lost souls that roamed the wasteland. They weren’t really able to fight back, and couldn’t think enough to be anything but innocently confused and curious. Kagekao playfully cackled to himself as he skittered off to Zalgo’s nice, cozy house.

Now he could have taken the door that was always left unlocked, but that was boring! Instead, he scaled the house and made his way up to the chimney. He squeezed himself into it and rapidly skittered down, being as loud as possible in the process. He giggled at the confused shouts and noises he could hear through the wall. He stopped near the entrance of the chimney. The fireplace was unlit. 

‘’Kekekekekeke…’’ 

He heard shuffling in the room. The rustle of a newspaper, or magazine. Then someone, male, sighing. He giggled. ‘’Jason! Can you come here a second?’’ he called out, mimicking the young, feminine voice of Jane. The male grunted and got off the couch, crossing the room.

‘’Yes?’’ 

While he was occupied, Kagekao crawled out of the fireplace and onto the ceiling. He tilted his head, turning to look at the redheaded man standing in the doorway, his back turned to Kagekao. The demon pulled his scarf up onto the ceiling, out of sight, before replying. ‘’Nevermind, I got it!’’

Jason grunted and turned, walking back over to the armchair he’d been sitting in. Kagekao silently crept along the ceiling until he was directly over where the toymaker sat. Biting back a giggle, he braced himself, then let go of the ceiling. The screech Jason let out had him cackling.

‘’KEKEKEKEKE! Mitsuketa!!’’ he giggled as he rolled over in Jason’s lap and sat up, pressing his mask to the toymaker’s shocked face. Jason blinked a couple times before his lips curled into a snarl. He shoved Kagekao off of him roughly, sending the giggling demon to the floor. Kagekao rolled over onto his hands and knees and snapped his neck to the side a few times, making loud snapping noises as he did so. ‘’Ya-ho!’’ he chirped in greeting. Jason growled and kicked at him. The demon quickly backflipped out of the way with a giggle. 

‘’What are you doing here?’’ Jason snapped. Kagekao giggled again and leapt to his feet.

‘’Zalgo called me!’’ he chirped. Jason huffed and shook his head, muttering to himself. Kagekao snapped his neck around at the sound of footsteps approaching the room. He grinned beneath his mask at the sight of Zalgo standing in the doorway, smirking as he always did. ‘’Ya, kami-sensei!’’ he greeted excitedly. Zalgo chuckled.

‘’Hello Kagekao.’’ he greeted calmly before tilting his head, golden eyes flicking to the angry toymaker. ‘’Jason, shouldn’t you be bringing guests up to my lounge? The living room is hardly a place for me to have formal discussions.’’

Jason glared at Zalgo like he wanted nothing more than to tear the smug god to shreds. ‘’He came down the chimney.’’ he replied bluntly. Kagekao nodded.

‘’It’s true! Then I dropped into Jason’s lap.’’ he purred. Literally. Like a cat. ‘’He’s very warm and snuggly, kekeke.’’

‘’Well that’s good to know.’’ Zalgo murmured back. Jason buried his face in his magazine and did the breathing exercises Alice had been teaching him. Zalgo looked back over at Kagekao and smiled warmly. ‘’Come, I’d like to speak with you in private.’’ he glanced at Jason for a second before turning on his heel and gesturing for Kagekao to follow. He followed obediently, though he didn’t stop himself from looking around and touching anything that caught his interest. Zalgo didn’t seem to mind very much. 

He led Kagekao into his lounge. Though it also worked as an office. It was a big room, with high walls covered with bookshelves and drawers, along with a few trinkets. A mannequin with a pair of goggles on it, a glass case with giant butterfly wings in it, and a perfectly preserved human heart! That last one was Kagekao’s favorite, though Zalgo didn’t like him touching it. Zalgo strode over to the large desk and sat himself down on it, watching Kagekao intently as he skittered around the room a few times before deciding to flop himself into an oversized armchair. He curled his knees up, kneading his claws into the fabric as he got comfy before relaxing. He purred to himself before looking at Zalgo, who’s expression had turned more serious now.

‘’Do you have any wine?’’ he asked. Zalgo looked at him for a moment before snapping his fingers. Flames burst into the air, then disappeared. Leaving a bottle of wine in their place. The bottle fell down into Kagekao’s lap. He giggled happily and quickly uncorked it. 

‘’I have an assignment for you,’’ Zalgo murmured, his voice serious now that they were in private. ‘’It’s important. This is something only you can do for me, Kagekao. I trust you can get it done.’’

‘’Mmm…’’ Kagekao pulled his mask up and chugged some wine straight from the bottle. He’d have preferred a glass, to let the wine air out and settle more, but he was thirsty from all the time he’d spent drinking earlier. ‘’Of course. I can do anything.’’

‘’Good.’’ Zalgo leaned back where he sat. ‘’I want you to check on the proxies. Ask them if they’ve seen anyone...out of the ordinary recently. Wearing a mask.’’

Kagekao looked up. ‘’Out of the ordinary?’’ he cocked his head. ‘’You’re never specific, are you kami-sensei?’’ he added with a laugh. ‘’I can do it though! No problem. I’ll get to see the goggle brothers again!!’’

Zalgo arched a brow. ‘’The goggle brothers?’’

‘’Doby and Toby!’’ Kagekao threw his arms up, then squeaked when he almost spilled wine on himself. 

Zalgo smiled a small bit. ‘’Call them what you like,’’ he murmured as he stood up. ‘’Just make sure you don’t mention me-’’

‘’I know I know.’’ Kagekao cut in as he slurped down more wine. ‘’They can’t know you’re the person behind the Operator, lies and deception, I get it.’’ Zalgo looked surprised. He wasn’t used to being interrupted. Kagekao hopped to his feet and rocked on his heels. ‘’Can I run some errands before I report back?’’ he asked. 

Zalgo nodded. ‘’Whatever you want.’’ he replied simply. ‘’Just get it done.’’

Kagekao gleefully hopped, skipped and jumped out of Zalgo’s realm. He found himself back in the human world. Specifically somewhere in the US. He wandered through the town he’d been popped out at before finding himself in the local park. Bordering the park was a thick forest. He strolled through the trees, deeper and deeper into the forest until he came upon a cabin. Though it was closer to being a shack. Dilapidated and broken down. The wood it was made from was rotting, and nature seemed to be reclaiming it. Kagekao walked over and climbed onto the roof of the shack. He skittered across it and looked down into the backyard.

‘’Yeah it was fuckin’ weird! I don’t know- third base!- who would keep their soda in the cabinet like??’’ a young voice spoke below him.

‘’Guess they like room temperature soda.’’ a second, deeper voice replied. Two boys sat out on the back porch. Or rather, one of them was sitting on the porch. The second boy, who wore mismatched knee socks, an old purple hoodie and had fluffy chestnut hair, was sitting on the other’s lap. Kagekao climbed down the wall, staring down at the two of them intently. 

‘’Who the fuck drinks room temperature soda?’’ Doby asked as he tapped his fingers against his bare thigh. Toby shrugged and wrapped his arms around his friend, his shoulder jerking for a moment. He sighed and rested his head on Doby’s shoulder. 

Kagekao slowly reached down and ran his fingers through Toby’s curly hair. The boy jumped in surprise, his fist punching outward on instinct. ‘’Fuck off!’’ he yelped. Both of their heads snapped up suddenly, looking at the demon casually perched on the wall above them. He tilted his head to the side, grinning beneath his mask. 

Doby’s lips curled up into a grin. ‘’Hey bitch.’’ he chirped. 

Kagekao giggled again. ‘’Hisashiburi desu ne.’’ he greeted. ‘’Genki datta?’’

Doby smirked and rolled his eyes. ‘’I can’t understand you.’’ 

Kagekao climbed down off the wall and hummed. Toby watched him crawl around the porch like a cat, or some kind of lizard. ‘’It’s been a while,’’ the demon murmured. ‘’How have you two been, hm?’’ 

‘’We’re good,’’ Toby murmured. ‘’What’re you doing here?’’ 

Kagekao snapped his neck to the sides a few times, as if mimicking the boy’s tics. He sat himself in front of them, crossing his legs. ‘’Just checking on you two.’’ he hummed. ‘’Anything interesting been happening lately? Anyone wandering into the woods?’’ he asked with a grin.

Doby smiled. ‘’A couple. You know how it is…’’ He mimicked swinging a baseball bat, a clear indicator that he was remembering times when the two had had to keep intruders from finding their little base of operations..

‘’And nobody else?’’ Kagekao tilted his head. ‘’Nobody with...a mask or anything such?’’

Toby frowned. ‘’Mask?’’ he asked softly. Doby nudged him.

‘’Sorry, tic.’’ he grunted before looking back at Kagekao. ‘’What do you mean by ‘mask’?’’ he asked slowly, his eyes narrowing at the demon. 

Kagekao grinned slyly under his own mask. ‘’Someone covering their face. Hiding.’’ he replied. ‘’There’s been someone going around lately...causing issues in the community.’’ he shrugged. ‘’Don’t know their name. Just that they wear a mask and they might be causing issues.’’

Doby hummed. ‘’Nah don’t know ‘em.’’ he said. ‘’Right Toby?’’

Toby nodded, almost too enthusiastically. ‘’Right, right.’’ he parroted. Kagekao hummed and stood up. On his hands. He stretched out one of his arms, balancing his full weight on one palm. 

‘’Well then,’’ he suddenly flipped himself up into the air, landing on the ground with ease. ‘’If that’s the case...then I’ll leave you boys be.’’ he looked at the two proxies. Neither of them spoke. They just stared up at him cautiously. Kagekao laughed and stepped away from the shack, moving toward the forest again. ‘’I’ll see you two soon, hopefully.’’ he added with a sly grin.

With his work done, Kagekao could do whatever he wanted. And he knew exactly what his next visit would be. He had to take a shortcut through Zalgo’s realm, but soon enough he found himself in Louisiana. Specifically a small town in Louisiana that had a forest bordering the side of it. He perched himself up in a tree and waited and waited. Eventually, a silver minivan drove out of the forest and Kagekao grinned. He leapt out of the tree and skittered through the woods and into the fairy circle buried deep inside it. He stopped in the mansion’s front garden and giggled. The mansion was typically impenetrable, accessible only to people who had Slender’s specific marking. Which Kagekao had, though Slender didn’t need to know that.

