#pink bobby .. . come back pls

[kontale]

[deanscherrypie69]

You left without saying goodbye |DW.|

♡Dean Winchester X Female Reader♡

♡Warnings: Mentions of Y/n picking up an alcohol addiction, no use of Y/n. (Maybe like twice) Langue and mentions of blood. 18+ pls minors DNI!!!!!♡ please do not post my fics anywhere else expect tumblr, you have been warned! Also most of this was written on my phone 😭

♡Feedback is appreciated! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!!!!♡

My inbox is open!

Dividers by: @cafekitsune !!!

A/N thank yall sm for the love and support on the first part of the fic! It means the world to me!!! And as yall requested. Part two! Pls don’t hate me it’s a long one so buckle up✋🏽🥲

Also Happy bday to Jensen!!! Love you v much!!🤠🤎

♡Part one♡

It had been three moths since that night with Dean, it had played over and over again in your mind when you went to sleep every night.

You swore you could feel his lips on yours, or the sounds he made when he was moving in and out of your body.

You hated it so much, you hated him. With his stupid eyes his pink lips you hated him.

But you took all of that rage out on, the monsters you’d hunt. Shooting them stabbing them. Anything you could think of.

You had come back from a bad werewolf hunt with Bobby, one of the wolfs clawed your abdomen trying to save Bobby.

So here you were nursing a bottle of whiskey as the old man stitched you up.

Oh yea and you forgot to mention you kind picked up a drinking habit over the last few months.

“Do you have a deal death with or something?” The old man asks as he threads your skink back together.

“No.” You hiss as he pulls the thread in and out of you.

“You’re not a very good lair.” He says grabbing the scissors to cut the string.

You raise your brow, “you aren’t a very good nurse either.” You say standing up. You grab stomach with a groan as you walk to the kitchen.

Bobby watches you struggle to walk away. He begins to clean the blood off his hands with a towel.

Bobby never bought it up because it was never any of his business. But. He cared about you a lot. You were like his daughter he’d never had have.

That day when he picked you up from the hotel. There was something wrong. You hadn't said anything to him about it since then. It has been three months and Bobby had grown curious.

Bobby takes a sigh and sits in his chair in front of his desk.

“What happened that I had to drive almost three hours out to pick you up from a motel?”

Bobby saw your body stiffen with the questions, he knew he had struck a nerve.

You grown and begin to walk up stairs, not wanting to answer his questions, “Good night Bobby.” You groan.

Bobby rolls his eyes “damn kid.”

This had been the worst sleep of your life by far. You couldn’t sleep you were up all night tossing and turning. You groan as you flick the covers off of your body.

You look over at the time on your alarm clock, it was almost 12 in the afternoon.

You groan and begin to rummage through your pile of clean clothes you had just washed.

“Please tell me you have coffee on and some painkillers.” You groan grabbing your stomach as you walk down the stairs

“I really could use some.” You say rubbing your eyes.

When Bobby didn’t say anything you remove your hands away from your eyes. And when you opened them you did not expect to see someone you haven’t seen in three months.

“Dean?” Your voice was barely above a whisper. You were angry.

You turn to the old man who was sitting across from him, “What the hell is he doing here?” You question, not looking over in Deans' direction.

“He’s here because he got a weird call, someone pretending to be Sam.” He says “just wanted to know if we got the call that’s all.”

You roll your eyes and clench your stomach, you don’t even look his way, he had left you after sharing an intimate moment, he left you vulnerable.

You scoff and walk over to the coffee pot, you poor yourself a cup, Bobby looks between you and Dean.

Dean had his eyes glued to your back, waiting for you to turn around and look at him. But you didn’t. He watched as you grab the painkillers from the top cabinet with a groan.

“I’ll be upstairs.” You mumble.

Bobby nods as he watches you carefully disappear upstairs.

“Are you gonna talk about it?” Bobby questions.

Dean huffs and leans back “nothing to talk about, just came here to see if you got that call that's all.”

Bobby let’s out a chuckle. “You came here to see if she was here.”

Bobby states.

Dean rolls his eyes. “No i didn’t,” Dean argues.

“Bullshit, something happened between you too.” Bobby says looking at the green eyed man.

Dean nods his head “it did but it was a mistake, we both were missing Sam.” Dean rubs a hand down his face.

Bobby cuts Dean off “Does she know that?” Bobby questions. “That girl has had a death wish for three months. I made her stop hunting, I don't know if you noticed, she has a pretty bad injury."

“Whatever you did you need too clear it up.” Bobby says.

Dean stands up from his chair “There’s nothing to clear cause nothing happened, it didn’t mean anything, not to me anyway.” Dean grabs his jacket.

Before Dean reached the front door he saw you at the bottom of the stairs, with your bloodied bandages that you had just switched out with new ones. In your hands

He didn’t miss the way the tears in your eyes welded up. He give you a small smile the exits the house,

“How much did you hear.”

You swallow hard, “Enough” you walk into the kitchen and shove the bandages in the trash. And once again you had disappeared up the stairs.

It has been three days since Dean had come. Bobby wasn't home, he hasn’t been home for a few days he was cleaning up a ghoul hunt in Ohio. You were left alone reading lore books. About monsters.

Your wound on your abdomen, still hurt like hell, you felt like it was keeping you from hunting and you hated it.

You were bought out of your thoughts when there was a frantic knock at the door, you carefully get up from your spot and make your way to the front door.

“Who is it” you say.

“Y/n? It’s Sam open the door.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Thats impossible you’re in hell.”

You hear a loud sigh coming from the door, you watch as the bottom lock jiggles and then the door opens, it opens up enough to see the tall hunter standing in the door way.

“Sam?”

He rolls his eyes and squeezes past you, “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell everybody.” He huffs closing the door behind him

“How.” You watch as the tall man makes his way through the house as if he was looking for someone? “Where’s Bobby?”

“Ghoul hunt.” You say watching him,

“Dean? Did he go with Bobby?”

You shake your head ‘no”

“I haven’t talked to him not really, not since-“

Sam nods at your words

“How did you-“ you point

Sam shrugs “I don’t know.” He chuckles. Sam stops and looks at you. “Give me your phone.” He says

You raise your eyebrows in confusion, reaching into your back pocket you fish out your phone, handing it to the tall man.

Sam smiles he clicks the screen a few times.

You sigh and walk past him, into the kitchen.

You listen as Sam mumbles a quick 'bye' into the phone.

Sam walks back to you handing you your phone, "Who'd you call?" You hum tucking your phone back into your pocket.

You had already knew the answer to that question. You didn’t even know why you asked.

Sam reaches beside you and opens the fridge, he reaches in and grabs two beers.

"Dean." He says handing you the bottle.

You don't say anything expect, you pop the top off and throw it into the sink. Sam sighs as he watches you knock back the beer in a few sips.

"Did something happen between you guys, when i called he thought it was you." Sam says.

You set the empty bottle down. "It did, but according to him, it didn't mean anything." You state. You take a shaky breath, "He left me, without saying goodbye Sam. I don't even know where he's been for the last three months."

Sam notices a tear slide down your cheek, "He's been playing house, with Lisa. Seems like when shit hits the fan he keeps going back to her."

"What?" Your voice was shaky. You don't remember anyone in Dean's life named Lisa. But then you rack through your brain.

"The dark-haired lady? With that kid named Ben?"

Sam nods.

You remembered them both, You three were working on a case when Dean had knocked at the door, and she had answered, it was her son's birthday.

"He was in love with her?" You question. Sam nods. "I guess he still is."

You sigh, you wondered if you were Dean's second option.

'I'm going to- take a nap." You say looking down at your watch.

Sam nods and rubs the small of your back,

Walking into the living room, you had grabbed a blanket that was. Draped over the back of an empty chair, you always liked sleeping on the cot Bobby had by the window, it was peaceful hearing the birds chirping, pulling the blanket up you quickly fall asleep.

it had felt like you were sleeping forever but that was until you felt someone shaking you.

Opening your eyes you see Sam, "Hey.” he says, “Bobby called, and told me you needed your bandages switched out."

You yawn and rub your eyes. Sam helps you sit up. You lift up your shirt with a wince.

He grabs the bandages that had been on Bobby's desk.

Sam pulls a chair up.

You had been hardly awake for that long when you heard the side door open. "Hey." Sam says not even looking in that direction, he had been placing the new bandages on you.

You knew who it was, you had been hoping. That he wouldn't had come tonight you didn't want to have to face him.

You watch and he walks in the room where you and Sam where, his eyes glued on you, he had a fresh beer in his hand.

Sam pats your leg motioning you pull down your shirt. "Thanks." You mumble. Sam smiles at you, he walks into the kitchen past Dean to wash his hands.

You pull the blanket back over your body.

Dean watches you stare out the window, it had remined him of that night- before he left.

He sits in the chair that Sam was just in. His beer resting between his legs. "Please go." You sniffle not wanting to look at him.

When Dean didn’t listen you turn to look at him, your breathing was harsh. You were mad.

The anger that you had built up for the past few months was just begging to come out.

“So Lisa huh?”

Dean opens and closes his mouth.

“Did you decide to go be with her before or after you fucked me!” You spat, throwing the blanket off your body you sit on the edge of the bed.

Your chest heaving up and down.

When Dean didn’t say anything you continue. “You left me Dean, you didn’t call you didn’t text, for all I could’ve know you could’ve died. But no you were playing house with some whore.” You spat

Dean licks his lips, “don’t talk about her like that.” He grumbles

You roll your eye, I’ll talk about her however I goddamn please.”

You and Dean stare at each other.

“Was it a mistake Dean?” You question.

Dean blinks a few times. He had forgotten you heard his and Bobby’s conversation.

Dean shakes his head, he had convinced himself it was a mistake the day he left you and went to Lisa.

But he knew deep down it wasn’t. If it was he wouldn’t have been the first one to kiss you.

“No, I thought about you everyday for three months when I left.” Dean was telling the truth weather or jot you decided to believe it or not.

He dreamed about you daily. He could still smell your perfume. He could hear you little moans. When he hit that sweet spot inside of you.

He didn’t know why he left he was scared.

Scared that maybe you would’ve regretted it too.

But it turns out, you were far from thinking that.

You scoff, “Bullshit.” You spat. “I was your second option Dean. You got your fix and left me. I’m nothing to you, and I never will be.”

Tears stream down your face, Wiping your hands doen your face you get up from your spot on the cot. “You Sam and Bobby don’t need me,” you say grabbing your jacket. You reach into on of the draws that Bobby have in the kitchen, it had sets of car keys in it.

You take a random one and walk out the door.

Dean chases after you.

“Y/n stop!” Dean shouts.

You had stopped in your tracks, you turn around to face Dean.

“I’m leaving Dean You can’t stop me.” You say.

You hit the car alarm on the key fob and one of the cars that were sitting in the lot begin to light up. Turning the alarm off you hop into the car.

Dean watches as you pull away in the car.

Something in the back of Dean’s mind told him to stop you. He wanted just to talk it over with you maybe. Just maybe it could have a different outcome.

It was just one big misunderstanding.

He watches as you pull out of the driveway.

Your car begins to move slowly. It was like you wanted to come back. But you kept driving.

Until. Another car coming from the opposite direction, came speeding down.

You tried to get out of the way but it was too late.

Dean watches as the car rams into yours with full speed.

“Y/n!” Dean shouts as he begins to run.

Dean ran, it felt like forever. When he reached the car you were in he sees your body hunched over. There was blood all over you face it was coming out of your ears and nose.

The wound on your stomach was open, there was so much blood, Dean had seen nothing like it.

This was not happening hew knew he should’ve stopped you. He should’ve stopped you.

He scoops your body up in his arms. He looks down at your face, your eyes begin to flutter open.

“I’m sorry-“ was all you say before it all went black.

“I’m gonna get you help sweetheart, you ain’t leaving me.” Dean says putting you in the back of the impala.

But Dean sees your eyes closed.

He was not going to let you die, not in his watch.

Fic tags: @emilyroxy @preciouscupcake @aylacavebear @suckitands33 @nescavaneck @rockstargal @star-yawnznn @constancelynn @deangirl96 @sacrosankta @tomorrowseverything @brightlilith

Thank you for all of the support!! Love you all!!!

[unholyhelbig]

Keep the kate angst coming pls

Title: Firecrest (Part 4/???)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Summary: Kate Bishop and y/n have an unspoken agreement that revolves around being enemies with benefits. But when Kate's new mentor is someone Y/n is very familiar with, things become complicated.