He crawled along the side of the house, finding his way into the back garden. He poked his head out and looked into the yard. Sitting by a flower patch, humming innocently was a small girl. Her hair was fiery, turning from blonde to red as it fell around her shoulders. She wore gray dungarees and a striped shirt, rolled up to her elbows, along with a red bowtie. Her skin was a reddish-brown, dotted with bronze freckles. Kagekao slinked out from behind the house and skittered across the grass, hiding in a bush. The girl looked up in surprise. She glanced around for a few moments, her golden eyes locking on the bush he was hiding in. Slowly, she stood up and crept over to him, head tilted curiously. She crouched by the bush, reaching out carefully. 

And then he pounced. She shrieked as the two of them rolled over the grass. They came to a stop, Kagekao leaning over her. She blinked in surprise, looking at him, before grinning. ‘’Gecko!!’’ 

‘’Ya-ho Slendra-cha!.’’ he greeted with a smile. 

The girl giggled and pushed him up off of her, sitting up. ‘’Hisashiburi desu ne,’’ she replied. ‘’Genki datta?’’ 

Kagekao smiled. Ah, one of his few friends who spoke japanese. ‘’Genkidesu.’’ he replied. She smiled and tilted her head, hair falling over her shoulder.

‘’What’re you doing here?’’ she narrowed her eyes at him. A sly smile crept up her face. ‘’You’re not causing mischief are you?’’ 

Kagekao folded his legs. ‘’Nooo…’’ he shook his head. ‘’I’d never do that!’’ 

She leaned closer to him. ‘’Uh-huh?’’ she asked. ‘’My dad’s gonna be mad if he finds out you’re here…’’

Kagekao grinned at Slendra. Oh, her father certainly would be unhappy to find out he was on the property of his enemy. But Zalgo needn’t know that. ‘’Slender just went grocery shopping.’’ he replied. ‘’I saw the car leave.’’

The girl pursed her lips, a smile curling up her face. ‘’You’re planning something aren’t you?’’

‘’Your father wouldn’t notice if a wine bottle or two went missing…’’ Kagekao replied. She giggled. 

‘’You’re gonna get in troubleeeee.’’ she chided. Kagekao leaned into her.

‘’I knoooooow.’’ he replied. ‘’Now let me into your house.’’

Slendra rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘’Fine! But only if you promise to bring me those japanese potato chips I like next time you come over!’’ she pointed at him accusingly. Kagekao nodded, just eager to get his claws on some high quality wine. The girl smirked and stood up, leading the demon over to the back door. She slid it open and stepped into the neat, empty kitchen. ‘’You’re lucky Tim took Cody and EJ out you know.’’ she chided.

Kagekao padded toward the kitchen door, peering through the keyhole. ‘’Who’s home?’’ he asked.

‘’Mmm...Jeffery and Ben went with dad. Helen is in their room, and pops took the girls out.’’ she replied. ‘’So...you just gotta look out for Rachel.’’ Kagekao smirked. Rachel? She was only a human! Sure she was a psychic too but...nothing he couldn’t handle.

‘’Thank you Slendra.’’ he chirped before opening the kitchen door and skittering his way down to the basement. He flattened himself against the wall and peeked into the basement. It was sizable and comfy, with a few rooms. Including the miniature wine cellar, only across from him. His gaze moved over to the small couch on the right of the room. It was a cozy little area, with a coffee table, TV and several old gaming consoles, along with a cabinet full of games. Sitting on the couch, holding a game controller, was a woman with medium black hair, wearing an outfit of the same colour. She was playing some old shooter with monsters in it. Kagekao couldn’t be bothered to remember the name. He didn’t care for virtual games. 

Silently as possible, he climbed up the wall and reached the ceiling. He froze, snapping his neck to check on the woman. Rachel Downs...a powerful psychic, but an average human. He’d be wary of her, at the very least. He crept along the ceiling, keeping his head locked on her the whole time. He had almost, almost reached Slenderman’s stash of delicious wine when Rachel suddenly yelled out in irritation. He jolted in fear, watching her throw down the controller in her lap. ‘’God damnit!’’ she snarled. ‘’Janky ass controls…’’ she shook her head, then stood up. Kagekao cursed under his breath and threw himself over to a shadowed corner, thankful that the basement lights weren’t on. Rachel frowned and looked over at him, and though she couldn’t spot his eyes, Kagekao stared right back. A few tense moments passed before she sighed and shook her head. ‘’Fuckin’ cats…’’ she muttered to herself as she turned and walked up the stairs. Kagekao stayed frozen still for a few moments before skittering out of the corner and over to the door to the wine cellar. He unlocked it with ease, using a copy of the key he’d stolen a few months ago.

You couldn’t exactly call it a wine cellar, more of a wine...room. Shelves that were lined with bottles upon bottles of the delicious red stuff. Kagekao giggled. He had at least an hour before Slender came home. Which was plenty of time. He wasted no time getting into a bottle of his favorite brand. Slender had exquisite taste in wine. And a concerning amount of it. You’d almost think the man was an alcoholic, if it weren’t for the fact that he was an ancient ethereal being who didn’t get drunk easily. Kagekao would have claimed to have that same excuse, but he was nowhere near ancient or ethereal, and his alcohol tolerance was still nothing compared to Slender’s. Not to mention he would drink for breakfast, lunch and dinner, when Slender would at least have a glass of juice in the morning.

He told himself he’d keep track of the time. But by the time he heard thumping upstairs and three sets of footsteps he was nowhere near ready to leave. His eyes widened, listening to muffled voices upstairs.

‘’Boys, you start putting all of this away. I’ll be up in a moment to help.’

’‘’Kay dad.’’

The footsteps moved some more, and then he heard the stairs to the basement creaking. Kagekao chugged down the last of the bottle he had clutched between his feet and skittered over to another shelf. He grabbed a bottle in each hand, still listening as Slender approached the room. He staggered over to the wall at the back of the room and drew on the sigil for Zalgo’s realm. As soon as the gateway was open enough for him to slip through, he darted in and closed it behind him. Not wanting to stick around for fear that he’d been caught, he skittered down the dark, damp tunnel until he emerged into the light.

He stumbled and fell against the wall of a building. He shivered. Wow- it was cold here. He crept out from behind the building and looked around until his eyes laid upon a bathhouse in the distance. Glancing around more, he realised he was in between a couple of restaurants. The smell of freshly cooked meat and good old fashioned sake filled his nose. Kagekao grinned.

He had a few hours to kill before he had to go back to Zalgo.

[gingersnapppies]

Original Character Time!

Hi! Ginger is back baby and I am here to stay! There are just some OC’s that I am willing to try out with some people if you want to! Now to make sure we are on the same page, please read my other two posts on my page! Now, let's get onto the good stuff!

~~~~

The first one is the soft boi named Atticus Black! Here is his info along with his face claim as well!

Name: Atticus Black

Age: 25-31

Gender/Pronouns/Birthday: Male, He/Him, January 15

Likes: Reading, Cats, Warm Fire, Fall/Winter, Large Sweaters, Romance, Action Movies, History and Fantasy, Politics, Small Objects, Helping Others, Doing What is Right, Honesty, Orchestra Music, Museums

Dislikes: Loud Movies, Concerts, Dirt, Chaos, Loud/Obnoxious People, Messes, Unorganized People, Dishonesty, Being Hurt, Dogs, Horror Movies, Weapons, Family Get-Togethers, Neon Colors

Flaws: Bad Sense of Style, Very Naive and Curious, Is Very Shy at Some Points, Scolds People When They Do Something Wrong, Nail Biter, Neat-Freak

Personality: Atticus is very kind and caring. He can also be snobbish (saying how things are uncivilized’) but is also a tsundere. He loves to help others, but will stand up for what he believes in when the time is right!

Talents: Talk His Way Out of Any Situation, Loyal to the End, Cooking, Cleaning, Good with Most Animals, Good Decorator, Read Super Fast, Great Memorization

~~~~

Now here is the oc that I have been wanting to use for a while! I do not have a grounded name yet, but I do like the name Aris for him! Once again, here is some information and a face claim below!

Name: Aris Regan

Age: 25-28

Gender/Pronouns/Birthday: Male, He/Him, July 21

Likes: The City, Loud Music, Romantic Comedies/Dramas, Acting, Chaos, Fast Cars, Weapons, Cats and Birds, Singing, Getting What He Wants, Alcohol, Spa Days, Fancy Suits, Sunglasses, Hurting Others, BDSM, Crossdressing

Dislikes: Messy Clothes/Room, Dirt, Reading, Not Getting His Way, Resistance, Vanilla Times (If you catch my drift), Stupid People, Being Scolded, Slow Moving Veichles,

Flaws: Not the Best Fighter, Arrogant, Cocky, An Asshole, Has insecurities and wonders if anyone loves him, or if he is ever capapble of recieving love in the first place, and Loud

Personality: As before, this guy is a literal asshole. He will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, but also can be caring to his workers. He does care about them, but he is a dick about it sometimes. Aris is a very smart, cunning man who always gets what he wants (but gets flustsered easily)

Talents: Massive flirt, Good Manipulator/Mind-Breaker, Fashionista, Never Get Super Drunk, Good with Guns, Good with Most animals, Singing

~~~~

And yes I do know they are both Ewan McGregor sue me (I am gay, but I simp for ONE man)

Anyways, there you go! Here are some rules for your way out of this post: 

- Be 18+ and good with dark/taboo themes (I explicitly play bottoms ONLY)

- Be literate and do a LOT of paragraphs

- Don’t just wade: which means don’t just let me come up with the plot or side characters, give me some surprises!

- Be on discord

So there ya have it! I hope we can rp and I can meet some good people! Here is my discord tag: GingerSnappies#1007

[mattzerella-sticks]

Not Here for Me

If he had the choice, Dean never would have stepped foot inside this place. But Sam was curious - and curious is a hell of a lot better than the depression that clung to him day after day since Jess left him. So Dean swallows his pride, joins Sam as his babysitter. So he won't get find himself in any trouble. Trouble, however, is more likely to find Dean. In the bowels of his personal hell, can Dean resist temptations that have plagued him his entire life? Or will someone descend and lend a hand, showing Dean that the darkness he imagined only lived inside his own mind. And all that he feared was not as he seemed if he let himself step out of the shadows of his past.

(Dean/Cas, Human AU, 2000s-set, 8,113 words, tw: Dean’s childhood & upbringing by one John Winchester)

ao3

           His ears hurt. Dean stares at a small puddle of maybe-water-maybe-vodka that collected on the bar top, focusing on it instead of the pounding bass drum and blender whirring that’s somehow considered music. At least that’s what Sam told him seconds after entering, meeting Dean’s disgruntlement with patented exasperation. Floppy bangs pushed back for its full effect. “You’re such an old man,” he said, “Can you pretend you’re happy being here?”

           “That depends,” he fired back, brow raised. Pulled taut like a bowstring, retort knocked and waiting. He lets it fly, “How quick do you think I can get drunk?”

           The answer – very quickly. Dean balked when Sam ordered them these bubbling potions the color of lava lamps mixed with Barbie vomit. Served in dainty glasses Dean could easily break if he applied even a fraction of pressure between his thumb and forefinger. Rim lined with salt and a wedge of lime. Sam suggested they cheers. He chugged his before Sam raised the glass. He flagged the bartender, ignoring Sam’s glare. “What the hell did I drink?” he asked.

           The bartender pursed his lips, eyes dragging over Dean’s frame as if he were stripping him bare in the room; peeling away the layers of his jacket and plaid button-down and faded band tee like they were tissue, freckled-and-pale skin freed for the bartender’s enjoyment. He sowed seeds of unwanted fantasies. Dean cleared his throat, repeating the question, digging out those dropped seedlings before the bartender’s imagined wanderings might flower.

           If Dean wanted to encourage attention, he’d have dressed like him. Mesh shirt with uneven holes, some stretched wider than most. Its woven fabric failed at hiding the sweat that dampened his obviously spray-tanned skin, strips of orange paint peeling like a rind. The bartender wiped his brow, a streak of bright white skin revealed. “A strawberry margarita.”

           “Of course,” Dean nodded at the selection behind him, “got anything that doesn’t taste too… sugary?” A frown dragged every wrinkle and crease forward on the bartender’s face. He clarified, “A beer. What beer do you have?”

           They didn’t have any. Dean asked for a vodka neat, Sam criticizing his choice as the bartender retreated. “You’re so boring.” That was three vodka neats ago.

           Sam left his station beside Dean soon after his first drink, swept away in the tide of bodies pulsing in the center of the club. Each individual moving to a different beat. Their dancing unsyncopated and wild. Yet, despite how hopeless it looked, bodies acting independently from one another, the writhing mass shared one mind. Although, even assimilated by the crowd, Dean can keep track of his little brother. Head poking free of the mass like some odd periscope. Scanning every few seconds until their gazes met and then submerging once more.

           Dean isn’t searching for him now. He studies his small puddle of definitely-vodka. He swiped his finger through it earlier and sucked it dry; cheeks hollow, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. Dean heard someone’s glass shatter over the wretched din of noise, timed perfectly with his finger popping out of his mouth like a burst bubble. The sharp smell of alcohol fries his nose hairs. It dulls the throbbing ache caused by his surroundings, Dean’s frayed nerves sparking underneath, jumping like live wires since Sam detailed their plans for this evening.

           “You wanna go to a gay bar?”

           Sam rolled his eyes with so much force they rattled inside his skull like a novelty magic eight-ball, his hazel gaze landing on him, answer written neatly, ‘It is decidedly so’. Dean shook it again, scoffing. The answer changed. Not in Dean’s favor. ‘Yes – definitely’.

           “Why?” Dean leaned across their small table, “Are you…?” He asks with a wry twist of his lips and a limp wrist.

           “I don’t know,” Sam told him.

           “You don’t know? Isn’t that a requirement for a – a gay bar?”

           “Not necessarily,” he explained, sitting across from Dean finally. Sam’s windbreaker swooshed with every dramatic sweep of his arm. “I mean… sure, most of the people there are gay. But it’s not like they make you flash some official gay card at the door…” Expression pinched, he powered head, avoiding the conversational detour and sticking to the main highway of his argument. “Besides, there’s more than just gay.”

           Dean nodded, “Like what?”

           “Bisexual, Pansexual… Asexual, Demisexual –“

           “I think I might be that,” Dean laughed, tongue swiping over his bottom lip. “It means you’re attracted to Demi Moore, right? Because if Kutcher weren’t in the picture, I’d definitely be all up in her business!”

           “Don’t be an ass, Dean,” Sam said, “Demisexuality is a real thing, okay? It’s only being attracted to people who you have a deep, intimate bond with.”

           “Oh, is that so?” He stretched his legs out from beneath the table, knocking into Sam’s. “That what you’re learning in college? I thought you wanted to be a lawyer. Or were you a bit presumptuous when you made that e-mail, lawboy?”

           “I still do,” Sam muttered, cheeks tinted a dark shade. “I… it was one of these classes I have to take, for my degree. Made me think about things I never knew about and – and stuff I said that, looking back, was… kind of offensive. That we joked about, what dad would say, sometimes…” Dean tuned Sam out partly, a refreshing static separating him from Sam’s words. Standard whenever Sam mentioned their dad, or if he saw something that reminded him of dad, or if dad cared enough to leave a voicemail for Sam on their shared answering machine. The little antenna on his brain’s radio drooped slightly, making Dean fiddle for the signal. He managed to catch the remainder of Sam’s monologue, barely. “…it’s a whole new world!”

           “No, it isn’t,” Dean sighed, tiredly scrubbing his chin. “Sam, you’ve only ever liked girls.”

           “To my knowledge!” Sam insisted, “I might’ve liked a boy, possibly. Maybe. I mean… do you remember Trevor?”

           “Trevor?”

           “Y’know, Trevor,” he fumbled through his memories, silence painstakingly ticking past. The clicking of their kitchen clock suddenly, obnoxiously loud. “That kid from that town we stayed at for about two months my sophomore year of high school, up in Montana.”

           Dean remembered that town. GED burning a hole in his pocket, he bummed through town hunting for a job since dad hightailed it for a phantom thread of a lead on their mother’s murderer. Not many folks were hiring, but a stern man in a rough-hewn Stetson and bushy mustache needed an extra ranch hand. Introduced Dean to his son, Dean’s new co-worker. Steve was a nice boy, older than him by a few years, with a warm temperament, skin tanned like leather from a life of fieldwork, and legs bent further than Dean’s by riding horses since birth.

           One day while tending the horses, Steve noticed how Dean’s focus drifted every few seconds, drawn to the saddles. “We can go for a ride,” he mentioned, “one night, around the property.”

           “I wouldn’t even know how to get on a horse, let alone ride it.”

           Steve chuckled, shoulders barely shaking from the act. His honeyed eyes were earnest and gooey in the filtered sunlight, distracting Dean more than saddles ever did. “I can show you,” he said, “it ain’t too hard.” He proved that by using their lunch break to teach Dean how to mount a horse. He demonstrated it, legs wrapping around its thick flanks, showboating and urging the steed forward by tapping his heels while Dean laughed, head dizzy from spinning, following Steve and the horse, as well as other things. “Think you can try it?” Dean didn’t. He shook his head, lip trapped between his teeth. Speaking felt blasphemous in that moment. “What if I helped?” Steve offered a hand, easily hefting Dean up atop the horse. They shared the saddle, Dean bracketed by Steve’s sturdy arms and supported by his firm chest. Dean felt every tug of the reigns as Steve guided the horse around the stable, and every whispered breath along his neck. Steve dismounted first, holding Dean’s hips and helping him down later. “Now imagine how nice that’d be, out on the plains, with nothing but the moon watching us?” He painted a pretty picture, even if Dean’s copied brushstrokes were shaky and inelegant. They made plans the following Friday.

           John returned Tuesday, and they left Wednesday. He’d never been near a horse since.

           But they weren’t talking about Steve. Why did he think of Steve? “Trevor?” Dean repeated, still unsure what Sam’s flailing meant.

           “My lab partner,” he said, “We bonded over our mutual appreciation of Vince Vincente and the Goonies… there were some days he’d give me the extra sandwich his mom packed, for some reason?”

           “You mean to tell me you had a crush on this Trevor kid?”

           “I might have!” Sam rose, shouting, “He was… he treated me well, and I liked hanging around him.”

           “He was your friend, Sam. Friend,” Dean sunk deeper into his seat, kicking Sam’s abandoned chair. “You have had friends in your life, right? I know I joke about you being a loser, but I never really meant it…”

           “Of course I had friends,” he scowled, “I have friends.”

           “And you’ve had girlfriends,” Dean reminded him, “Hell, you and Jess only broke up about a month ago! Did Trevor give you feelings like Jess did?”

           Sam visibly faltered, stooping slightly. Footing lost as the ground trembled beneath his feet. “Well… no, I mean – not, not that I can recall…” Spluttering, his hands balled tighter into fists. “But maybe it’s different, feelings for a boy and – and feelings for a girl.”

           “Sam, feelings are feelings regardless of who’s on the other end of ‘em. You just… you just know –“

           Like he regressed two decades, Sam stomped his foot in a very childish way. Whining, “God, Dean, can’t you be a little supportive!” Immediately his face stretched in regret, rubber band snapping as he leaped forward in years to his appropriate age. It didn’t matter; the barb struck exactly where it intended, puncturing soft underbelly, unguarded by Dean’s calloused defenses.