Warnings: Bad parenting, panic attacks, possible arson, descriptions of fire, fight scenes, blood, angst, and horrible grammar (I don't proofread)

[A/n: All of my Kate Bishop stories have a tendancy to flop, but this one is for you, six loyal readers, I love you!]

Bobbi Morse refused to release her hold on the duffle bag. It was comically pink but covered in different drawings that bled into the nylon as if the item had been wounded. You hated the color, despised it, really, but defacing it with sharpie markers seemed to settle your discontent.

Her other hand gripped her daughters shoulder with her usual confidence and you knew better than to pull away from her. The woman in front of you was only a head taller than you, her face pockmarked with zits of different pustules of width. When she smiled, her lips made an uncomfortable noise against her braces.

“Miss Morse, I promise you, Y/n will have a fantastic, safe, time.”

They were playing tug-of-war with the bag now. It was subtle enough that no one else would notice. But of course, Eleanor Bishop was always the first in the room to notice subtle. She materialized out of a Rolls-Royce that had a strange purple tint to it in the mountain sun.

“Oh, Bobbi, you have to relax.” The woman gabbed your mother in the side. If anyone else had ever tried that, they’d lose a hand or possibly a heart. “You think I would really send Katherine to Target Trails if it were dangerous? These are trained professionals.”

That seemed to relax Bobbi’s shoulders by half an inch. Your mother was not worried about safety. She had ensured that you knew how to take care of yourself from a young age, much younger than the counselor in front of you now.

The idea of leaving you in the middle of the forest wasn’t a problem either. You had survival skills, you could make a home for yourself out here in the wilderness and wander back to civilization on your own in time for school to start in the fall.

Bobbi trusted you. What she didn’t’ trust, was your powers. You had become less reactive over the years, relied on therapeutic techniques to control the fire that festered just below your fingertips. But there were moments, sporadic ones, where the heat got away from you and you were too groggy to chase it.

“Jessica, dear. Can you make sure that Katherine and Y/n are in the same bunk?”

“Mrs. Bishop, the assignments have been set for weeks, I can’t just-“ a crisp hundred dollar bill was slid across her neon clipboard. Her eyes widened, narrowed, but she snatched it up all the same. “Would you look at that? We just had a bed open up in the bullseye cabin.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Bobbi was suddenly relinquishing her hold on your bag to cup both of your shoulders. At fifteen, you were nearly her height. She made a point never to bend down to speak to you. It was demeaning, and you both knew it. She addressed you like an adult in these moments.

“Okay, sweetie, remember what doctor Garner said.”

It wasn’t a question. Your coping mechanisms were drilled into your mind, tattooed against the softness of your brain. You were supposed to name five things in the room you could touch, five you could see, five you could hear, and five you could smell. By the time you’d puzzled it out, you had reached to the end of that ever-familiar heat.

There were other tools; an imaginary box to put your worries in, a safe-space that was fire retardant. But there were almost always moments you feared that nothing would work. That you’d torch a place and add more names to your ledger of misuse.

“I love you, firefly.” Bobbi kissed between your eyebrows and gave your shoulders an extra squeeze. “Send a smoke signal if you need me.”

She smiled jokingly before loading back into her jeep and expertly pulling from the gravel drive. She kicked up white dust behind her that tasted like the salt of the earth when you inhaled. Jessica smelled like sunscreen and sweat, and you stepped to the side before she had a chance to touch you in a nurturing way.

“Right, let’s get you to your bunk.”

There were four other girls in Bullseye, including Kate; America Chavez, who had somehow already found a stick to carve with a pocket-knife that should have been confiscated upon entry. Cassie Lang, a small blonde that had already claimed the top bunk. And Gwen Poole, a girl who would have loved your pink bag before you destroyed it, the tips of her hair dyed the offensive color.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s good to see you too, Katie.”

“Okay!” Jessica clapped her hands together, “Y/n, I’ll leave you to get settled. Dinner is at six and there is a mandatory campfire afterwards.”

She seemed to sense the tension and left fast enough not to get hit with the sticky screen door. She took the cabin steps two at a time and kicked up a trail of dirt much like Bobbi had. Kate had claimed the bottom bunk on your side of the cabin, leaving you with the rickety top.

“I hope you’ve curved that nasty bed-wetting habit of yours.” She said, just loud enough for the whole cabin to hear.

“Hope you packed an umbrella.”

Kate turned as white as a sheet and clutched her pillow to her chest. She could never tell if you were being serious or not. Of course, you weren’t. You’d never wet the bed. Setting it ablaze on the other hand? That wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibility.

“You take that back,”

A wolfish grin moved across your face before you pulled yourself up onto the scratchy green blanket. The springs creaked as if they’d been used for years. You were suddenly exhausted and made no move to remove your boots, or unpack the duffle shoved to the side.

“Do you two know each other?” America asked, shirking a long strip of birch onto her own bed. She was sitting cross legged, getting it as sharp as she possibly could. You had a feeling you would gravitate towards her throughout the summer. “Or is this some weird attempt at flirting?”

You sat up fast enough to make your head spin, “Our parents run in the same circles. We’re obliged to be in each-others presence at least 75% of the year.”

“Obliged? Try forced” She scoffed, scowling at you. “You don’t even like archery.”

“I like being better at it than you.”

“You’re not.”

“They’re totally flirting.” Gwen whispered to Cassie, who gave an exaggerated nod, barely stifling her blinding grin with the stuffed bear she’d brought along to suffer with the rest of them.

Most of that summer had passed by in a blur. You really didn’t like archery. Your aim was there, but your form was lacking. Kate ticked all the boxes and had even split an arrow straight down the middle on the second day of camp, much to your dismay.

The two of you mostly stayed out of one another’s way, on opposite schedules by design. You’d grown impossibly close with Gwen and America, the three of you none too enthusiastic about the sport that Target Trails boasted about. You were much too interested in the lake, and spent most of your time out there.

A week and a half before the end of summer, and you had let your guard down. You would never admit this, but you were actually having fun and participating. Gwen had begged you to attend a movie night at the fire pits, and you had agreed with the promise of sickly sweet marshmallows.

The two of you were huddled up under a blanket, biting through the late-night mountain chill. You hadn’t been paying attention to the content that would be shown, nor to anything other than the slow-moving bag of puffed deliciousness that was making its way towards you.

“We have a real treat for you tonight, campers. We’ve got first hand access to the new Hawkeye documentary! It’s not releasing until this November, but he loves what we do here at Target Trails and gave us an exclusive.”

A wash of numbness fell over you, appetite suddenly gone. You were frowning, you knew, at the documentary as it played on a hung white sheet, strung up between two evergreens. Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.

Gwen nudged you with the bag of marshmallows, but you shook your head, too engrossed in the picture on the screen. Seeing him as a hero, you could handle. He’d been on the news, and you’d caught glimpses before Bobbi shut it off. But this was different. This was about his life.

He sat at his kitchen table with his family. A baby cradled in his arms and a woman with kind eyes at his side. There was a girl around the same age as you in the other chair, pushing yellow eggs around her plate and doing her best to ignore the camera. A daughter.

“Lila, don’t be rude, say hi to the nice film crew.”

Clint was joking, and the frame was shaky, but she gave a small wave and dazzling smile regardless. The thought was bitter; what made her different from you?

You didn’t realize that your breath had quickened and you’d wigged out of the fleece blanket that you shared. Gwen looked at you with worry, but you had the stamina to hold it together until you could maneuver around other campers to the darkness of the surrounding woods.

Far enough to stifle your sob in the side of your hand and fall to the damp forest floor. The pain that ripped through you was unbearable, and you naively dug your fingers into the dirt to see if it would extinguish the building flames.

The pressure licked at your throat and pressed down your spine like a metal rod. It hurt to hold it in, to let warm tears soak through the glowing embers that had taken over your irises. You were doing so well. You were pretending almost too well, to be normal.

Arms were around you in an instant, but you were too far gone to push them away. Instead, you folded into the embrace. It was cold compared to your body-heat, the scent of artificial wintergreen rivaled the real thing. It was Kate. You knew from the strong grip of her hands and the gentle soothing words that you couldn’t process.

A growl had escaped you, and when you peered up at her, the orange glow of your eyes shaded her features. There was no moon tonight. They flickered like a lantern used as a beacon. Kate drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t’ push.

“You need to breathe for me, y/n.” She said instead, letting you clutch onto her camp shirt and stain it with dirt. You were in her lap like an insolent child, but you would combust if she let you go. As if on instinct, she held you tighter. “Four in, six out, come on.”

You tried to follow instructions, but the pain started to roll in waves. The rolling in your stomach felt like you were about to vomit up magma. Kate was panicked, you could see the beautiful gray of her stare flicker with worry. Your hands were getting hotter.

“Fuck it,” She hissed.

Kate leaned down with fervor and pressed her lips against yours. It was not graceful, her teeth hit your own with a dull clack and her hand was gripping your collar to hold you up. Her nose was cold, and her chest heaved up and down with anxiety. It was much too clumsy, and it was glorious.

Eventually, you sucked in a deep breath and used your heels to scramble away from her, back hitting the hard bark of a tree. She had a dazed, glassy stare that still seemed to seep with worry. The worst of it was over, and you were suddenly exhausted.

Your stare didn’t glow like engine coal and your skin had returned to it’s normal pigment. You were breathing normal, almost greedy for the tinny taste of it. “What the hell, Kate?”

“Me what the hell?” She whispered harshly, “You what the hell! I was preventing a forest fire.”

“You’re not smokey the mother-fucking-bear.”  

It was harsh, you should be thanking her, but you wanted to get as far away from the archer as possible. You clambered to your feet and started to head towards civilization. You needed to get to the payphone. Screw the last few weeks of camp. That was too close of a call.

Kate didn’t’ let you get far. Her fingers wrapped around your wrist and she held you in place with an impressive amount of strength for a girl her size. “I don’t understand a lot about what happened just now. That’s not important. I don’t get why you’re so mad.”

“Because,” The first word was easy, the rest got stuck in your throat. You tore your hand away and she let you. “You… stole my first kiss.”

Her features softened for a moment before she narrowed her eyes in what you could only describe as discontent. There was plenty to thank Kate Bishop for, and plenty more that you had to explain to her. Instead, you were hung up on this. And why wouldn’t you be?

You’d been saving it. You’d expertly dodged Tommy Maximoff at a game of spin the bottle just last week. And before that, you’d gone to see a movie with Teddy Altman who seemed as worried about grabbing your hand with his sweaty one as you were. None of it felt right, and the two of you both breathed a sigh of relief when the credits rolled.

She kicked dejectedly at the dirt. “You took mine too, you know? You were freaking out and I saw it in a movie. It worked. Didn’t it?”

You blinked at her in surprise. Kate bragged on multiple occasions that she and Eli Bradley, a kid that was way too into ROTC, had made out behind the bleachers. It made sense now, why the two of you had done your awkward little dance on the forest floor.

“Thank you,” You settled, working shaking hands through disheveled hair, suddenly feeling even. “For doing that, I mean. It could have been really bad.”

 An obscure pop song crackled through the overhead speakers in the grocery store. The lights buzzed under the melody, uncomfortable and neon in their flickering annoyance. You hadn’t been able to sleep, which wasn’t a surprise, so you took advantage of the low traffic to stock up on essentials.

Bread, milk, and dry pasta. Your diet wasn’t the best, but it filled you up and the staples still maintained an easy enough price for you to justify your purchases. The basket hung from your arm, slowly filling with off-brand items.

You were busy stocking up on bandages and antiseptic when you felt an odd crawling feeling up the back of your neck. You were being watched. Your movements stilled for half a second before you continued with your task, senses becoming overwhelmed with an expensive floral scent.

“Miss Morse, strange running into you here.”

Yes, it was strange. You didn’t know that Eleanor Bishop did her own grocery shopping, and judging by the single orange in her cart, you weren’t sure she had actually decided to do so now. There was a sheepish smile on her face. She had the decency to look somewhat embarrassed.

“Relax, sweetie.” She squeezed your upper arm. “You don’t have to be so guarded. I just wanted to extend an invitation to dinner this Friday. It’s a formal event, just a chance to get to know my daughters partner a little better.”

The air suddenly felt thick. You still hadn’t produced a comprehensive sentence and now you opened and closed your mouth like a goldfish that had hopped from it’s bowl. She had a thin smile on her face that failed to hide her true rage.