           Dean stiffened; gaze drawn to a whorl in the table’s finish. His thumb pressed hard at its center. He snorted, but it sounded more like an engine backfiring. “Supportive huh?” he asked, smile wide and wry, “You want me to be more supportive?” Thousands of examples flickered like a clip reel in his mind. Small things. Dean skipping breakfast so Sam can eat the last of their cereal. Wearing the same clothes, weeks on end, because Sam needed a new wardrobe, reedy body bigger than what they had. Risking arrest with every five-finger discount or hustled game or back alley trick; supporting the way their dad couldn’t.

           Bigger things. Lying, letting Sam play over at other kids’ houses; Dean frozen, watching the door in fear their dad came home early. Hiding letters from admissions for Sam, secreted from beneath their dad’s nose. He was an ever-present figure during those last few years. A shadowy patrol that continually followed since they were old enough. Dad had more use for men then children. Dean went as far as distracting him one starless night while Sam escaped, then accepted the consequences of his actions. He joined Sam weeks later with Baby’s keys and a split lip caused by, who he described to Sam as, some jackass biker. It healed in time for an interview, for a job he still has. Six days a week spent under the hoods of cars, working long hours and earning money to support them both, like before. Giving Sam the very freedoms he’d been denied – time, luxury, and safety.

           He held these words firm in his mouth, smoke bitter as it roiled. But, in his next breath, Dean released the past with a low hiss. Darkness rising, dissipating. “It’s okay,” he assured Sam, cutting off his rambling apologies. “Really.” He glanced at Sam’s outfit, fully taking in his choices. A color-blocked jacket of bright colors, reds, yellows, and oranges, that glowed over his tight, dark button-down. A hint of some printed graphic peeking behind the half-zippered flaps. Combined with a pair of Sam’s most distressed denim and flip-flops because It’s California, Dean, and you know how awful my feet sweat. As a whole Sam presented like a grade-A douchebag. Entirely unprepared for any bar, let alone a gay one. Dean’s instincts kicked into overdrive.

           “Fine,” he decided, standing, too, “you want supportive? Then I’m coming with you.”

           “What?” Sam trailed Dean’s wake as he left for his bedroom, cornering him while he slipped into some ratty white sneakers left by his dresser. “You’re coming?”

           “Sure.”

           “But… why?” Sam slammed his hand on Dean’s doorframe, blocking his exit. “You’re not gay.”

           Dean frowned at him, “I thought you didn’t have to be gay to go to a gay bar?”

           “Yeah, but –“ He knocked Sam’s arm loose, passing his brother on the way towards the door. Sam followed, buzzing behind like a mosquito. “You don’t seriously wanna go, do you?”

           “Obviously not,” Dean said, sliding into an oversized leather jacket. Another relic of their dad’s. Dean couldn’t leave without it. He couldn’t explain why. “But since you’re insisting on doing this, I might as well make sure you don’t get taken advantage of.”

           “That won’t happen.”

           “You kidding? A guy like you, wobbling around like a fawn – a sort of gay Bambi… you’d get eaten alive instantly. Or drugged.” He squeezed Sam’s shoulder, the finger of his other hand pressed into his brother’s chest like it was an intercom button, pushing so forcefully Dean thought it might burst through the other side. “I don’t need the stress of finding out you died at this gay bar because some idiot overestimated the amount of roofies they’d need to take down your elephant-sized ass.”

           Sam cringed at his worst-case scenario but hadn’t shrugged his hand off. Instead he returned the gesture with his own comforting touch around Dean’s wrist. “Okay,” Sam said, “you can come. Don’t embarrass me though, by being an ass.”

           “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

           “Hey,” Sam said later, Baby idling in front of a red light. Zeppelin blaring through her speakers, making conversation difficult. Dean lowered it for his brother. “What’d you think dad’d say, if he knew where we were going?”

           Dad’s opinion, of his two sons wasting their night in a gay bar, would ruffle the feathers of Sam’s newfound sensitivity. He hears their dad’s voice clearly, delivering a tirade about their terrible choices. Dean spent his time at the bar drowning that voice since arriving. He drains his fourth-or-fifth glass of its contents. It all splashes like the others, into his empty, churning stomach. Dad’s voice, the awful music, his nerves and senses slip out of mind. He sees dregs of vodka left in his glass. He uses the same finger that swiped through the tiny bar puddle and swirls it there, coating in in more vodka. Again, Dean sucks on his finger.

           Someone approaches while his lips graze knuckle.

           “If you get tired of that finger…” a stranger says on his right, reeking of cherry-and-liquored stink. Dean’s face scrunches at the smell. “I’ve got this big thing you can suck on…” His gaze wanders to where the stranger is.

           He’s a man with severely gelled hair, plastered back. A few strands were missed in the initial sweep and clung to his forehead, shiny and wet, making it seem like oil slowly bled down. He chokes on a gold chain that resembles a collar, broad neck seizing as he breathes. Steroids, Dean wagers, given how bulging veins snake past the sleeves of his stretched-thin shirt. Which makes him doubt the man’s ‘big’ claim. He arches a stupidly perfect, sculpted brow, leaning far past the bubble of Dean’s personal space. “You’d definitely have a lot more fun than playing with your finger,” he adds, taking Dean’s silence as an apparent invitation.

           He can’t remember when his finger slid free, but it did and, while spit-slick, jabs at Roidy’s brick-wall chest. “Not interested pal,” he says, “Why don’t you try a different fella?”

           “What if I don’t want a different fella?”

           “Then you are s’stupid as you look.” Dean waves, flagging the bartender for his next vodka. “Why don’t you take your big package crap elsewhere?”

           Undeterred, Roidy leans closer. Fingertips ghosting where Dean holds his glass as the bartender refills it. He tenses, squirming, imagining the very oil that drips from the man’s head coats his fingers, too, and through his touch smears it around Dean’s wrist. “Listen, you might not know this… but I made a promise tonight. That I would fuck the hottest, sexiest piece of trade in the club tonight. And congratulations… that’s you.”

           Dean squints, mockingly cooing at the other’s assessment. “I feel honored,” he says, sarcasm heavy like the hand pouring his drinks this evening. “Special, even,” Dean continues, “don’t know how anyone could turn y’away after that.”

           “No one does.”

           “Then I guess I’ll be the first?” Dean asks. The bartender huffs softly under breath, he and Dean reveling silently. They connect over this interloper’s antics. With a subtle shift in the bartender’s gaze, a snide flash of teeth, Dean understands. He’s not the first, only the latest. Certainly not the last.

           What he wants to be, though, is left alone. That doesn’t seem likely. Not with how Roidy gloms onto Dean’s side, an arm curling around his shoulders. Not if his biting smile meant anything, tearing through Dean’s dismissals. Not as Roidy whispers, barely audible because of the music, “If you’re going for discreet, I can do that… play along, that is. It wouldn’t be worth it if it were easy…”

           Dean’s mood sinks under such nauseating charms. He looks for assistance in the bartender, but he swam to safer shores at some point, serving drinks elsewhere. Unfortunate. He was starting to like him.

           Roidy snuffles Dean’s neck, alarms clanging within his head. Or possibly it’s coming from the many speakers placed throughout the bar. Either way that plus everything he drank, make thinking complicated and tortuously slow, like Roidy nosing along his collarbone. His thoughts fall apart before they make it to his mouth, Dean opening and shutting and opening his mouth hoping a few words can crawl themselves into existence. He manages a few garbled syllables that are greatly ignored.

           As swiftly as Roidy began his assault, he’s being tugged off him. Dean gasps for breath, spinning, facing the dancefloor now. Glaring at Roidy who glares elsewhere, at the owner of the hand that cleaved this growth from Dean’s side.

           It’s beautiful, for a hand. Tan, palm curled around Dean’s shoulder protectively. No cuts or scabs across the knuckles, nor any scars. If he were to touch it, he imagines the skin there is soft and smooth. Dean’s gaze travels, curious who might own such a gentle hand.

           Chasing the sinewy lines of his savior’s arms to broad shoulders, Dean feels his chest tighten in a desperate need for fresh air. However, it’s not terrifying like before with Roidy. This is unique and comforting. He inhales, then exhales. He has no trouble breathing. He still feels that tightness. Crushing once he finds his savior’s face.

           Marble. Statues are carved from stone – marble, specifically – he remembers from an old teacher’s droned lecture that returned with vengeance. Spoken during a field trip to some museum where Dean barely stayed awake as they flew room to room, always seconds from collapsing, waking momentarily for the next exhibit. Except when they entered a room of statues, and Dean managed fifteen minutes of attentiveness. Aided by chiseled features of a statue hidden between two columns near the farthest corner of the room. A man, naked, endowed, frozen in repose and staring into the distance. It might have been at a bathroom door, Dean’s memory supplied, but the statue saw beyond such borders. Dean wished he knew what existed where only statues can see. All he understood was the expression. Marble evoked steel. The statue displayed determination, tempered and ready for whatever barrels forward, with a hint of sorrow he must greet what is to come. The same expression shone on his savior’s face triggering his sudden recollection. Only his was brighter because of those eyes. An incomparable blue.

           On first glance, Dean wonders if that statue perhaps came alive. Journeyed from wherever it stood, in that town whose name he can’t summon up, to save him. Except that’s impossible. That statue is most likely there, forever guarding the bathroom. Blue Eyes is a man with his own history, parallel to Dean’s until he jumped in playing hero. But why?

           He can’t think of a reasonable explanation, because Blue Eyes finally speaks. “Hey babe,” he growls, Dean jolting from the pitch, like he stepped, shoeless, on glass shards littering the floor. An abundance of them must slip loose from Blue Eyes’ mouth whenever it opens after they shredded his vocal cords. “Sorry I’m late, traffic was crazy.”

           What?

           “What?”

           “Didn’t you get my text?” he asks Dean. Then, subtly checking on Roidy who watches, fuming from the sidelines, he makes an odd clicking sound. “Or were your hands full, and you couldn’t check?”

           “His hands were full all right,” Roidy interrupts, not waiting for Dean’s response. He tries shoving Blue Eyes back, but he refuses to budge. His strength real and not decorative like Roidy’s. He falters slightly; adjusts course and snags a fistful of Blue Eyes’ white button-down in case Blue Eyes wastes energy trying what Roidy did. “Why don’t you leave and let your babe hang with someone who’s there when he needs him?”

           Blue Eyes squints, lips slowly stretching, like a match dragged across a striker, until the flame of a smirk dances into view. “I can assure you, that’s exactly who I am. Wouldn’t you agree?”

           He does. He should. Blue Eyes listens for Dean’s answer, chin dipped patiently. Roidy’s is, as well. Both wait on him, Dean the difference between favor and disgrace. It’s a non-decision. He eases into his savior’s warmth, improvising by slipping his thumb through a belt loop on the other side. “Exactly,” Dean says, “you’re all I need, sweetie.”

           Dean knows there’s no reason to turn from Blue Eyes. Temptation wins, and he chances a peek at the loser. Roidy fumes, his sneer somehow making him appear uglier. He wipes at his brow, disrupting those few, sticky strands, and reveals covered pockmarks. They appear horn-like, in the bar’s dim lighting. That cherry-and-liquor scent sours, suddenly pungent like rotten eggs. “Whatever,” he mutters, letting Blue Eyes go, “your boyfriend’s a fucking tease.”

           “Go fuck yourself,” Dean drawls, laughing, squeezing Blue Eyes tighter. Encouraged by his presence. “At least you’ll know it’s consen-u-tal!”

           Roidy departs dreadfully, saluting them with his middle finger. Dean responds with a raised glass that quickly empties itself down his throat. Slumping onto the bar, releasing Blue Eyes, Dean motions for the bartender’s return. “Hey,” he slurs, “another vodk-eh and, uh…” He scowls, studying the rack, an array of alcohol lined up. “Shit, man,” he asks his savior, “what’s your poison?”

           “Tequila,” Blue Eyes tells the bartender, frowning at Dean, “You sure you’re good for this?”

           “What’s that s’posed to mean?”

           “That you look like you’ve had enough.” Blue Eyes accepts the glass of tequila, tapping its rim against his chin, lime wedge hitting the corner of his quirked lips. “How many of those vodkas have you had?”

           “’Bout this many,” he answers, hand open. Dean hums, considering the number. “Maybe one or two more. Or less? I must’ve lost count…” He shrugs, sipping at his latest drink. “S’okay, though, I once drank this meathead trucker under the table. A whole bottle of ol’ Jack at this… roadhouse off a highway somewhere east a’here.” Vodka sloshes with each gesture while he retells the story. “So I’ve got tolernance.”

           “Clearly.” Blue Eyes chuckles, and Dean – not sure for what reason – joins him. He can’t hear much of it, but the bits of his laughter that break over the bar’s chaotic din make Dean giddy. “Thank you,” he nods at his tequila, “for the drink.”

           “Hey, I’m the one thankin’ here buddy,” Dean says, “I don’t know what I’d’ve done if you hadn’t stepp-epped in when you did. Probably somethin’ punchy.”

           “He would have deserved it,” he finally tips his glass back. Dean’s Adam’s apple bobs in rhythm with Blue Eyes’, even if his drink rests miles away on the bar top. “Hey,” Blue Eyes continues, smiling, fiddling with the lime wedge, “what’s your name?”

           “Why you wanna know?”

           “Well, usually I know the names of the men who buy me drinks. Especially those who buy them for me after I’ve scared off pervy creeps.”

           “You make a habit of this, then?”

           “No,” Blue Eyes says, “you’re the first.”

           Unlike with Roidy, Dean believes him. “Dean.”

           “Castiel,” he reveals, simultaneously sticking the lime in his mouth. Teeth locked around it, he drains the wedge of its juice. Dean blushes, and the rush of blood to his head brings dizziness. Resting one hand on the bar doesn’t help. Neither does two. Castiel finishes his drink, placing the glass and shriveled lime near Dean’s hands, and yet his sudden lightheadedness persists.

           Castiel must notice this queasiness, because he grazes Dean’s elbow. Uses words Dean cannot presently grasp. A wave of concern sweeps across Castiel’s features, transforming them. Drawing Dean closer, lost in his orbit.

           A diversion is necessary. “So, Cas,” he starts, their faces inches from each other. To talk easier. “You gay?”

           “Uh…” Belatedly, Dean realizes his stupidity. His jaw drops, as if he can vacuum the question back. Pretend he never said it. Castiel, looking saintly under the bar’s neon glow, recovers faster. Replies before Dean might withdraw. “Yeah, yes I’m… I’m gay. Be pretty weird if I wasn’t.”

           “I must be pretty weird, huh,” Dean thinks aloud. He smacks his lips. They taste oddly like a morning where, after playing some hilarious prank on Sam, he came to with old socks stuffed into his duct taped mouth.

           Castiel skews his head to the side. “Why are you weird?”

           “Because…” It’s a bad idea. He recognizes how bad an idea this is. However, recognition and action are completely separate. And while he succeeds in the former, he fails spectacularly with the latter. “I’m not gay.” Then, slurring, he whisper-shouts, “I’m straaaaight.”

           “Really…” Castiel skims through tens of emotions Dean cannot discern with his vodka-addled brain. He settles on detachment, the tightness within his chest loosening as Cas inches backwards. Dean, instinctively, floats closer. That strain returns tenfold, like a python coiled itself around Dean. Squeezes him until Castiel bumps into a patron, bringing their chests flush together. Dean likes it even if he cannot breathe. Castiel smiles, but it’s noticeably different than those previously gifted. “If you’re straight, why are you at a gay bar?”

           “You don’t have to be gay to be in a gay bar,” Dean supplies.

           “It’d be a real plus though.” He barely caught Castiel’s mumbling. He can’t question what was meant, because Castiel clears his throat and repeats his question. “Why did you choose a gay bar for the evening?”

           Dean glances at the dance floor. Sam hadn’t left, enmeshed between writhing bodies. “I’m not here for me. My brother – he thinks he’s gay… or somethin’ like it,” he tells Castiel, snorting when someone other than Sam rakes a paw through his hair. Awkwardness flashes like lightning, disappearing behind forced puppy-dog features and Sam’s too-wide grin. “He’s here expermimenting while I’m the… uh – the moral support.”

           Castiel’s face publicizes his thoughts. The lines of his face twitch in simple patterns that are already familiar to Dean. And the pools of his eyes reflect the subdued variety of his feelings, providing needed transparency. With this change of his features, Dean guesses Castiel’s tensed mouthline and wishbone-bent eyebrows meant awe and respect. “That’s… very nice of you.”

           “Least I can do,” Dean shrugs, tasting sock once more, “it’s not like I’ll need’ta do more. Kid’s straight as a… straight thing.”

           Those pearled emotions seal themselves tightly in a clamshell, Castiel sending them back into murky depths. “How would you know?”

           “Because I’ve known the kid all m’life, Cas. He’s a shit liar… at least to me he is.” Dean settles against the bar, past resurfacing. A clear memory from their younger years. Sam never finishing his dinners, but somehow dropping a clean plate into the trashcan every time. Followed by a question, like clockwork, about taking a walk. “Around the motel,” he said, “nothing further.” His father’s rules. Never plainly set, but strictly enforced. Dean learned of them the hard way. Sam agreed, not even fighting like he usually did. Maybe that’s why, one night, he left their motel a beat after Sam. Dean kept close tabs on his brother. Not stopping him as he disobeyed orders and crossed the street, nor when a crowd of adults poured out of some ritzy venue, stares scathing as he passed. He maintained distance, only toeing nearer as Sam slowed for a better view of the alleyway he paused at, of a three-legged dog hobbling out of a cardboard box, tongue lolling, tail wagging. Sam greeted him in similar fashion, kneeling at the edge where light and shadows gathered. He pet and pet and pet this stray, stopping only to reveal the portion of dinner he hadn’t eaten wrapped in several paper towels. Dean scurried off in the direction of the motel, asking Sam how his walk was once he returned. He relates all this to Castiel. “Sam loved dogs. Always wanted one assa pet…” If this was his chance, Dean figured he might help. Became more lenient. Gave Sam food from his plate, not that he ever noticed. Lied to John during those rare moments he was home.  “Most of the things he got away with were only because I let him. I’m sure if he ever wanted a boyfriend he could’ve done it, and there I’d be covering his tracks like I did for his dog an’ his playdates an’ his girlfriends.”

           “Wow, you…” Castiel trails off. Or perhaps he completed his thought, and Dean missed it because their arms are pressed together on the bar. Dean turns, watching the other’s soft contemplation instead of Sam. Castiel meets his gaze, those pearls reappearing. Shinier, too. “What happened to the dog?”

           “Sam dropped off food the next two weeks, but by then our dad was dying to move on,” he explains, “I happened to overhear him bitchin’ on the phone and knew it’d be soon. So I took a personal day and brought his mutt t’the nearest shelter.” Hopefully Patchy found a good home, not that he cared.

           “You’re a good brother.”

           “I try my best.”

           “Your best is better than a lot of people’s…” Castiel knocks his shoulder into Dean’s, Dean chasing after it. “My brothers’ idea of kindness is the occasional birthday e-mail, when the mood strikes them that is.”

           “That sucks.” There’s more he wants to say, except Dean cannot make his mouth open again. When he finally unsticks his lips, he forgot all those words that seemed important moments ago. Replaced by off-tempo notes and cyclical phrases. Dean sighs, head lolling to the side while his lids slide closed over his eyes.

           He exists in darkness. A warm, welcoming blackness, like being swaddled in a blanket. Hiding under it while winds howled and raged, sheets of rain slamming atop roofs and pelleting windows. Safe, protected.

           That blanket is torn from him, Dean stumbling slightly. Castiel catches him and helps him stand upright, smirking. “Hey,” Dean whines, numb fingers twining loosely around Castiel’s wrist, “where you goin’?”

           Castiel nods at the writhing mass, somehow larger since Dean last looked. “I feel like dancing.”

           “No…” Dean tugs Castiel back towards him. He stays where he was. “Stay here,” Dean insists.

           “Or…” Castiel says, prying Dean’s hand from his wrist. His needy fingers seep through the spaces between Castiel’s and he clings tight. “Or,” he repeats, breathier than before, “you can join me on the dancefloor?”

           “I don’t dance, Cas…” His legs betray him, following Castiel into the fray. Vodka making his protests toothless. Vodka and Castiel.

           He meant what he said, though. He does not dance. Men don’t dance. Real men. Normal men. Dad never danced, not even at his wedding. Even though mom begged, dad would tell them that he remained firm in his decision. “Never trust a man who dances,” he advised, Sam asleep feet from where they sat, beers in their hands. Dean was fourteen. “No man wants to dance. If he’s dancing, it means he’s weak enough to have lost that fight. And if he likes dancing, then that’s not the kind of man you want to be associating with.” Dean nodded, because at fourteen why not? Dad rarely gave guidance that wasn’t pointed, aimed directly at him. Cutting, slicing bits and pieces off and leaving them behind in whatever motel they briefly occupied.