“I’ll even extend the invitation to your father.”

Finally, you found your voice. “I’m sure Lance would appreciate the thought, but he’ll, uh, be out of town until next Monday I’m afraid.”

“No, no. Not Lance, silly. Clint.”

Your grip tightened on the box of bandages. It made a sad noise under your crushing fingers. Eleanor’s unwavering gaze flicked down and then back up, hardly phased by your knee-jerk reaction. You were flushed with an odd type of calmness.

Five things you can touch: The rough fabric of your jacket. The metal handle of the basket. The obnoxious blue plastic at it’s end. The crumpled box of bandages.

“How do you know about that?”

“Well, dear, people talk.”

Five things you can see: The venom in Eleanor Bishops eyes. A single fly trapped in the light fixture above. A bored clerk that pushed packs of gum around the counter. The puke-colored floor tiles under your feet. The line of green vitamin bottles just below your shoulder.

“That won’t be a problem, will it? I’ve heard through the grapevine that you and Katherine are getting quite serious. It’s only customary to meet the parents. I know Bobbi so well, but Clint is all anyone can talk about these days. We’d love to get to know him better.”

Five things you can hear: The pitiful last cries of the trapped fly. The squeak of a cart that was three aisles over. The dull hum of the frozen section across the store. Eleanor Bishop’s even, calculated, breaths. An obscure rock-song blaring from the clerks’ headphones.

“Y/n?” She prodded, lifting a sculpted eyebrow.

“That… that uh,”

Five things you can smell: Your own sweat, quickly slicking your back. The musky floral perfume that Eleanor Bishop bathed in. The sharp edge of antiseptic contained by plastic bottles. The faux citrus scent of floor cleaner. The beginning of bile climbing your throat.

“Yes, of course, Mrs. Bishop.” You schooled your features into something you hoped was calm. “I’ll be there.”

She clapped her hands once, a moment of success. You were absolutely drenched in sweat with a heat that even the frozen section couldn’t cure. She went to pat you on the shoulder but thought better of it, before leaving her cart with the singular orange behind.

Shopping was the furthest thing from your mind at this point. Any semblance of productivity was morphed into shock, and then scathing anger. You set your own basket down and turned to rush from the grocery store, entirely overwhelmed in the area you’d just used to steady yourself.

The change in temperature between the store and city streets was minimal. You could feel your breath speed up, your fingers start to tingle. You had to get out of here, so you started to run. Kate’s usual haunts as a hero weren’t too far, and even if they were, you were positive that you could sprint to them.

People became scarce on the sidewalks, a humid mist coated your skin. White fairy lights adorned every other tree, and then none at all. There was a darkness, chain link fences and a dog that lunged on a short lead. The streets were empty, and your chest began to ache.

You stopped in the center of the street, shouting out “Hawkeye!”

It wasn’t certain which one you would summon. You tightened your fists, clenching your eyes shut as you tried to control your breathing. You hadn’t had a panic attack like this in years, high school, to be exact. The turmoil kept building. The memories you’d shoved down boiled up.

“Hawkeye!” You shouted again, letting the orange flames engulf your fingertips, cracking against skin. “Come out or I start torching everything!”

An overreaction? Perhaps. But part of you, a very small part, was tired of playing the hero when all of the cards were stacked against you. What was stopping you from being a villain? You had your nemesis in both archers for different reasons, and a formidable villain you would be.

It would be easy to let go of the control you’d worked so hard to build. Fires were uncontrollable, they were dangerous and deadly. There was no problem setting them. It was controlling the blaze once it’d been ignited that could bring absolute destruction.

“Five!” You called out, your boots on the ground the only noise. “Four!”

You spotted a trail of gasoline leaking form the bottom of an old Camaro that was propped up on cinderblocks, all four tires being ripped from the frame. Perfect. It was clearly abandoned, and far enough away from the brownstones to be a real risk. An attention grabber.

“Three!”

You were feeling heady now. A wash of dizziness had replaced the panic as your emotions were simmering down. You knelt, the sharp scent of gasoline filling your senses. Even the smallest touch would ignite the vehicle in a wash of flames.

“Two!”

Still, nothing. The quiet was eerie. Much like crickets and frogs in the country, the city relied on it’s staple noises. There was never silence, but it fell heavy on your shoulders now. You could cut your losses, raise to your feet, and walk away. But walking away never got you anywhere. Walking away was too much like your father.

The sharp sound of an arrow being pulled back pulled you from your thoughts. “Not another move.”

Kate was bluffing. You could see the uncertainty and fear in her eyes. Of course, you were positive that you were harboring the same thing. You weren’t obedient in this moment. The sight of her in her black tactical suit, marred in purple, was captivating. Infuriating all the same.

A rush of hot air pooled at your palms as you righted yourself. They’d gotten stronger, hotter. Blue licked harmlessly at your skin now. You clenched your jaw and lilted your head to the side. In this moment, despite the intoxicated hold she had on you, you wanted to fight her. Wound her as she’d wounded you.

“Do it. Shoot.” You called her bluff. Her aim was slipping. “Or we could put all of our flashy toys away and have it out like adults.”

She made no move to lower her weapon. “We can talk this out. Just step away from the car.”

“This car? God, she’s a beauty. It’s such a shame that it was put to waste like this.”

“Y/n,” She warned in a muted growl. “I will shoot.”

This time, you believed her. Any slack in her stance had tightened like she were on puppet strings. She aimed directly at your chest. Hawkeyes never aimed to kill, but they would. Kate would, if she was pushed far enough.

You lifted both of your hands up in a half surrender, letting the flames extinguish themselves. You’d shown so much restraint. So much leniency for an unfair situation that plagued the both of you. Kate lowered her arrow, the metal tip pointed at the ground before she placed it back in the quiver entirely, sensing the danger dissolving.

When she glanced up and closed the distance between the two of you, your breath hitched. There was insurmountable anger in her eyes. In a quick movement, she slapped you with an open palm, hard enough to make you taste metal, but not hard enough to cause a ringing in your ears.

Kate hissed “that was fucking stupid of you.”

Your head was turned to the side, the harsh sting throbbing in tune to your heartbeat. You pulled in a humid breath and let it out within the same sentence. It had been stupid of you, nearly starting another fire that could very easily get out of control. You’d never admit that to Kate.

In a swift move, you grabbed Kate’s arm, twisting it until she let out a yelp and fell clumsily to one knee. You stopped shy of breaking anything. “No, it was fucking stupid to tell your mother about Clint.”

Kate’s fist hit your stomach with a cheap shot. It was still effective, knocking the breath right out of your lungs. By the strap of her quiver, you dragged her back to her feet and slammed her against the side of the car.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You’re the only one that knows, Kate!” You snarled “Your mother invited me to a family dinner with him.”

Your knee was in between hers, she was panting, strands of hair falling into her slate stare. There was a smear of dark blood against the corner of her lip. You hadn’t put it there, and though she was pinned under you right now, you wanted to destroy the person who had done that to her.

Fist-fights were predictable for you and Kate. The first time she landed a punch was at her 9th birthday party. You don’t remember how the quarrel started, it was that trivial. It was a pool party with an inflatable slide that might as well be a boxing ring.

There was hair pulling and you remember Lance wrapping his arms around you while Derek Bishop wrestled to pull a feral Kate to the other side of the yellow slide. After fifteen minutes, the two of you were sitting at the edge of the pool digging into chocolate cake.

“Y/n, have you ever considered that other people heard the conversation we had at the benefit?” She sighed, letting her head thump softly against the side of the car. “My mother has ears and eyes everywhere. I didn’t even tell her we were dating. I would never do that to you.”

She shoved you off, and you went slack, allowing her to. You were close enough to a catering table that it was plausible. Kate sounded broken, and it filled you with a deep guilt that you weren’t quite prepared for. You had been so certain.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah. Fuck.” She bumped into your shoulder as she walked past you. You turned, tracking her with your eyes. “After all these years, do you really think that little of me?”

“No, Kate I...”

She looked at you expectantly. Sadness rimmed her stare. All of your previous anger had melted away. There was nothing there but a deep dread. You never wanted to hurt her. You hung your head like a kicked dog, feeling a lump form in your throat.

“We’ll do the dinner. Keep playing the part. But after that, it’s done. I don’t owe you anything.”

“You don’t.”

Your voice was tight, chest suddenly painful. She used the edge of her thumb to wipe at the wound on the edge of her lip that you’d reopened. She swiped her tongue over it for good measure.

You were crying.

But she respected you just enough not to say anything.

Tag List💕: @noturlondonboy, @slvtformaria, @pianogirl2121

[exhaustedpirate]

fire engine red

my entry for day 5 of @bucktommyfluffebruary the buckley-kinards have a small mishap before a very important event - piper is a safe haven baby (from my previous work "on waking up beside you") and she was adopted by married buck and tommy three years after that (she was given back by another family) and they have been a family since then!

rated G | 497 words also on AO3

Tommy could do laundry in his sleep.

Maybe that was the problem.

Maybe that’s why he was now holding the shirts they were supposed to wear for Piper’s saxophone recital and they were red.

He must have accidentally left her fire engine red pyjama shirt inside the laundry basket. 

Maybe drying them would solve it? 

Tommy sighs. It didn’t.

He was now holding two warm and still very red shirts while standing by the washing machine, maybe hoping for some belated superpowers to turn them back to white. He would have been such a useless superhero.

“Tom? Babe?” 

Oh god.

Tommy turns to Evan at the doorway still holding the red shirts making his husband’s eyes widen. His mouth opens and closes before he gives up with a sigh. “They’re red.”

“A-Are those the shirts for Piper’s recital?”

Tommy bites his lip as he nods. 

“Damn.”

“Laundry, Evan, I screwed up laundry.” Tommy hides his face with the so-very red shirts.

“Tommy, it’s-”

Piper’s heavy footfalls stop as she slides onto Evan’s side. “Dad, dad! Chris called and he wants-” Her eyes land on the red shirts and Tommy’s embarrassed face peeking out from over them. “Wow, those are really red.”

Tommy groans and hides his face again, not even the warmth and sweet smell of laundry can make him feel better.

“Yeah, P, something red got into the wash with the whites and stained the whole thing.” Evan explains and his tone is soft, not judgemental and yet Tommy feels the shame.

“Are those for my recital tonight?”

“Yeah.” Tommy grumbles.

He hears Piper’s giggle and comes out of his Tropical Sunset-scented cocoon to watch as his daughter covers her mouth to poorly conceal her giggles and Evan’s lips curling up in that beautiful teasing smile Tommy loves so much.

“What?”

“This just came through the group chat,” Evan explains, turning the screen of his phone to him while Piper hugs his side. It’s a picture of Christopher holding a very red shirt while covering his face with the other hand. “It seems the Buckley-Kinards aren’t the only ones with laundry mishaps.”

Later that night, the row reserved for Piper’s family stands out among any other. 

From Eddie, Christopher, Tommy and Evan’s red shirts under their dark blazers; to the thrifted red blazer and tie Howie found last minute; to the red tight dresses from Athena and Maddie; to Hen’s red pinstripe trousers; to Karen and Mara’s matching red flowing dresses; to Bobby’s red tie; Denny’s red sweater, May’s red pantsuit and Harry’s red hoodie. 

There are amused whispers, photos and giggles, and in the middle of it all Tommy and Evan looking proud as Piper waves wide at the fire engine red row in the audience, almost hitting her friend with her saxophone in her excitement, before pointing.

“That’s my family!” 

“Where?” One of them teasingly asks, creating a wave of giggles that triggers the audience’s own laughter.

Sometimes, the best memories happen by accident.

i know that the clothes would technically turn pink BUT i had already written this before i realised that and I really like the pun in the title so pls, suspend your disbelief with me!

[diazsdimples]

ooohh “talk to me” for eddietommy or buckshannon pls?

"Shan, baby, look at me," Buck begs. His hand comes up to cup her face, tapping insistently against her cheek to encourage her eyes open. "Come on, talk to me, you're okay."

A pained whine issues from Shannon's lips, pink froth flecking her lips as she coughs. She shies away from the hand Buck has pressed firmly against her neck, but he keeps it there. They're running out of time, out of options, as Shannon's life spills from her throat.

The smell of blood around him is overwhelming and Buck can feel his fangs pricking his lips as he holds her, the sticky liquid coating his hands. She's so pale, the blue veins standing out along her skin as they carry blood away from her body.

"It's okay," Buck tells her, though the lie is bitter in his mouth, "you're going to be okay." He's not sure who he's trying to convince, himself or Shannon, the woman he cares about most on this earth. He knows he certainly doesn't believe what he's saying.

"Please.” She begs, weakly clutching at his blood soaked collar. Tears spill down her cheeks, dripping onto the pavement. “Please, Buck. I can’t. I’m not ready. You-” She releases a heart wrenching sob, a wounded cry that sounds like it must have come from the bottom of her soul. “And Christopher. I know what we said, but I can’t, Buck. I can’t”

If he had blood in his veins, it would have turned to ice. He can't think, not with the smell of blood assaulting his senses, not with the way he can feel Shannon's pulse fluttering weakly against his fingertips. When Shannon had found out about him - about the nest - they'd sworn he'd never go there. For her safety, for his safety, for Christopher's safety.

"Shannon, I-I can't. We said I'd never -"

"Buck, if you don't Turn me now, I'll die," Shannon grits out. Her nails dig into Buck's biceps, her fingers trembling against his skin. "Please, baby, you have to. I - I can't leave without saying goodbye to him."

Fuck, if he only had a moment to think! The vampire had come out of nowhere - a loner without a nest, driven mad with hunger and no regular place to feel. Shannon had been snatched and a pair of sharp fangs fitted around her throat, tearing at it before Buck had had time to react.

Everything is moving so fucking fast and Buck doesn't know what to do. He falls forward, forehead pressing against hers. Their breaths mingle together, hers shallow and ragged, his deep and desperate as they share the oxygen around them, an act that's intimate, comforting for him.

"This wasn't how I wanted to do this," he admits with a shaky laugh. He hadn't wanted to do it at all, but he would have liked to have been more prepared. Have Athena and Bobby on standby incase something went awry. He'd also like to have talked with Eddie about it first, rather than just showing up in a week going "surprise! I turned your ex into a vampire!"

Shannon laughs, shallow and gurgling, and a bloodstained hand comes up to cup his jaw. "I'll f-forgive you for it not being some big romantic g-gesture."

"Are you 100% sure you want this?" he whispers, though he knows the answer. This is Shannon's only chance at - well, not life, exactly. Not-death.

She nods, blood pulsing between his fingers from the movement, and he knows she's almost out of time.

"Please."

With a leaden feeling in his stomach, Buck brushes his lips against hers, kissing her softly, slowly. Her mouth tastes like salt from her tears, and he chokes back a sob of his own. He kisses across her cheek and down the slope of her neck. "I'm sorry," he whispers, voice shaking, and then he gives in to the pull that's been like a hook at the back of his brain, urging him forwards as he fits his mouth over the jagged cuts.

Blood explodes on his tongue, filling his mouth with it's deep, metallic tang, and he surrenders himself completely to that primal urge as he sinks his fangs into her neck.

No turning back now.

[donationwayne]

Seven Several Sentence Sunday

Hello, I was tagged by @disasterbuck !!!!

Just wanted to post another little snippet of my long ass 911 Big Bang fic because that's mostly what I've been working on and I'm stoked to share!!!! (to be tagged when i start posting pls interact with the post linked below)

Anyways, have a clip of Bobby and Athena telling Buck that they're getting married! Also please ignore typos, this is my first draft and my first drafts are always rough LOL

“You bet on us?” Bobby said in thinly veiled amusement. “Like both of you don’t have money in a pot about me,” Buck accused. “There’s always a pot going on someone. When are you going to tell the others?” “Soon,” Bobby admits. “We’re going to work out some details before telling everyone but it’s going to just be something small. I was wondering if you’d be my best man.” Buck freezes, tears springing into his eyes. “Me?” He was floored by the question, it was completely unexpected. “Yes you, Buck,” Bobby says, his voice is gently and lilts up at the edge with amusement. “You’re sure? Me?” “We’ve really gotta work on your self-esteem issues kid,” Bobby crosses the room to give him a hug. “Is that a yes?” Buck squeezes Bobby tightly. “I’d be honored.” Buck informs him seriously. Bobby smiles and squeezes his shoulder taking a step back. They sit down to dinner and around a mouthful of chicken Buck tells them both its strange hearing their voice on the other end of the radio in a different capacity than he’s used to. “Chew before you talk, Buck.” Athena scolds, “The last thing you need is a second tracheotomy.” Buck flushed pink while Bobby belly laughed. “Yeah, yeah.” Buck grumbled. Buck is laying on the couch two hours later while Athena and Bobby bicker over what to watch. He’s content to listening to them banter feeling soft and full of affection. He’s also thinking about Eddie again and coming out and even though he knows Bobby and Athena won’t think anything of it his stomach aches. “Buckaroo, you okay over there?” Athena asked.

Anyway, here's a little clip of what's to come!!!

Let me know, or interact with THIS POST HERE to be tagged when I start posting in September!!

I'm tagging @daffi-990 and any of my other writer mutuals!!! If you want to do this, pls tag me so I can see!!!!

[druidgroves]

Chapter 08: Rhythm of the Rain

Fandom: Fallout 4 Words: 7,844 Characters: Georgia Tate (Canon Divergent Sole Survivor), RJ MacCready Notes: hi this is one of my fav chapters so far pls enjoy >:3c

read on ao3 ch. 1 / ch. 2 / ch. 3 / ch. 4 / ch. 5 / ch. 6 / ch. 7

For the next three weeks, the settlement game became a hell of a lot easier. They’d rock up to wherever, the Boss would charm the settlers silly with her lofty promises for aid, and they would pay her with whatever caps they could scrape together. The first time Mac had actually tried to press her into asking for more–there was no way he was clearing out a possible feral den without proper reimbursement–she had fixed him with a look so severe that he almost ate his words. She ended up giving him part of her share to make up for it, and Mac had been in no hurry to stop her.

She had given him his weekly pay three times in that interim, always on time and with her promised compensation when caps were low. By the time the Boss would be ready to head back to the city at the end of the month, his pack would be full to bursting with all he’d earned under her. For all the good samaritan work they were doing for the Minutemen, at least working with the Boss was never without reward, and it certainly wasn’t dull.

However, if he didn’t know it before, after three weeks on the road with her, Mac found out the Boss talked a lot.

He might as well have learned everything about her for how much she talked. He learned that her favorite color was something called “blush pink”, that she preferred Nuka-Cherry to Nuka-Cola, and that she had a strong hatred for any sort of bug (that one he knew already after the Radroach Incident, but it only became more clear after the later Bloodbug Incident). He learned that she enjoyed cooking but disliked doing it on the road, loved books but had a weird hang-up about “bending the spines”, and hated the song “A Wonderful Guy�� whenever it played on the radio, but would be humming it under her breath an hour later. In addition to her books, he found her to be a magazine collector as well–he’d even gotten a few new comics out of it.

“Bullshit,” she had said one day as they walked. “Are you really tryin’ to tell me that Grognak could take on the Silver Shroud? And win?”

“Grognak could smash that nerd’s head in with his axe, easy,” Mac argued, kicking a rock in the road that Dogmeat went chasing after. “What could the Shroud do? Talk funny at him? Please.”

“Oh, them’s fightin’ words, Mac! So, here’s why you’re wrong—”

(She had then gone on for ten minutes straight).

Mac also learned things about the Boss that weren’t so straightforward as her telling him about herself. Instead, he learned through watching. Not in a creepy way, but in the way that two people traveling together naturally ended up watching each other–sometimes they were the only interesting thing around. He saw that she kept three bobby pins in her hair; two for pinning her low bun in place and one for picking locks. He watched when she would type faster than anyone he’d ever seen, fingers flying over the keys as she hacked her way into any terminal that caught her fancy. He’d seen her cut herself off mid-sentence, then switch the direction of her words like she was avoiding something, but he never called her on it. He saw when she popped a Rad-X before every meal and whenever she brushed her teeth every morning. He knew she had a particular way she packed her things, always pushed her glasses up with her middle finger, and always made a face whenever he’d pick over raider corpses.

“Y’know, this would go a lot faster if you’d help,” Mac had said one evening as he shoved his hand into the inner pocket of one of their vests, coming out with a few cigarettes and some caps.

They’d been clearing the road for traders heading northwest from one of her Minutemen settlements—raiders had been attacking their caravans and stealing their wares, and they’d finally found the hideout as well as the missing cargo. Mac couldn’t remember which settlement had sent out the call, only that they’d gotten word over Radio Freedom and would be paid one hundred and fifty caps upon their return.

The Boss had tried a charismatic approach when they came up to the “toll” the raiders had put up, but it had turned into a shootout the moment their leader recognized who she was. The fact that the guy whose corpse he was now picking over knew her by title concerned Mac, in so far as his connection to her. He had to remind himself that as General, she was still a known quantity, and he was willingly tagging along with her. When all was said and done, though, Mac didn’t mind the extra spoils he got when it came down to the mighty General of the Minutemen’s disdain for picking over bodies.

He looked over his shoulder to where he knew the Boss had been standing, watching him with thinly veiled abhorrence. Her arms were crossed and her nose was scrunched up like she’d smelled something awful.

“Where I’m from, that’s called desecration of a corpse. If I can help it, I’d rather not go diggin’ around in someone else’s pockets,” she said, averting her eyes as he began patting over another body.

Mac almost had to laugh as he pulled out a handful of shotgun shells from their pockets. Scavving off cadavers was standard wasteland practice as far as he was concerned–the dead had no use for extra ammo or a handful of caps. He’d always heard that you “can’t take it with you”, but he figured someone else always could, and he quite liked being that someone else. It paid well.

“So, I guess you’re not interested in these then, right?” he asked, and held the shells aloft for the Boss to see.

“Well, I mean, I am, but—”

(She’d stuck her tongue out at him when she took them later–another one of her little habits).

By the middle of that second week, Mac had come to realize there were many things about the Boss that he couldn’t quite make sense of.

His big theory was that she’d come from a vault, he just hadn’t figured out how to ask which one. He didn’t want a repeat of that night in the library when she closed up faster than a bear trap after his big mouth got away from him. He had a feeling she kept her personal business close to the chest, but even so, he was still incredibly curious about her. He’d decided that she couldn’t have been from any of the local vaults early on, given that two were overrun with Gunners and another by triggermen. Mac was fairly confident in the idea that she couldn’t be from Vault 81 simply because none of their traders that he’d seen and heard sounded like the Boss with all her clipped G’s and long I’s. They all had some variation of the Commonwealth on their tongues that he could never imagine her speaking with.

There was also the Boss’ strangest habit of saying things that didn’t quite make sense. Three weeks to the day they met–it was January something, all Mac knew was that the New Year had come and gone while they were busy doing a clean up job on some mutants–a radstorm rolled over the Commonwealth, long overdue.

He had smelled the radiation on the air before the telltale green clouds made themselves known, and when the geiger counter on the Boss’ Pip-Boy started clicking, it hadn’t taken much to convince her to duck into the nearest building. After they made sure it was clear of hostiles and the Boss had dispensed some Rad-X for the two of them, they had settled into one of the Slocum’s Joe booths to wait out the storm. Dogmeat was tucked under the table between them, fallen asleep last Mac knew.

Now, the sounds of Diamond City Radio played softly from the Boss’ Pip-Boy, marred by static and Travis’ anxious reporting. An hour had passed and the storm showed no signs of letting up any time soon, hellbent on making sure the Commonwealth remembered what mother nature was capable of. Mac had pulled out his comics a while ago, knowing they’d be there for a bit, while the Boss had contented herself with chain smoking and watching the rain through the window, humming quietly along to the radio.

“Funny which songs survived two hundred years,” she said suddenly, a cloud of smoke hanging in the air around them as “The Wanderer” faded out. Her words pulled Mac out of his issue of the Unstoppables.

“Huh?”

“If it were up to me, I’d’ve let both parts of ‘Butcher Pete’ go the way of the old world,” she continued, the corner of her mouth curling slightly.

Thunder boomed high above them as Travis’ voice came on the radio again. The Boss frowned and, without tearing her eyes away from the storm, lowered the volume on her Pip-Boy a few notches.

“What about ‘A Wonderful Guy’?”

“That one, too.”

Silence fell between them again after that, so Mac went back to reading his comic. The Boss ashed her cigarette onto an old dinner plate. The quiet lasted all of two minutes before she spoke again.

“How long do these things usually last?” she asked, nodding towards the window.

“What? Oh,” Mac replied, pulled out of his reading once again as he followed her gaze. “Depends. Haven’t had one in a while, so this one looks like it’s gonna be a beast.”