           With how Castiel moves, effortless and graceful, Dean bets he likes dancing. And if Castiel likes dancing, Dean wonders, truly, how bad it can be.

           You want these people thinking you’re some kind of fairy? They already have, before he walked onto the dance floor. No son of mine is gonna dance with a man! Luckily, he won’t be dancing with one. He’ll dance, surrounded by men. Do you want to look gay, Dean? He won’t. Not if he says he doesn’t. Not if he says he isn’t.

           A kid from his junior high days taught him that. How, by telling yourself what you do isn’t gay, suddenly you create your own version of truth. “Not for everything,” he warned. He paused, panting, as he – like Dean – recovered on the leather couch. Spent, video paused on his basement television, shorts – like Dean’s – around his ankles, “it doesn’t work all the time.”

           “But for this?” Dean asked.

           “Definitely this.”

           Dean listened; those sacred words used sparingly over time. Mostly during clouded nights when the money ran out, as did their supplies, and Dean’s skills at the pool table or poker game couldn’t compare to those of his body.

           He uses the words again. This isn’t gay. Castiel spins him, his chest plastered onto Dean’s back. He tries phrasing it differently. Dancing isn’t gay. Dean takes his free hand, the one not latched onto Castiel, and mirrors an earlier action he saw. Combs his fingers through Castiel’s dark brown locks. He amends and adds to it, too. Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing in this bar. That appeases the monster clawing at his mind, its voice, eerily similar to his dad’s, fading away. Dean smiles, then lets go.

           The music isn’t so bad. Dancing isn’t as bad, either. Castiel is…

           Dean focuses only on the music and dancing. It’s easy, losing himself in the rhythm. Forgetting who he is, where he is, and why he is where he is. He becomes nameless, another body in motion. Faceless as the strobe lights flicker and hide his features. Thoughtless, no room for anything besides what he hears. Dean doesn’t exist save for moments that jab at his awareness. Castiel squeezing his hand. The feel of hair then stubble then hair as his touch roams. Gasps at the base of his neck that elicit headier gasps from Dean. Firm press of chest-to-back, joined hands resting over his heart while Castiel’s free hand lays atop Dean’s stomach as they rock together.

           Dancing is the least gay thing he can be doing at this bar.

           While it fascinates Dean, Castiel must tire of their arrangement, because he disturbs Dean’s oblivion by turning from back-to-chest to chest-to-chest. The wrong move, Dean thinks, as his vision blurs in such a violent way. The room spins and tilts long after he did, everything appearing off-balance. Save for Castiel, standing in front of him, not dancing anymore.

           That’s why he throws his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, Dean’s mind comforts him with seconds later. For safety. For stability. Since he, too, wasn’t dancing anymore. His legs were useless, bent further than normal. Making him smaller. Forcing him to angle his head upwards to meet his savior’s searching gaze. Lips parted silently, asking a question with the ghost of his breath. Dean thinks he hears an invitation.

           He accepts. Dives headfirst into it, vodka mixing with tequila and a spritz of lime. Castiel tastes better than any drink he’s had. He puts pressure on Castiel’s shoulder, climbing for easier access. Castiel helps; an arm braced around Dean’s waist steadies him. Guides their bodies into a holding pattern, a simple sway that won’t interfere with the others cavorting around them. Serenity made within the chaos of a raging sea; these waves don’t crash. Rather, they tenderly caress the shoreline before retreating in similar fashion. A line of sea foam, like the line of spit generously coating Dean’s mouth, the only proof it even hit.

           Dean breaks from their kiss, panting. His forehead rests against Castiel’s. “That was…” he pauses, testing each word he thinks of and ultimately rejecting them all since they fail to describe what happened. He settles for, “Wow.”

           “It was,” Castiel agrees, “Why’d you stop, then?”

           “I stopped?” Dean sifts through his memories, those last few minutes entirely unforgettable but completely hard to recount. “I did?” he whispers, “Maybe it’s because I’m straight?”

           “Are you sure?”

           “I…” He can be, if he says so. Unfortunately, Dean forgets those little magic words. Trapped in limbo, the space between truths. “I’m not… I don’t know.”

           Cas steps back, enough that Dean sees his entire face instead of those enchanting blue eyes. It eases the worry plaguing Dean’s mind. “Did you enjoy what just happened? What we did?”

           “Yeah.”

           “Then you certainly aren’t straight.”

           Dean nods. He swallows a lump in his throat, feels it tear itself down into his stomach. He imagines blood spouting out of these gashes, building, climbing up in an escape attempt. He chokes on it. It might not be blood. Maybe-blood-maybe-drool leaks from the corners of his mouth as he asks, in a daze, “Does that mean I’m gay?”

           “Or something like it.” Castiel reaches forward, combing through Dean’s sweaty hair in time with the music. “Hey,” he says, “it’s okay if you are. That you like… that you kissed me. It’s okay.”

           It isn’t. Dean knows it isn’t. Not for him. Not with all that’s expected of him. The blueprint of who he’s supposed to be. Who Dean Winchester is. Torn to shreds and raining overhead like the actual confetti that floats down from high above. That were released without notice. Dropped there while he stands, in the middle of the dance floor, petrified by another man’s kiss. Dad’s efforts wasted.

           “It’s okay,” Castiel repeats, “it’s okay…” He drifts further away; but before Dean can whine about his absence, he realizes his feet move, too. Castiel leads him from the belly of this ecstatic, partying mob.

           “Where are you taking me?”

           “Nowhere far, just off the dance floor.” They reach the perimeter, crowd thinned and weak; Cas releases his hold on Dean. Shrugs his shoulders, blessedly smiling at him. “Where you go and... what you do next, well – that’s up to you.”

           He’s unprepared for such freedoms. The simplicity of making a choice. A foreign concept when all your life, every decision was already made for you. For other people. Keys don’t choose which doors they open. Hammers don’t make plans on which nails they’ll hit and which they’ll avoid.

           Dean giggles, overcome by an intoxicating rush of getting to choose without any real consequence. No judgement, no threats, no guilt. If Dean told Castiel that kiss meant nothing and then bolted out of the bar, he would never have to deal with these conflicting thoughts, actions, and feelings. Never need to see Castiel again.

           That isn’t what he wants.

           Dean embraces the confusion because he, Dean, wants to. He kisses Castiel, driving them forward until they hit a wall, because he wants to. Tells him, “I want you,” because he does. Because it’s the truth.

           And Castiel’s truth, “You can have me,” slots perfectly next to his.

           Dean is intimately familiar with the art of kissing. Spent years practicing with ever-changing partners; girls from all over who were probably as bored as Dean felt. Girls who his dad saw and made him beam with pride. Enough girls, so that he called Dean names – different than the ones he thought Dean didn’t know about – like lady killer and chip off the ol’ block. Girls that were good kissers, bad kissers, and mostly unremarkable whatsoever. Dean lost his appetite for kissing, the act not being very fun for him. Not something he might look forward to, even if he said the right things and acted his part perfectly.

           Kissing Castiel wasn’t good. Wasn’t bad. Not unremarkable in the slightest. It elevated the idea of kissing onto another level. A holy act. Placing Castiel on the same level as all his previous entanglements would be similar to heresy.

           This isn’t just a kiss. It’s Dean sticking his face into a fuse box with all the switches flicked on. It’s Dean stepping out into a storm without an umbrella. It’s riding down an empty highway, no cops in sight, and abusing the gas pedal until the speedometer needle vanishes.

           This kiss is apocalyptic, destroying the notion that anyone besides they two existed.

           A hand joins the two roving his body, shaking his arm. Dean laughs, “How’d you do that, Cas?”

           “Dean,” Not-Cas says, “hey, uh… Dean?” He turns, Castiel’s lips adorning his jaw with favor, and finds Sam on his other side. Watching. Aware of what he interrupted, given his pained smile and squinted gaze trapped elsewhere. “Sorry, but I’m…” he clears his throat, “I’m kinda ready to leave, if you… you are?”

           His fingers curl where Castiel’s shirt is rucked up, dangerously teasing the line of his jeans. Castiel rolls his hips, rutting their cocks against each other again. “Yeah,” he tells Sam, “Yeah I can… we can go.”

           Dean extracts himself from Castiel, slowly, taking care to disentangle themselves. Dean flattens Castiel’s mussed hair. He fiddles with the buttons of Dean’s shirts, inexplicably unfastened. Neither speak of how these things happened. “Hey,” he starts, still hovering inside the other man’s personal space, “Um… thank you, for everything. Tonight. From the bar to – uh… to he –!”

           Castiel drags him into a kiss, one Dean returns heartily. His hands grabbing fabric while Castiel’s dance around his hips. Consumed by this, Dean ignores his cell phone being stolen. Only becomes aware of it when Castiel ends their goodbye with a smile, Dean’s phone in hand actively calling someone. “My number,” he explains, flipping his phone shut, “to use whenever. Hopefully soon.”

           “…Thanks.”

           “Good night, Dean.”

           “Night, Cas.”

           He lingers. He opens his phone, closes it, then slips it back into his pocket. Sam mutters an unintelligible phrase at them, shoving Dean from where he stood. Dean blindly navigates his way towards the exit, seeing nothing but Castiel’s shrinking face that disappears once they step outside.

           He expected heat. It’s cold. Not actually, but cooler than the room they left, where bodies and light and energy broke the thermometer. Fresh air brushes his skin, startling Dean from his stupor. Dean jolts awake. His heart plummets down past his ass, chest hollowing. He glances at Sam, about to ask if they ever entered the bar. Or if he hallucinated everything on the walk to it. Dean’s lips purse, then flatten. Sam already walked ahead. He jogs after him.

           No one speaks for half their journey.

           They pass a twenty-four-hour convenience store Dean remembers, and he knows Baby waits a block around the next corner. Sam chooses then to restart their conversation. “Looks like this trip was good for both of us,” he says, hands shoved inside his pockets. He won’t meet Dean’s eyes. “Learned a lot.”

           “Really?” He’s parched. Unbalanced. His feet won’t walk in a straight line, stumbling every few steps. He persists, “What?”

           Sam shrugs, “I might have… over-examined that memory of Trevor.” Sighing, Sam kicks an empty, abandoned can into the street. “I guess I was searching for a reason why Jess and my relationship ended like it did. We were going so strong I… I figured it might have been me. That I wasn’t able to love her the way she needed because I couldn’t.”