The Boss seemed both captivated and concerned by the storm, her eyes having never left the window since they sat down in the booth. She was bathed in the glowing green light provided by both the storm itself as well as her Pip-Boy. She looked at the sky like she was trying to study it, entranced by how the clouds rolled over themselves and bounced around jagged bolts of lightning. The light reflected in her glasses, the crack in the right frame fracturing the view into several smaller ones. Thankfully, the crack hadn’t been large enough to render her glasses obsolete, and in the few weeks they’d been together, Mac knew well enough that she was blind as a damn molerat without them.

“So we might as well get ready to hunker down, huh,” she muttered after a bit, finally turning away from the window.

She sighed and put out her cigarette, then began poking through her pack. She came away with a bottle of Rad-X, the pills inside rattling as she took it out. It was her own personal stash–Georgia’s, DO NOT TOUCH written on duct tape slapped over the label, but she shook out two capsules despite it. She dry-swallowed one before holding out the other for him.

“You’re real paranoid about rad sickness, Boss,” he said, but took the capsule anyways–far be it from him to refuse anything free. “No offense.”

“‘Scuse me for not wantin’ my insides to turn bright green.”

“Pretty sure that’s not what happens.”

“It’s called a joke, Mac.”

“Really? Then you need better material.”

“I’m gonna start callin’ you Mac the Mouth, I swear. Nothin’ but sass from you,” she laughed as thunder and lightning crackled outside. Mac was suddenly grateful for the miraculously still-intact glass in the windows nearest them, and the boards covering the ones further away.

“Wouldn’t be the worst name I’ve been called,” he shrugged, closing his comic book and stowing it away in his pack to swap for his journal and a pencil.

She stuck her tongue out at him as he opened his journal to a blank page near the back. The Boss was a very chatty woman, her endless need for conversation pulling him out of his reading more than once, so he opted to scribble instead. Doodling never required much focus from him, so if the Boss kept talking, it wouldn’t be as much of a bother.

“You draw?” she asked as he put his pencil to paper, her interest piqued. Mac felt heat creep up the back of his neck as he reflexively shifted his arm to hide the pages of his journal.

“I wouldn’t call it drawing, really. Mostly uh, comic stuff,” he said with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug. “They’re not good, believe me.”

She pursed her lips, disbelieving, “C’mon, don’t put yourself down. Can I see?”

“They’re just doodles. They’re nothing serious, I promise,” he said, trying to get her to lay off.

“Please?” I won’t make fun of you if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“They’re really not anything special,” he tried to insist. “I just followed those step-by-step instructions in the back of my comics.”

“Okay, but I don’t wanna look at the instructions, I wanna look at your’s.”

Mac groaned, running a hand down his face. Knowing that she could keep pestering him forever if she put her mind to it (she was nothing if not stubborn, he had come to find out), he relented, leaning back and turning his journal around for her to see. He had started sketching out a body but had stopped mid-torso, and suddenly feeling like he needed to impress her with his mediocre artistry, he flipped back a few pages to some of his other work. The Boss’ eyes grew wide with curiosity and glee as he did, putting her short, delicate-looking fingers on the pages but leaving the journal where it was on the table.

“Mistress of Mystery fan?” she asked with a grin as she looked over the page, his best rendition of the femme fatale winking over her misshapen shoulder with a crooked eye. He was pretty sure he’d accidentally skipped over a step somewhere in there.

“Like I said, mostly comic stuff,” he shrugged again, feigning indifference to any opinion she had about his drawings. Even if he wasn’t his own biggest fan, there was the tiniest part of him that wanted her to like them, even a little bit. He quickly stamped it out like a cigarette butt on a sidewalk and moved past it.

The Boss looked up at him expectantly when she began pulling at the corner of the page, as if asking for permission to peruse further. Biting the inside of his cheek, Mac nodded hesitantly, thinking suddenly of all the half-written letters to Duncan towards the front.

“Just don’t go too far.”

She gave him that familiar, sparkling smile, all excited and full of perfectly straight teeth as she nodded and turned the page. A half finished bust of Grognak in a power pose was in one corner next to a detailed depiction of his axe, while a simpler doodle of a super mutant in a similar muscle-flexing pose stood in the opposite corner. It garnered a laugh out of the Boss as she turned the page again, flipping to one of his other attempts at drawing without a guide.

Mac grimaced. He’d forgotten about that one.

“...A Mr. Handy?” she tried after a minute, raising an eyebrow and biting her lip.

Mac sank into his seat, looking away as he said, “...It’s Dr. Brainwash. From the Unstoppables. Y’know, this guy?”

He flipped open the top of his pack and pulled out the edge of the comic he’d put away earlier. The Boss’ eyes flitted from his journal to the comic book, trying to fight a laugh the longer she looked between them. He knew he butchered it, but shit, she didn’t have to be so obvious about it.

“Oh, of course,” she said, and he could tell she was trying her hardest to keep up a supportive front. “Silly me. Looks…looks just like him.”

“You said you weren’t going to make fun of me.”

“I’m not! It looks so good, Mac, I promise. You really tried and that’s what matters.”

“Alright, alright, hand it back if you’re gonna be like that,” he chided, narrowing his eyes at her.

The Boss finally laughed, closing his journal before sliding it back over the table. He’d never really shown people his doodles, never had anyone ask, but he honestly should have expected it from the Boss the moment he pulled them out.

“Really, Mac, you’re an artist. Don’t matter if you’re ‘good’ or not,” she said, more earnestly than her other comments, and leaned back as Dogmeat let out a snore from under the table. Mac had almost forgotten he was there; he’d been still and quiet since he disappeared under the table.

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to call me an ‘artist’, but uh, thanks, I guess,” he said, flipping the journal back open to the page he’d been on.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, Picasso,” the Boss said with a definitive sigh as she slid out of the booth. He made a face at the unfamiliar name, but left it at that. “I’m gonna poke around, see if there’s any good scrap.”

She turned up the radio again as she left, the end of Travis’ reporting filtering through the static as he shilled ads for Arturo’s shop, before giving way to more music. Dogmeat shifted under the table by Mac’s feet as he returned to his drawing. He could hear the Boss humming to herself as she went behind the diner counter, opening cabinets and drawers and rummaging through them.

Now, Mac understood resourcefulness. He really did. He could appreciate getting crafty when supplies were short at hand. What he couldn’t abide by, however, was the woman’s ridiculous hoarding of junk. Because that’s what it was despite her reasoning that it had use “somehow.” He point blank refused to carry any of her crap when she tried once more to lighten her haul onto him. He eventually sat down and ran her through what would and wouldn’t sell on the market last he knew, the going rates for various choice scrap, and what was better left behind in an effort to be more efficient in what she scavved. The Boss was still working on that last part, unfortunately. Her pack jingled with matching salt shakers and a vase wrapped in her spare clothes, tucked next to a framed picture and faded postcards taken off the walls of the various places they’d been through. It was all old world junk to him, but she delighted in picking them out of the two hundred year old ruins and looking over them with reverence.

By the time he was done drawing and redrawing the Silver Shroud’s jawline before giving up, the Boss was pouring her newest haul over the table. A Nuka-Cherry (off to a good start–he couldn’t begrudge her a soda every now and then), a handful of caps (even better), a pair of thick rubber gloves (alright?) and a pile of holotapes with faded orange plastic (...interesting).

“Look at what I found,” the Boss said as she sat down, popping open her soda on the edge of the table and flicking the cap over to him. Mac caught it with a sniper’s reflex, looking over the pile before him.

She picked up one of the holotapes, holding it up to her face to look for any indication as to what was on it as she took a sip from the bottle. “There was a pile of holos in an old drawer in the kitchen and I wanted to look at them ASAP.”

“Of course you did,” he said and she clicked her tongue at him. He rolled the cap across his fingers as he tacked on, “Plenty of people out there are willing to pay good caps for working holos. Most people end up wiping the memory for their own uses, though.”

“And erase what’s on ‘em? God, how much information has been lost that way?” she said, suddenly looking very distraught at the idea. She shook it off after a moment, shaking her head, “Well, I’m not wipin’ ‘em. If I’m right about what’s on them, they’ll be worth keepin’.”

She put her drink on the table and pulled her Pip-Boy closer to her. Mac watched as she hit a button or a switch or whatever, and a tray popped open on the top. She slipped one of the tapes inside at random before closing it and pressing play. It took a second for the tape to start, skipping a little at the beginning, but as soon as music began to play, the Boss’ face lit up like the stadium lights over Diamond City.

“Oh, my god, I know this song!” she cried out in excitement, cranking up the volume over the rain now beating against the window with fervor. The music was upbeat and inviting, and it showed in the way the Boss started climbing out of the booth again, feet tapping and hips swirling as soon as she hit the floor.

“Come, let’s stroll / stroll across the floor / come, let’s stro-oh-oh-oll / stroll across the floor / now turn around, baby / let’s stroll once more…”

Mac watched her in puzzled amusement, mouth curling at the corners despite the shaking of his head. The Boss strolled across the diner, her moves simple but done with a certain swagger exaggerated by the way she moved her shoulders and rolled her hips to the music. All the commotion woke up Dogmeat from under the table, who padded out to join his owner once he saw her moving about. He looked up at her, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth as he pranced in circles around her. The Boss laughed, carefully sidestepping around the hound before finally catching Mac shaking his head at her.

“What are you doing?”

She laughed again, still dancing as she raised her voice over the music, “You dance, Hotshot?”

Mac barked out a laugh, shaking his head fervently, “Not a chance in he–uh, no way, Boss. Not enough caps in the world to convince me.”

“Hundred and fifty got you walkin’ with me all over the Commonwealth, though,” she pointed out with a smirk, slinking back over towards him.

“True, but I never learned how to dance, so.”

“C’mon. How much more to get you to bust a move?”

“Sorry, Boss, contract’s already been signed. No new amendments,” he said, tipping his hat to her with a flourish and she laughed, throwing her head back. It was easy to make her laugh, he’d found out.

“Where was that attitude after the library job?” she quipped as the music began to fade.

“Dunno, guess I just found it.”

Mac gave her his shit-eating grin and a shrug as she made her way back over and fell into her side of the booth in a heap, Dogmeat hopping up to sit beside her. She settled back and turned down the volume on her Pip-Boy as the next song began to play.

“What brought all that out?” he asked finally, curious to her reasoning.

“Memories of better times,” she said after a beat, quiet.

Mac had a rush of deja-whatever, bringing him back to that time in the library, when he’d asked what he thought was a simple question that only belied a more complicated answer. She’d shut down faster than the lightning currently streaking across the sky outside. For a moment, the air between them seemed to change, but it passed just as quickly as it had rattled through him. The Boss still had her smile on, if a little strained, but he knew they were good.

“Used to have a bunch of gal pals that I would go out dancin’ with,” she said after a moment, already lost in whatever memory she was recounting. “God, there was this one time we went out to this new dance hall we’d never been to. They played that song and everyone but my friends and I were dancin’ all stiff and formal-like, it was like they’d never been to a party and the word ‘dance’ wasn’t in their vocabulary.”

Her attention had once again returned to the storm, staring out at the south Boston sky. Mac had about a billion questions from her opening line alone, but he didn’t dare speak out for fear that she’d clam up if she realized what she was doing. He kept stone still as he continued to listen, years of hard-won sniper training settling over him.

“People were pairin’ off all save-room-for-jesus style and my friends and I were completely over it,” she said with a vague annoyance in her voice. “We were standin’ there next to each other across from a couple people who must’ve had the same idea it seemed, because as soon as we paired off and hit the floor, we were doin’ about half of what I did, except two feet closer and practically on top of each other.” She paused to bring her hand up to loosely twirl one of the strands of hair at the back of her neck. “Goodness, the way we did it, you’d think we had stripped naked by the reactions of the–and get this–dance hall monitors. They kicked us out for ‘immoral behavior’ and ‘vulgar dancin’.’ Can you believe it?”

The Boss finished her story with a breathless laugh to Mac’s confused but attentive expression, crystal-clear nostalgia washing over her after she was done. Half of the things she’d just said barely made any sense to him no matter what context he put it in, but the big picture of it clicked for him immediately: he’d had her pegged wrong all along. Unless she was lying for fun, which didn’t seem her style, then she wasn’t from any sort of vault period, not with a story like that. What kind of vault had whatever the hell a ‘dance hall’ was? Let alone more than one? And what the hell were dance hall monitors?

As Mac sat there in his realization, soaking up that tiniest bit of personal information from her, he realized that for all he had learned about her in the past few weeks, from menial shit like her morning routine to her eating habits, he still didn’t know a goddamn thing about her.

“Hellooo? Earth to MacCready?”

The Boss’ hand waving in front of his face brought him back to reality, his mouth moving faster than his brain as he blurted, “I’mfromtheCapitalWasteland.”

“What?”

“I’m from the Capital Wasteland,” he repeated, clearing his throat. “I mean, where I’m from, we didn’t have whatever a dance hall is or that song or dance hall monitors. Where the hell are you from that has all of that?”

Before she could answer, all his mind could supply was deja-vu.

Just like the library, the Boss’ face fell and she was leaning back slowly on her side of the booth, arms crossing over her chest in a defensive shield. Mac was already mentally kicking himself for him and his goddamn mouth, prepared for her to stonewall again and shut him down. But she didn’t.

“It’s…a long story,” she said finally with a sigh, once again reaching up to tug at the loose blonde curl at the nape of her neck. Mac watched as she wrapped it tight around her finger, skin going red between the strands. “More confusin’ than is worth it to tell.”

He raised a helpless eyebrow as she continued to fidget, “More confusing than the one you just told me?”

“One hundred percent. It’s not that I don’t trust you, ‘cause I do,” she said like it was that easy, and Mac didn’t quite know how that made him feel. Either she was too trusting (entirely plausible) or he was too cagey (also likely). “It’s just…a lot.”

“I could try to follow along,” he dared to say, taking advantage of the way she continued to talk to him through the crack in the metaphorical door instead of closing it entirely. He had his foot in, maybe he could wiggle in a little more.

“Soon, maybe, just…not tonight,” she said, her metaphorical chain lock catching his metaphorical door with finality. “It’s a little hard to talk about. Too much to get into.”

That, Mac could understand. Feelings weren’t really his forte, he never felt confident in what to do with them. But what sort of place did the Boss come from that made her so evasive? If she wasn’t from a vault, where did she get the Pip-Boy still playing quietly on the table? Very little about his employer made sense—General of the Minutemen, First Ever Rad-X Addict, the only wastelander (?) with teeth that straight, and a vulgar threat to dance halls everywhere, apparently—and it was almost enough to make Mac’s head spin.

“Can I ask you a question about your first story then?” he asked instead of the thousands of other questions he had, burning to be asked.

Her eyebrow, the one with the scar through it, arched behind her glasses.

“You got kicked out of a hall where you dance…for dancing?”

Like neon light breaking through Goodneighbor’s haze, the Boss’ grin reappeared. The green light of the radglow illuminated them in the darkness of the diner, glinting off her glasses as she began to laugh.

“Vulgarly,” she reminded him between her laughter. He couldn’t help but join her and suddenly it was like everything was back to normal between them, personal revelations notwithstanding.

Later that night, when the storm had finally moved on but had stuck around long enough that the skies were still dark afterwards, they set up their sleeping bags behind the diner counter. Dogmeat settled up against the Boss as Mac volunteered to stay up for first watch. The Boss had looked particularly tired, and had stopped talking as much as the night went on. If Mac knew anything about her at this point, it was that if the Boss wasn’t talking, something was wrong. Sleep usually fixed most problems in his experience.

Besides, he needed some time to himself to sort through the emotional whiplash he’d experienced during their conversation. Mac thought he had her mostly figured out, given all her previously thought “obvious” tells. Then one little story had turned everything on its head and replaced it with burning curiosity. The Boss was an enigma all her own, every new fact he learned about her canceling out anything he thought he knew. Even so, he couldn’t help the gnawing need to make sense of her.

He chalked it up to wanting to know exactly whose hands he was putting his life into, but then again, he’d made it out alive of every situation she’d put him in after three weeks. He could trust her to do that, at least, even if he was only holding out for Duncan by the time she’d met him. She’d given him a little bit of slack in his rope, so to speak, when she hired him. Gave him a little bit of hope at the end of a long, dark metro tunnel.

But, since he wasn’t ever allowed to be particularly hopeful for very long, he bitterly reminded himself that what they had going couldn’t possibly last. How long did she tell her reporter friend it would be before she’d be back to Diamond City? A month? He knew how most contracts like their’s worked: some schmuck hires you, sticks around with you until they can make their way back to a major settlement because pissing off a hired gun on the road isn’t the smartest move if they’ve hired you for a reason, and then end business there before picking up another gun somewhere else. It was similar to caravan work, the brahminhands and caravan guards trading off walking alongside whichever traders paid well. And with how good the Boss paid…

He had a week left, he decided suddenly, selfishly. He had a week left to convince her that he was irreplaceable, if only because it meant more caps to send back home if she decided he was worth keeping on. He’d pretend like her goody two-shoes, above and beyond approach to the Minutemen didn’t make him roll his eyes sometimes, pretend that her cryptic hints into her life weren’t driving him nuts, and he’d never miss a target coming through an unnoticed exit. He’d keep watching her back, help keep her alive until she realized that he was better than any soldier from her rinky dink militia. His own survival–the survival of his son–depended on it.

----------

The next morning on the road, over a breakfast of scavenged pre-packaged food the Boss had found after another sweep of the kitchens, Mac could tell she had something on her mind. Given the tone of the night before, he kept it simple between them and didn’t talk much except to eat and pack up.

Dogmeat took point ahead of them once they were on the road, and in between keeping his own head on a swivel, Mac’s eyes would fall to the Boss every now and again. He knew the night had ended on a heavy note, and he’d also had a lot on his mind after, but the longer they walked and she still hadn’t started her usual errant chatter, he began to worry. She hadn’t even told him where their next stop was, he realized.

“So,” they both said at the same time.

“Oh, you go first,” the Boss said quickly before he could say the same.

“So,” Mac said again, “where are we headed next?”

“Oh, shit, I forgot to tell you, we’re goin’ to the Castle. Tuned into Radio Freedom for a bit before you woke up,” she explained, tapping the screen of her Pip-Boy through her jacket. “Someone named Ronnie Shaw really wants to talk to me—put the message on repeat out on the main line and everythin’—and she didn’t sound like the type to be kept waitin’, so gotta heed the call and all that.”

“Good thing we were already in the neighborhood then,” he said, then spun it back around to her, “So what were you gonna say earlier?”

“About last night,” she said after a moment, hesitant. “I don’t mean to be so…cagey sometimes. I just have a lot goin’ on that’s hard to explain, but then I realized that I still don’t know a whole lot about you, either, so I thought maybe we could make a game out of it. Like an icebreaker.”

“What’s an icebreaker?”

“Gettin’ to know each other, ‘breakin’ the ice’, y’know,” she said, and he shook his head to indicate that he did not. “It’s supposed to help with team bondin’ and all of that. I get that you gotta keep up with your whole ‘cool, loner mercenary’ schtick, so it may sound a bit gradeschool–”

“Wait, you think I’m cool?”

“Don’t let it go to your head. Anyways,” she went on, attempting to suppress a grin, “I was just thinkin’, we’ve spent a few weeks watchin’ each other’s backs, patchin’ each other up–well, mostly you patchin’ me up, but that’s besides the point. We’ve walked from one end of the Commonwealth to the other it feels like, but if we’re gonna be workin’ and travelin’ together, I think it’s high time we play the ‘gettin’ to know you’ game for real. Ever play Twenty Questions?”

“No, but I think I get the idea. Seems pretty obvious,” he replied with another shake of his head. If a silly little game was the way to make sure she stuck with him, then so be it. He could humor her and play along for what she was paying him.

“Great. One caveat, though,” she said, and he arched an eyebrow, “we can veto any of each other’s questions and we don’t have to explain why. We just can’t veto everything.”

The rule was probably more for her benefit than his given her whole…thing, but he was glad it was there just in case. God knew he had his own baggage he didn’t want to get into.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Alright then, you first. Ask away.”

Caught off guard, Mac thought for a minute. His litany of questions were nowhere to be found now that he was put on the spot.

“Shi–uh, crap, I dunno. Uh…How about this: If you’re not from a vault, where’d you get that Pip-Boy?” he asked, nodding to her arm.

“I never said I wasn’t from a vault,” she said matter-of-factly, and he held in a sigh at her evasive answer. She tugged the sleeve of her jacket up to tap her nails against the screen of the device, “but I got this from one.”

“Obviously. Boots, too?” He pointed to the practically pristine condition of the black leather on her feet. Barely a scuff on them.

“Aht, my turn to ask a question, Hotshot,” she said with a cheeky grin. She bit her lip and tapped her chin with her finger, thinking. “What’s with the swearin’? Or the lack of it, actually. You’ve heard my mouth, I’m not gonna make you wash your mouth out with soap, y’know.”

Mac grimaced. He knew that had to come up sooner or later.

“It’s not about you, it’s about a promise I made to someone that I wouldn’t do it anymore,” he replied after a moment. He, too, could reply with non-answers. “Or at least try not to. Still a work in progress, I guess.”

“Hm. Interestin’.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Is that your question?”

“No. My question is…” He thought for a second, choosing his next words carefully. He perked up when they came to him. “Where’s your accent from? You don’t sound like you’re from Boston.”

“God, I hope not. Can you imagine?” The Boss laughed, then put on her best Boston accent, “‘Wicked smaht, get a load a’ this fahkin’ guy!’ Jesus.”

Mac snorted, “I’m pretty sure you just offended everyone in a ten mile radius. Still didn’t answer my question, though.”

“Accent’s from down south,” she replied, choosing her words just as carefully. “Arkansas, specifically.”

Where the hell is Arcansaw? Mac wondered, but we’re getting warmer. He kept the question in his back pocket as an option for later anyhow.

“Who’d you make your promise to?” she asked for her next question.

Mac shook his head. “Uh-uh, veto.”

He wasn’t opening that can of worms right now, because if he brought up Duncan, he’d have to bring up his illness, why he wasn’t back home taking care of him, why he needed every cap he could get…If the Boss had her own stuff that was too much to get into, he had the right to keep the deep shit under wraps, too.

“Alright, new question then,” she nodded, though he could tell she still wanted to know. “Oh! Your name! You’ve never actually told me your first name. It’s not MacCready, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” he said with a shake of his head. “My first name is Robert, but my friends used to call me RJ.”

“RJ,” she repeated, like she was testing it out before she quickly added, “What’s the J stand for?”

“Joseph,” he answered without thinking, then made a face. “Hey, wait, that’s not fair. I get to ask two questions this time.”

The Boss grinned, satisfied she had pulled one over on him, but relented anyway, “Fine, fine, ask your questions.”

“Where’s Arkansas?”

“Ever heard of Texas? Near there, but northeast a ways. Second question?”

“How’d you get all the way up here from down there?” he prodded. He knew from the educational holotapes passed down through the hands of every Little Lamplighter before him that there was a lot of wasteland between that area and the Commonwealth.

She paused for a moment, eyebrows furrowed behind the frame of her glasses.

“Moved up here for higher education,” she replied after a beat, whatever that meant. Getting colder. “This one isn’t my question, but you said last night you were from the Capital Wasteland, right? What’s it like out there?”

“God-awful,” Mac said swiftly with a dismissive snort, “but it was—is, home, I guess. Most of it’s destroyed, at least D.C. is. We don’t have as many intact buildings as Boston does. Outskirts aren’t as bad, but they’re just as dangerous. We’ve got clean water, though, so that’s a plus. I actually know the person who did that, but don’t go telling anyone. She’s private.” And doing me a huge goddamn favor right now. “What’s Arkansas like?”

The Boss shrugged, her right hand reaching over to rub over the left, “Wouldn’t know. Been a while since I’ve visited…Can I veto the home questions? It’s makin’ me homesick.”

“Consider the subject vetoed,” he nodded, holding his hands up. Definitely getting colder.

She nodded back a thanks, then thought on her next question for a moment.

“Why RJ?” she asked suddenly, “Not Rob, or Robby, or Bert—”

Mac wrinkled his nose at her so aggressively that it startled a laugh out of her.

“Absolutely not. If someone called me ‘Bert’, I’d shoot them on the spot.”

“Answer the question, RJ.”

He shrugged in exasperation, throwing his hands up again, “I dunno, okay? The other kids just started calling me that when I got left there—”

As soon as the Boss’ eyebrows shot up, he cut himself off with a sigh. He could anticipate her next question, but she’d have to wait her turn. “...How old are you?”