           “Sometimes people just don’t work,” Dean tells him, “and no amount of forcing it is gonna fix it.”

           “Yeah…” He spots Baby easily, street deserted save his car and some poor, busted Beetle. Dean searches for his keys, struggling. Sam talks all the while. “And then there are some people who… who click immediately.” Dean tenses, breath stuttering. “How long have you been –?”

           He’s back in the bar. He must be. How else could he hear this overwhelming, earsplitting ringing. The kind that makes him stagger, slump against the closest surface and collapse there into a tiny ball, protected from the voice that somehow talks louder than that goddamn ringing. The monster’s voice. The one that sounds strangely similar to his dad’s. Angrily shouting, calling him names. ��I’m not,” he said, as always, “I’m not.”

           Another sound overpowers the monster and that throbbing din. “Dean! Dean, hey… hey-hey-hey-hey Dean… it’s okay… it’s me, Sam. Sammy.” Someone touches his shoulder. Dean flinches from it. “Come on Dean… I won’t hurt you.” Their voice hitches, sounding waterlogged. “Please, Dean… wherever you think you are, you’re not. I promise. I need you, man. Sammy needs you.”

           Look out for Sammy.

           Dean forces himself into the present, a herculean feat as shadowed claws dig at him. Fight his attempts. He pries an eye open, then the other. There’s only Sam. Sam, kneeling in front of him on the sidewalk. Sam who, though he denies it, carries so much of their dad with him it makes staying calm near impossible. Dean sees a reflection of who Sam could be, that dad hoped Dean might be, that Sam wished he never would be. It was the reason why fatherly adoration came effortlessly when it was for Sam, even during days they hardly spoke. Dean acted as their go between. Hearing praise and relaying it; forever the messenger, carrying wounds and scars.

            “Dean, are you… you’re with me, right?” Dean nods, tension melting away. He slides further, knees bumping into Sam’s. A wordless comfort. “Fuck I am so… so sorry. I didn’t, I never meant –“

           “It’s okay.”

           “It’s not okay, Dean. Fuck!” His shout echoes towards the moon, filling the space left by clear California night. “What if I asked you while you were driving, we could have…”

           They might have died.

           “Shit…” Dean hisses, rubbing his throbbing head, willing its silence so he can think. He gets one minutes. He uses it wisely, handing Baby’s keys to Sam. “Take ‘em.”

           “What?”

           “I drank too much anyway.” Wobbling when he rises, Dean proves that true. “You were gonna have to take it, regardless.”

           Sam’s expression softens. In turn, Dean’s skin crawls. “Thank you.”

           “Just go start the damn car.” Dean won’t follow. Rather sharpening his defenses for the inevitable. Bad music. Lawful driving. Plaintive whines and rhetorical questions, all in an attempt at making Dean talk. About tonight. About their childhood. About signs he didn’t see, how it felt being this while in dad’s presence. Sam will push and push and push until he’s flatter than cardboard. Contents neatly organized and fit for storage.

           He hears the soft rumble of Baby’s engine, then that of his phone. A text.

Unknown Number 1 (650) 378-0914: In case you’re wondering, my name is spelled C A S T I E L ;)

           Despite what a whirlwind these past few minutes felt like, Dean laughs. Giggles become snorting which become happier tears rolling across his cheeks, tracing over still-damp lines and erasing them from sight. He clutches his phone atop his heart, figure bent as he now wheezes.

           Dean reigns in his giddiness. Stares at the message, wondering what he will do. Once Dean decides, he realizes his thumb was already halfway done.

           He saves his number under Cas <3. Dean responds, snapping his phone closed quickly before he can reread and second guess.

           Sam honks, watching with interest. A thousand questions waiting, hidden by the curious bend of his brows. Because of Castiel, Dean must face them. Will answer them. Is ready for them.

[sirrriusblack]

March 10

“No.”

“Yes!”

“Not a chance.”

“Remus John Lupin get your obnoxious ass down here this instant!”

“Oh, ‘obnoxious ass,’ how classy,” Remus called from atop the stairs. He shook his head and made his way down to Lily, dressed in a stunning green silk dress. She wanted to go clubbing. She rolled her eyes.

“What are you wearing?” She pouted, and Remus couldn’t help but smile. He was wearing the furthest outfit from a club outfit possible. Trackies, mismatching socks, an old t-shirt and a sweater with more holes than fabric. Lily grabbed his sweater from the hem and pulled it off, despite Remus’ shouts of protest and his head getting stuck in the neck. In a moment it was on the floor and Lily was dragging him back upstairs. They reached Remus’ room and he stood in the doorway as Lily began a frenzy through his wardrobe. Every few moments she would pick something up and throw it toward Remus. He didn’t catch any of the items. Finally satisfied, Lily stood up and smiled at him. He shook his head.

“It’s my birthday, shouldn’t I have a say in what we do?” he asked, amused. Lily huffed.

“Morally, yes, but I don’t particularly care. You haven’t been out in weeks!” she half-shouted. Her red hair swayed with her as she moved. Remus ran a hand through his own tangled locks and sighed.

“Fine. But I am not wearing this.” He held up a bright green floral print shirt. He didn’t even know he had owned it. Lily snorted.

* * *

“See! Isn’t this fun?” Lily’s voice was loud in Remus’ ear and he flinched. They were standing by the bar, music with too much bass pumping around them. Remus rolled his eyes. They were searching for a bartender. What kind of club doesn’t have a bartender?

“So much fun, Lils,” Remus said sarcastically. Lily whacked Remus in the shoulder.

“Shut up and smile, dickhead,” she said, right as two people came out of the back room and into the bar. At the sight of the long haired one, Remus smoothed down his hair and shirt, earning him a knowing glance from Lily. He glared right back at her. The bartender, however, didn’t spare Remus a glance. He shook his head. He shouldn’t just assume people are gay anyway. The other bartender—positively straight, Remus decided—came over instead. He looked Lily up and down and smirked.

“James,” he said, introducing himself with a wink. “What can I get for you?” he drawled, staring into her eyes. Lily blushed and Remus rolled his eyes. Regaining her composure, Lily smiled.

“Can we get two birthday specials please?” Lily glanced to Remus as he bit his lip. James leaned closer to the counter.

“Is it your birthday, darling?” his eyes glinted and Remus cleared his throat, feeling like an intruder between the two. Lily smiled sweetly.

“No, it’s Remus’,” she said, placing a hand around Remus’ arm. He grimaced. James leaned back, still smirking at Lily. He tore his eyes away like it was a difficult thing to do and looked toward the other bartender.

“Two birthday specials, Sirius,” he shouted. The bartender— Sirius— looked up. His gaze fell on Remus and he looked him up and down, causing Remus’ cheeks to burn. He thanked the flashing lights for hiding his blush.

“And just what type of birthday special would that be?” he asked, his voice husky. Remus shifted positions and pointedly ignored Lily’s amused gaze.

“The drink type you perv,” James replied, hitting Sirius with a tea towel. Remus found this compeletely ironic with the way James has been ogling Lily a second ago, but he didn’t say anything. James’ mysterious player mask had since been wiped from his face and he grinned at Remus. “Happy birthday, mate,” he said, swinging the tea towel back over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” Remus replied, but James was already at the other end of the bar. Lily took a seat one of the bar stools and looked at Remus, waiting for him to sit too. He rolled his eyes and sat, bringing his feet up onto the bars on the bottom of the stool. In a moment, Sirius had two shot glasses out and was shaking a liquid with brute force. A strand of his hair, which was now held up in a bun, fell into his eyes. Remus wished he could see what colour they were. Sirius, catching his gaze, winked and Remus quickly looked away. James was over talking to another customer, out of breath and sweaty. Remus cringed before a glass hit the wood in front of him. He looked up to see Sirius, fingers still around the glass, looking directly at him. He flashed a white toothed smile and Remus had to try very hard not to reach a hand up to touch his face. Grey. Sirius’ eyes were grey. After a moment and with another quick wink, Sirius let go of the glass and started drying glasses.

“Alright, lover boy, on the count of three,” Lily said. Remus actually looked at the drink now. In front of him was a shot glass, filled with pink liquid and lined with sugar and lemon. He picked it up.

“What’s actually in this?” he asked Lily, who shrugged. She pushed her hair over her shoulder and turned to face Remus more.

“Don’t know. I don’t think I really want to,” she admitted, which definitely didn’t make Remus appealed to the idea of drinking it. “Apparently it’s strong though,” she said. “Or maybe Alice is just weak.” Remus laughed at that. It was his birthday. He might as well.

“Okay. One... two... three,” Remus finished and drank it. Neither Remus nor Lily said anything. He looked up to see Sirius watching and looked back to Lily. She grinned.

“That was absolutely horrible,” she laughed. “No offence,” she threw back to Sirius. Remus laughed and watched Sirius smirk.

“None taken. It’s beer and lemon juice with pink food dye,” he said, laughing. “Positively dodgy,” he added, which probably wasn’t the best thing to do in interest of his job. Remus winced and looked at Lily.

“You let me drink that?” he asked. Lily smiled and nodded.

“You’ll live. Can I get just a shot of vodka?” She called to Sirius. He raised his eyebrows but nodded, walking over.

“And you?” he directed the question to Remus, who was paying notice to the silver dog tags hanging from the bartender’s neck. He blinked and tried to ignore the knowing smirk on Sirus’ perfect face.

“Uh, a whiskey on rocks, thanks,” he mumbled. He pulled at his collar, itchy and tight. Lily laughed.

“You’re such and old man,” she said. Sirius smiled at him and started making their drinks. Remus caught Lily looking over toward James, who was concentrated on wiping a spot on the bar.

“Fancy him?” Remus asked, which snapped Lily out of it. She scoffed and dragged her eyes from James.

“No,” she denied. Lily was never good at acting. “Do you fancy him?” she pat back. Remus blushes as Sirius placed both of their drinks on the counter. “Thanks,” Lily said and downed her shot. Remus was dragged into the dance floor a moment later.

* * *

Panting heavily, Lily requested another shot of vodka, this time from James. Sirius walked through the curtain leading to the back of the bar and locked eyes with Remus, who’d just sat down on a bar stool a little way away from Lily. He didn’t feel inclined to intrude on her and James’ flirting. Sirius placed a box down and started throwing out empty bottles. Remus thought back to the dance floor, where he’d spent the whole half an hour or so looking between Lily and Sirius, who’d spent the whole half hour glancing up at Remus as they danced. Sirius’ bottle duties lead him to Remus’ side of the bar.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked, flashing a smile that caused Remus to practically die. He had two options here, grow an unnatural amount of confidence in the next three seconds or shake his head and smile politely. He did the latter. He sighed and watched Sirius for a moment.