“It’s impolite to ask a lady her age, y’know,” she replied, sticking out her tongue.

“Oh? That’s weird, because I don’t see one around here–Ow, jesus, okay, okay, I’m sorry!”

“I’m twenty-four,” she snipped, massaging her hand, then added, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two,” he replied, rubbing his shoulder. The Boss suddenly looked surprised. “What?”

“I just thought you’d be older,” she shrugged.

Huh. That was a first. It was usually the other way around.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Sure. Next question?” the Boss supplied.

“Hmm…What’s with the constant Rad-X? You take it like it’s going out of style, and none of the other vault dwellers I know pop ‘em like you do. If you are a vault dweller, that is.”

Given her non-answer around the question, he still couldn’t be too sure.

“I’m countin’ that as two questions, just so you know,” she said before he could argue. “I didn’t grow up around radiation like most people, so I don’t have as good of a resistance. I’ve been inside a vault, but not for very long. Or so it felt.”

Radiation was everywhere, so he thought, an inescapable fact of life for the past two hundred years. The idea that there was somewhere out there so untouched by it to the point where he’d seen the Boss go a little queasy at even a few ticks from the geiger counter was a foreign concept to Mac. So much so, that he didn’t even catch the cryptic ending of her answer.

He had always thought the entire world had been lost to the bombs, no stone unturned. Even the people that still remembered that world, alive but ghoulified, bore the scars of nuclear war.

“Alright, my two questions,” she went on, fingers steepled in front of her chin and he didn’t bother to protest. “Don’t think I forgot—” well, maybe he should have, “—what do you mean ‘got left there?’ Where? Elaborate.”

Mac groaned. It wasn’t the question that bothered him. Despite it all, he had some pride in where he came from, given that they were just a bunch of stupid kids that very well could have died had shit gone horribly south. While he used to sing the praises of ‘pure fucking anarchy’ during his mayorship, someone had to make sure Little Lamplight was kept (mostly) in one piece, which meant there needed to be at least a little bit of organization. Had to make sure it didn’t completely fall apart for the other kids that came after them. With that in mind, he was both grateful and incredulous that he managed to make it to twenty-two years of age under such circumstances. There were a lot who weren’t so lucky.

What really bothered him, though, were the mixed reactions whenever he explained Little Lamplight to outsiders. They usually fell into one of two categories: the disbelievers who usually accused him of lying, or the assholes whose first reactions were to get weird or make fun of him about it.

“I lived underground in a place called Little Lamplight with a bunch of other kids,” he said at last, trying to gauge the Boss’ reaction as he continued. “Just kids.”

Her face fell, genuine concern overtaking her features and almost disbelieving as she stopped in her tracks. Mac stumbled then stopped a few steps ahead of her, and even Dogmeat turned back to look at them, head tilted to the side.

“And no adults? At all?” she asked, and the tone of her voice told Mac that she definitely wasn’t asking as part of the game, and that it may have just ended, actually.

He shook his head as they stood there in the middle of the road, staring each other down. The two of them were on guard immediately, but he could not for the life of him figure out why she was.

“Having adults around wasn’t really something we could trust. We got kicked out when we turned sixteen.”

At that, the Boss looked aghast.

“...How did kids end up there? How did you end up there?” she demanded, incredulity and indignation screwing up her face.

Mac tensed. The Boss had fallen into and created a third reaction category all her own: pity.

“Like a lot of the other kids,” he bristled, defensiveness rising further within him. “Get left there, usually. Look, we turned out fine for the most part—”

“Mac,” she breathed, entirely horrified, “that–that’s awful, I’m so sor—”

“Hey, I don’t need your pity,” he snapped before she could finish the word, pointing an accusing finger at her. He was not about to be felt sorry for, of all fucking things. “Just like a colony you’d find anywhere else, we all had our designated jobs and we watched each other’s backs. I damn well made sure of it. I ran a tight fu–freaking ship.”

“You were in charge of everyone?!” she seethed, her voice raised and barely concealing the fury behind it, channeling it into the shaking of her tightly clenched fists. When she spoke again, her voice went soft, but her grip did not. “Mac–RJ, hun, that’s…you get how that’s messed up, right? No kid should have to go through that—”

“You don’t have to tell me how sorry my life is, I lived it,” he spit, fingers digging into the fabric of his duster. “Veto.”

“I—Okay,” she said, forcing the anger in her voice to dissipate, replacing it with stiff restraint. She started walking again, moving past him with purpose as she hiked her pack further up. “Game over. We’re almost to the Castle anyways.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Grant You a Universe | Luke Patterson

Requested: Yes/No

wait because here me out, Luke as a quarterback AU like— imagine that, yeah imma request that, a luke quarterback au pls 🥺BUT HES THE COCKY GET ALL THE GIRLS QUARTERBACK YEAH YEAH AND READER IS POPULAR BUT THEY DON’T DATE BUT EVERYONE WANTS THEM TO BE THE POPULAR COUPLE CLICHÉ OMG

A/N: This is the longest I ever worked on a fic, I think? I hope you like it! 

Pairing: 90′s!Luke x Reader

Song(s) used: None (WHAT?! Yeah, I know, shocking!)

Warnings: Cheating, implied abuse, party, drinking, someone is drunk, aggression

Words:  6,868

The first time he saw her was Freshman year during football tryouts. While he was on the field, trying to pay attention to whatever the coach was blabbing about, she was running around it. Her ponytail whipping around her head as her feet pounded against the red gravel of the race rink. She was a flash of pink and brown hair, but it was enough for Luke to become infatuated with her. He didn’t even care when he became the quarterback that year. All he cared about was her. He needed to know who she was and ask her on a date, even if it were the last thing he did.  

The first time he ever spoke to her was a few days later, after their first game in Freshman year. She was sitting in the bleachers, cheering on the team, and Luke couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter as this beautiful girl cheered him on with every touchdown he scored. 

After the game, she came down to say hi to Bobby, the team’s Running Back and the girl’s best friend. Luke knew this. He had seen the two of them together a lot during lunches and in the hallways, but never dared to ask the boy that became a friend of his too, what this girl’s name was or what her deal was. 

But the fact that she came to say hi to him, gave Luke an opportunity to talk to her, too. “Hey, Bobbers, nice touchdowns,” the girl teased her best friend, who hadn’t scored any today. He did assist on some of Luke’s touchdowns. 

“Oh, shut it, y/n,” Bobby muttered and shoved her in the shoulder. He turned when Luke patted him on the back as he joined the group. “Good game, Patterson,” he said to the floppy haired boy next to him. The boy who couldn’t keep his eyes off his best friend for one second. 

“You too, Bobbers,” he repeated y/n’s nickname for her best friend, earning an eyebrow raise from the girl he’s been crushing for a week straight now. Even her eyes were captivating. The dark brown reflected gold in the setting sun.    

“You making fun of my nicknames, Patterson?” she asked, one corner of her mouth tugging up into a smirk. The boy became a stuttering mess at the teasing tone in her voice. 

“No, I uhm… I-I…” he scratched the back of his neck at a loss for words. “I’m Luke, by the way.” Y/N giggle reached his ears like a sweet lullaby. She shook her head at the boy. 

“Oh, I know.” 

Her straightforward reply haunted his brain for years to follow. He never knew what it meant but it became the thing that started a blossoming friendship. A friendship that made them the infamous ‘it-couple-that-wasn’t-a-couple’ by junior year. A title neither of you wanted, being in the ‘popular’ clique was already too much. 

“Chicaaaas!” Luke called out as he and Bobby walked into the student lounge where y/n and Lydia, her best friend and captain of the cheerleading team, were having some tea and chatting about girl stuff -- as Luke himself liked to say. “Party tonight at Alexis Bryan’s place, are we going or?” he rubbed his hands together as if he’d just concocted the greatest scheme of all time. 

Y/N smiled up at both boys and said, “Lyds and I were actually talking about having a sleepover tonight and making a puzzle together.” The two boys groaned and rolled their eyes at her answer. “What?” she asked. 

“You sound like two grandmas!” Bobby exclaimed and ran his hand through his dark hair. 

“Hey! No hate against grandmas!” Lydia exclaimed with a scowl on her face. Bobby raised his hands in defense before everyone turned to Luke, who was looking down at y/n. 

“I don’t know, Luke… I really don’t feel like running into Matt tonight.” 

“Come on, y/n. I’m literally nothing with my party partner in crime!” His eyes begged and pleaded, which was something y/n hadn’t quite learned how to resist yet. She’d tried to. Many a time. But she always had to give in eventually. 

Even now. “Fine,” she said. “But you’re gonna have to promise to dance with me!” Luke rolled his eyes at the compromise, but couldn’t help the smile finding its way to his cheeks. No matter how hard it was for y/n to say no to Luke, it was twice as hard for him to say no to her. 

“Fine,” he grumbled. 

That night, as y/n took her scalding hot shower in preparation for the party, she reminisced over the past few years and how much her life changed since she started high school. Her mind wandered over the first day, when she clung to Bobby’s bicep because she was so scared of all the new things around her. She remembered how tiny and scared she felt, but all of that washed away when Bobby reassured her he wouldn’t leave her side. Only when he went to try out for football and she tried out for the running team. Then her mind jumped to the day she met Luke at the football game and how he immediately caught her attention. Ever since that day, her life had become this big-ass chaos. If it weren’t for Luke, she would probably just be part of the sprint relay team. But thanks to being so close to the quarterback, y/n was popular by association. Though, she wouldn’t change it for the world. What she would change was how all her dates had always been scared of Luke. All except for one. Matthew. He somehow managed to get through Luke’s and Bobby’s shield of brotherly protection -- as they called it. The two had been together for a few months until the whispers started. Whispers about Matthew cheating on y/n, or y/n cheating on Matthew with Luke. None of which was very healthy for the relationship, so they broke it off. 

It would’ve been friendly if she didn’t see Matthew the day after their break up kissing one of her teammates. That’s when she knew the whispers about him weren’t just rumors. Even up until this day, she wondered if her sister ever had a thing with him, like the whispers suggested. 

As her Ace of Base CD played on her stereo, she started to make a move-on with her outfit and makeup. She opted for a black body con dress with spaghetti straps that accentuated her curves in just the right places. For her makeup, she decided on a neutral look and swiped the light browny color across her eyelids. 

By the time she started applying her mascara, there was a light tapping on her window. She turned around to find Luke on the small balcony at your window. He was wearing his Screams from The Attic band tee with the sleeves cut off and his trusty black jeans, decorated with the infamous chains and blue rabbit’s foot. 

She opened the window door to let him in and turned to grab her shoes. “Hey, you re--wowza!” he cut himself off when his eyes took in every inch of the girl in front of him. A blush crept to y/n’ cheeks as she strapped the black heels on. “That’s a fly outfit, girl.” 

“Thanks, Patterson. Let’s bounce, yeah?” 

Luke climbed over the stone enclosure of the balcony and carefully let himself hang down from the bottom before letting go and landing gracefully on his feet. He whispered a ‘yes’ under his breath before looking up to find y/n climbing over as elegantly as she could. Though, with that dress on, she was about to flash someone and the lucky recipient of the little sneak peek was of course Luke. 

“Is today a special occasion?” he asked. Y/N turned her head to look down at Luke while hanging onto the balcony for dear life. “You only wear red lingerie on special occasions.” 

“Why are you looking down my dress, you creep?” The giggle that followed the words reassured Luke that she wasn’t offended by it. It was a typical thing to bicker about in their friendship. 

“You flashed your knickers at me, Peaches, don’t blame me.” He held his hands up in defense, shooting her a sheepish look. Y/N scoffed at that and rolled her eyes before dropping down to hang from the balcony the same way Luke had done. 

“You are so lucky I love you,” she mumbled and then screamed, “Patterson, think fast!” She let go, and hoped Luke would be fast enough to catch her since she wasn’t going to stick the landing on her heels quite as much as Luke did. Thankfully though, Luke’s fast reflexes made him move underneath her just in time to catch her, bridal style. 

Their eyes locked for a moment, both of them suddenly realizing how close they really were. A smile made its way to y/n’s features and she leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek before flicking her legs out of his grasp and patting his chest twice. 

“Thanks, buddy. That was like a crazy trust fall.” 

Leaving Luke behind to reflect on whatever just happened, y/n skipped towards Bobby’s car and got into the passenger’s seat. She planted a kiss on Bobby's cheek and then turned around as Luke got in the back, finding two other boys she knew all too well. 