“When does your shift end?” Remus spewed, the words coming out quick and tangled. Sirius looked up and he seemed to get the gist of it. He looked over to Lily and James, still flirting. James was leaning over the bar running his hands through his hair and messing it up even more. Remus looked back to Sirius. His ear was lined with a range of silver rings and studs, and topped of with a silver sword hanging from his ear lobe. His right ear was blank. Remus’ hand went subconsciously up to the thin silver ring on his nose, and suddenly it felt very boring.

“Uh half twelve,” he replied, his voice still husky. Remus nearly sighed. Sirius wiped his palms on his apron and turned around. “So, it’s your birthday?” he asked. Remus nodded before he quickly realised that Sirius couldn’t see him. He’d gone back to throwing away the empty bottles. Over the clinking of the glass and the music—still not good enough to dance to—Remus raised his voice.

“Uh, yeah. 21st,” he said. Sirius raised a groomed eyebrow. Remus ignored the line cut in the other one.

“That’s big. You didn’t seem too excited on the dance floor.” Sirius picked up the box of glass bottles. Remus opened his mouth to reply but Sirius held up a hand and went out the back. Remus looked around the club. Some pop song he didn’t know was playing and an army of sweaty drunks were grinding against each other to it. Remus shook his head just as Sirius came back through the curtain. He looked up and down the bar to see if anyone needed serving, but James was all over it while still watching Lily. Sirius walked back to Remus and smiled.

“Sorry about that,” he said.

“It’s all good, you are at work,” Remus pointed out. Sirius nodded.

“So you were saying?” he prompted. Remus thought back.

“Oh yeah, I don’t really dance,” he said. Sirius raised his eyebrow again.

“At all?” he asked. Remus shook his head. “So there is not one song that you hear and just have to dance to?” he smirked, leaning forward to put his elbows on the bar. A chain hung from his neck and it swung with his movements. Remus thought.

“Well, I can’t confidently say that I wouldn’t at least sing along if ‘Don’t Stop Me Now’ came on,” he admitted. Sirius barked a laugh.

“Queen,” he said approvingly. Remus nodded. “I like you,” he added. Remus tried not to feel warm at that.

“What about you?” he asked instead. Sirius furrowed his brows. “A song that makes you dance,” he clarified. Sirius smiled like he hadn’t been expecting the question.

“Oh, uh... I’ve gotta say ‘I’m Still Standing’,” he admitted. Remus chuckled.

“Elton John,” he said approvingly. “I like you.” Sirius laughed. ‘I like your laugh, too,’ Remus almost added. Sirius stepped back.

“I’ve got to get another box,” he said, walking back to the curtain. Remus nodded.

“Yeah. Alright,” he said, not quite wanting Sirius to leave. He turned to Lily. Her chin rested on her palms as she watched James. Remus chuckled again and Sirius walked back in without a box. Remus looked at him, confused. He was a little bit away, so Remus wouldn’t have been able to hear him if he had tried to talk, but he tapped his wrist to let Remus know to wait a minute. He obliged, watching Sirius start making drinks for two girls a little bit down. Remus turned back to the dance floor and watched as everyone jumped around, smiling and laughing. The music died down and Remus nearly fell of his chair at what happened next. His head snapped back to Sirius, who was grinning at Remus. Don’t Stop Me Now blared over the speakers. He mouthed a quick thank you before he ran over to Lily, who had already stood up and was waiting for him. They danced for the whole song and Remus smiled wider than he had in a long while. I’m Still Standing came on next. Remus kept dancing, but he found his eyes sliding over to Sirius every few moments. When he wasn’t with a customer, he was harassing James with his dancing, singing into bottles of vodka as he mixed drinks. Remus smiled. The song ended and more generic pop songs played. Remus checked his phone. 12:24am. Lily and Remus sat back down at the bar and watched the two bartenders work under the pink and blue lights for a moment.

* * *

“Are you—“

“Do you want to—“

Remus and Lily started talking at the same time. They could barely hear each other over the music, but the point got through and they both laughed.

“You go first,” Lily shouted. Remus nodded and pushed a curl out of his eyes.

“Do you want to hang out with James?” he yelled out. Lily blinked.

“It’s your birthday,” she shouted back like that was the obvious answer. Remus shook his head.

“Technically it’s not anymore,” he stated. Lily rolled her eyes. It was past midnight and no longer his birthday.

“You’re a git.” Remus flicked her, smiling.

“Honestly I don’t care, you can hang out with him if you want.” He may or may not have been saying that so he could hang out with Sirius. Which was stupid, because Sirius probably wasn’t gay. Though he had been watching Remus, being extra nice. But he was flirting with some girls buying drinks. So no. Unless he was bi? But if he had that many options, wouldn’t he definitely be dating someone? Remus shut off his thoughts as Lily smiled.

“I kind of do,” she admitted. “But only if you’re totally okay with it.” Remus nodded. She held up a hand. “Because if you’re not one hundred percent, totally okay with—“

“Lily. Go ask him out,” Remus cut her off. She smiled.

“You have to ask him out, though,” Lily said. Remus raised his eyebrows.

“You don’t even know if he’s gay,” Remus reasoned. Lily only snorted in response.

“Bye Lupin,” she said squeezing his hand. “I love you!” she finished, walking off. Remus shook his head.

“What does that—nevermind. I love you too,” he said and watched Lily practically skip over to James.

* * *

James had murmured something to Sirius, gone out back and reappeared a moment later. He had a hoodie on in place of his apron, and had gone straight to Lily. She’d grinned and took his hand and they’d walked out the door. I’d ordered a shot of whiskey, needing it for what I was about to do.

“It’s 12:35” I said to Sirius. He nodded, pouring out my drink.

“Indeed it is. I’m waiting for Marlene,” he explained. Remus gave him an odd look.

“Co-worker. It’s her shift next,” he said, handing the shot glass over to Remus. He grabbed the glass but didn’t drink it just yet.

“Is she late often?” he asked. Sirius brushed a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Nah, not usually. She has a date with this girl she’s been in love with for like ages.” Well at least he wasn’t homophobic. He started pouring two cocktails for a guy in a bright blue shirt.

“Huh. Cool,” Remus said. Sirius hummed.

“Yeah. She just ditched you on your birthday?” he asked. Remus guessed the ‘she’ he was referring to was Lily.

“It’s not my birthday anymore,” he pointed out, earning a smirk from Sirius. “But no, I told her it was fine. She seems to really like James, which is odd, because she doesn’t like people very often,” Remus said. Sirius smiled.

“I thought she was your girlfriend at first,” he said. “I was wondering why you weren’t biting James’ head off for flirting with her,” he said. Remus laughed. He really laughed.

“Nope. Just no.” Remus couldn’t even imagine dating Lily. Sirius looked up from the cocktail glasses, which he was very carefully lining with salt.

“Gay?” he asked. He poured the drink into the glasses and handed them to blue shirt. Remus shook his head.

“Bi,” he said. Sirius nodded. “But I just... yeah I couldn’t imagine dating Lily.” Sirius smirked.

“Why not? She’s pretty,” he said like it should mean something.

“Yeah, sure, but it’s just wrong.” Remus shuddered thinking about. So, so wrong. Sirius laughed.

“I get that,” he said. Remus didn’t know what that meant. He didn’t ask, though. Instead he though of how Lily had snorted, how she’d told him to ask Sirius out. Remus downed the shot and opened his mouth, ready to talk past the burning in his chest. Ready to ask him out.

A girl rushed through the curtain suddenly, still tying her apron. There was a hickey on her neck, only just visible behind her long, platinum blonde hair. Only it didn’t look at all fake. She winced when she saw Sirius, her dark red lipstick bold against her white teeth.

“Sirius! I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so late! We just—uh... got caught up,” she chuckled nervously. Sirius laughed.

“I’d hardly call ten minutes late,” he said. “It went well then?” Marlene smiled and winked at Remus before she looked back to Sirius.

“Very,” was all she said. Remus could guess what that meant. He thought of what he’d been about to do. He didn’t even know if Sirius was gay. It was stupid and he should just leave. He turned to Sirius.

“Uh, it was nice to meet you, Sirius,” he said. “But I should get going. Thanks for the drinks,” he said, laying a fifty dollar bill on the bar. Sirius furrowed his brows.

“That’s too much,” he said, but that seemed to be the last thing he wanted to say. Remus nodded.

“Keep the change. Good service,” Remus said, walking away. He could have sworn he heard his name called out over the music, but he brushed it off and stepped out into the cold air. The music quickly stopped and he breathed in the air. He could have just asked. It wouldn’t have hurt to ask. Maybe he should have gone back. But he didn’t. He called an Uber instead. It was ten minutes away. He sat against the brick wall of the club and looked up at the stars.

A few minutes passed before a face appeared in place of the stars, but Remus wasn’t complaining.

“Sirius?” he said, standing up. He wished he hadn’t. Sirius was changed now, and he was standing in front of Remus, perfectly casual, and dressed in ripped black jeans, a black shirt (too tight for Remus’ own good), Black Doc Martens and a big, chain-adorned leather jacket. Remus could have died on the spot.

“Remus, hey,” he said nervously.

“You’re off work,” Remus replied, pointing out the utterly obvious. Sirius cracked a smile.

“Yeah. Do you—have you got anything on tomorrow?” he asked, playing with a zip on his jacket. Remus rubbed at the back of his neck. It was a Sunday tomorrow.

“No, I uh, no I don’t,” he said.

“Okay, cool. Can I... hang out with you, maybe?” he asked. Remus blinked. What was that supposed to mean?

“Sure... why?” he asked before he realised how much he sounded like a dick. Sirius blinked. “Ah, sorry... I just mean. Well. Yeah, why?” Sirius smirked at Remus’ flailing hands.

“I...” Sirius sighed. “Okay I’ll just... can I kiss you?” He blurted out. Remus’ eyes widened.

“What?” He didn’t know what else to say. Sirius closed his eyes.

“Shit. I’m sorry. It’s just you said you were bi and I just assumed—I’m sorry—“

“Yes.” Remus smiled. “Yeah, you can kiss me.” Bloody hell, he wanted Sirius to kiss him. Sirius smiled.

“Yeah?” Sirius looked into his eyes, and Remus noticed that they weren’t just grey. They were silver and bright and wonderful. Remus nodded. Sirius raised himself up to match Remus’ height, not by much but enough. When he closed the gap between them, though, Remus almost melted. His lips were soft, they were everything. This was everything. They finally broke apart, Remus’ hand tangled in Sirius’ hair and their breaths clouding in the night air. Sirius smiled. “Happy birthday, Remus.” Remus laughed and kissed him again.

“Not my birthday anymore, Sirius,” he said and Sirius chuckled.

“How were you planning on getting home?” Sirius asked. Remus held up his phone.

“Uber.”

“Cancel it. I’ve got a motorbike.”

Oh god.

“Cancelled.”