 “‘sup homies?” she grinned cheesily at the blonde and brunette she knew as Alex and Reggie. The two other members of Sunset Curve, the band Bobby and Luke formed when they met in freshman year. 

The two boys smiled back at y/n while Luke gave her a glare, probably because she stole his seat in the front. However, y/n didn’t care or notice, for that matter. Her mind was wrapped up in something else instead. 

“So, Alex…” she started, capturing the blond guy’s attention. “How was your date with Driss?” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, and it sent a scarlet color up to Alex’s cheeks. Even though his parents didn’t care for his sexual orientation, he was glad his friends supported him, even if that meant y/n’s curiosity in his dating life. 

“It was okay…” he replied humbly, but y/n wasn’t y/n if she let this slide. 

“Where did he take you? What did you do? What did you wear?” she gasped, “Did you kiss?” The boys collectively chuckled at y/n’s antics. All of them had endured her searching for cute date stories. 

“He took me to this really pretty lake where we had a picnic and we screamed into the dark,” he reminisced dreamily with a tender smile on his face. Y/N’s heart melted at the sight of Alex’s happiness. It was about time he got a happy ending too. 

“Did you kiss?” she repeated her question. 

Alex exhaled, a pout forming on his face as he said, “No… But! He did ask me for a second date tomorrow!” Y/N’s face lit up entirely as she clapped her hands giddily, making Alex laugh. 

“I am so happy for you, Alex.” She reached out her hand between the two front seats, and Alex grabbed it, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. 

The car abruptly came to a stop, causing y/n to lose her balance a little. “The hell, dude?” she asked Bobby, glaring at the driver. 

“We’re here, so unless you wanna continue this little tea party, get out of my car!” Y/N glanced at the other boys, who were equally as confused about the boy’s sudden behavior. 

“Someone needs to get laid tonight,” y/n muttered while she unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of Bobby’s jeep, the boys following suit. She came to a halt in front of the house, looking up at the castle of a house. Music was thumping through the white brick walls and people were bustling about on the front lawn, smoking, drinking and talking. 

“You ready?” Reggie asked, placing a hand on y/n’s left shoulder while another hand grabbed her right one. Looking up, she found Alex smiling down at her with that reassuring smile of his. When she felt another hand on her right shoulder and a kiss to the back of her head, she knew she was good to go. She had all her best friends with her. She would be fine, even if she ran into the devil’s spawn. 

“If you wanna dip, just give us the sign and we’ll bounce,” Luke told her as he stood behind her. Slowly, but surely, y/n began to nod her head, mentally preparing herself for what’s about to come. 

She'd made up a million of scenes where she’d confront Matthew, coming up with the wittiest comebacks she could possibly think of. The perfect monologue that would forever be stuck in her head since she was too much of a shy girl to actually say those out loud. She might seem like a clever, obnoxious popular girl, but deep down, she was still the little geek from Middle School at heart. 

“Good to go,” she mumbled and started her way up to the house with Alex’s hand still in hers and the other boys safely surrounding her. 

As they walked into the house, they turned a few heads and with it began the rumor mill, like it always did. There was always something to spill about the group, it seemed. 

“Y/N!” a loud shriek brought y/n back out of her thoughts. When she looked up, she found Lydia walking up to them with arms wide open. As she hugged her best friend, y/n could smell the alcohol on her. 

“Hey, Lyds,” y/n chuckled, “Been here long?” She pushed the strawberry blonde hair off her and took in her presence. She was wearing her lucky red dress with the plunging neckline, which was enough information for y/n to know her best friend was drinking for some courage to get a boy into her bed. 

“About an hour,” she slurred, and then her eyes fell on the boys behind y/n. Another shriek deafened y/n as the girl stumbled into Reggie’s arms for a hug. The boy giggled, steadying the tipsy girl. Each on their turn, the boys handed the drunk girl off to the next, knowing she wouldn’t stop until she had hugged every single one of them. “So, what are we thinking, shots?” she asked as she leaned on Bobby’s shoulder for balance. 

“I think you need some soda,” Bobby replied before grumpily grabbing Lydia’s hand and leading her towards the kitchen. Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed as she watched the two walk off. Something wasn’t quite right with her best friend, she just couldn’t place a finger on what it was. 

“What’s gotten his panties in a twist?” she asked the others, who all simply shrugged. 

Within the first ten minutes, the group was split up. While y/n was talking to her running team, Alex was occupied with Driss, Reggie was playing beer pong with some people and Luke was, unsurprisingly flirting with some girl.   

Luke was notorious for his flirting with girls, so it didn’t surprise y/n too much when her eyes fell on the popular quarterback, surrounded by a bunch of cheerleaders. Though she had to admit, she loved it most when the flirting was directed at her instead of other girls. 

When their eyes locked, Luke shot her a wink with that overconfident smirk on his face that made y/n roll her eyes. After blowing him a kiss, y/n walked back into the kitchen for a refill of her beer. If she was going to survive this party, she was going to need some more party fuel. 

“Hey, y/n!” a familiar voice sounded from the other side of the kitchen. When she looked up, she found Astrid and Alexis Bryan, hostesses of tonight’s soiree. It was Astrid who’d called her name. Y/N raised her red cup at the girl as she made her way over to her, leaving her sister by herself. “How you doing?” 

“Pretty good. Nice party you got going on here,” she answered, nodding her head to the dancing students in her living room. Astrid chuckled and sipped from her own beer while leaning against the counter. 

“Yeah, it is pretty rad,” Astrid mumbled, “Though, we have to thank Alexis for that. Could never have done this myself, but she did, so…” A snicker left y/n’s body as she softly tapped her foot to the beat of the music and her eyes scanned the party. 

“Let’s go dance, hm?” Astrid held out her hand for y/n to take, which she gladly did, and let the girl lead her towards the dance floor while sipping her beer. 

It’s about time y/n let loose for once. She always used to get so worked up at parties, knowing Matthew was going to be there and she’d tell the boys she wanted to leave before it ever got any fun. But this time, she wasn’t going to let a boy ruin her fun. She was here now, she looked bomb and was having fun with some of the girls from her class. 

“Y/N!” Lydia’s voice shrieked once more as she joined y/n on the dance floor with a red cup in her hand while the other landed on the back of y/n’s neck, pulling her in to kiss her on the cheek. “You know I love you, right?” 

Y/N glanced over at Bobby, who was keeping an eye out for Lydia from a few feet away. 

“I tried to give her soda,” he shrugged. Y/N rolled her eyes as an amused smile made its way to her cheeks. “It’s your best friend,” he added with his hands raised in defense. 

Y/N reached out and grabbed Bobby’s wrist, pulling him into the group to dance. He was hesitant at first, but eventually gave in and sang along to the song at the top of his lungs while supporting Lydia in a dance. 

Soon, Reggie and Alex had joined the group too, and y/n just knew tonight would be amazing. All she ever needed were her friends, some good music and booze. 

“Having fun, sweetheart?” Y/N’s skin crawled upon hearing the voice and feeling the familiar hands on her waist. That amazing night did not include him. 

She stopped moving all together and stepped away from him, only for him to pull her closer. 

“Let go, Matt!” she yelled and tried to step away again. He twirled her around, leaving his hands firmly on her waist. His bright blue eyes looked down at her with that familiar smile of his playing at his lips. A smile that used to make her heart swell now felt like a violation. 

“Ah, you still remember the sound of my voice,” he cooed. One hand came up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’ve missed you, y/n. I know we broke up, but I realize now that it was a mistake. We’re perfect for each other…” 

Y/N almost melted as the words reached her ears until she was reminded by the past they shared. Until she was reminded of what he’d done to her and how much it  had hurt. All the pain and sadness suddenly came back to her. She was feeling all of it again. 

She took a step back, finally freeing herself from his claws. She said, “Don’t.” Her eyes were dark and angry, her face stoic. A whole new side of y/n Matthew had never seen before. As he muttered her name, he took a step closer, wanting to hold her in his arms again. “Don’t take another step in my direction,” she said, now a lot firmer than before. “Don’t ever think you can apologize your way back into my arms, Matt.” 

The commotion had grabbed everyone’s attention so much so that even the music had stopped abruptly. Luke got up from leaning against the wall with a girl pinned against it, when he heard y/n’s voice raise, while her other friends perked up too. 

“Please, y/n… You’re the only person I ever loved. You’re the only person I still love.” 

Y/N scoffed at this and shook her head in disbelief while kissing her teeth. “Do you think I’m naive, Matt?” Matt looked up at her, pleadingly. “You really think I’d fall for your lies? After everything we’ve been through? After everything you’ve done to me?” She didn’t care who was watching, she needed to get the monologue she’d thought of in the shower out of her system. It’s now or never. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, y/n… I thought we broke up as friends?” 

A collective gasp fell over the whole entire room, followed by the usual whispers. 

“Yeah, we did. Until I found out you already had your tongue down Sam’s throat the day after. The day after, Matt! I know you were seeing her and so many other girls while we were dating. I hear the whispers too, you know? And I thought, I really thought you were speaking the truth when you told me none of the whispers were true.” Her voice wavered, but she took a deep breath and bit back the tears. She had to stay strong. 

“Fine, the rumors were true, but so what, y/n?! The whispers about you were true, too!” The volume of his voice grows, his tone sharper, firmer. Back when they were dating, y/n got scared whenever the volume of his voice rose, but not this time.   

Y/N shook her head, her tongue gliding over her teeth. “You hear whispers from people around you, saying I slept with Luke when you know damn well that Luke’s like my brother and we don’t look at each other that way. When you hear whispers, you have to scream and you’re screaming at me for being disloyal when the only one who was ever loyal in our relationship was me. I know about whispers, Matt. I saw the way you looked at my sister. At Alexis. At Amber. At Sam. So don’t you dare say I was ever the only one you loved. Because you, Matthew, don’t love anyone or care about anyone but yourself.”

Luke jammed his hands into his pockets as he listened to y/n’s words. Even though they hurt, he couldn’t help but feel proud of her for standing up to her oppressor. He watched as y/n said her final words before running up the stairs, leaving everyone confused and in a humble of even more rumors and whispers. Shaking his head, he followed y/n upstairs, finding her on the balcony at the end of the hallway. 

“So, you finally did it, huh?” His voice made her jump slightly, but she calmed down straight away when realizing it was just him. “Your monologuing in the mirror paid off.” He went to stand next to her, leaning against the concrete enclosure. 

Y/N wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, chuckling. Of course Luke would know she’d been practicing in her mirror. This had been brewing for a while and now that it was finally out in the open, lingering in the air in that living room down there, she didn’t know if she should feel relieved or scared. 

“Hey,” Luke nudged her with his shoulder, shooting a small smile, “I’m proud of you.” 

Her lips curled up into a smile before she wrapped both arms around his bicep, her head resting against his shoulder as she took a deep breath. “I can’t believe I said all of that in there,” she chuckled. 

“Yeah, me neither,” said Luke and he pressed a kiss to her hair before laying his head down on hers. “Did you see Matt’s face though? He was genuinely scared of you just then.”

Y/N scoffed and let go of him, making her way to the small bench in the corner of the small terrace. “I doubt he was scared of me. What he was, was shocked because I never talked back to him whenever we fought.” 

Luke turned around, but kept leaning against the fence, crossing his arms. “I’m glad you finally did. That asshole needed to know that what he was doing wasn’t cool. He needed to know that that’s not how you treat a woman.” 

Y/N raised her eyebrow at him, leaning back on her hands. “And you know how to treat a woman.” Luke wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement, so he didn’t answer straight away. He mulled over a good answer as he walked up to her, taking a seat next to her on the bench, their shoulders touching. 

"You know how I’d treat a woman?” he asked. 

“Please, enlighten me,” she replied. 

Luke inhaled deeply before the words poured out of him like he’d been the one monologuing this in front of his mirror. “I would treat her like a goddess. I would build her temples out of words and love and affection. I would make sure she was happy and satisfied before my own needs were fulfilled. I’d write songs to her and she’d be my muse for my music. I would build empires of paragraphs, castles of melodies inspired by her. I would flood her senses with words and make sure she knew all of that was for her. I would build her a whole new world. I’d grant her a universe filled with words and music of love.”    

Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Woah, Patterson…” Luke shrugged and offered her a shy smile before looking out into the dark night in front of them. “Careful or you’ll make me fall in love with you.” 

“That’s the intention,” he muttered, but his words were overpowered by Lydia’s shrieking. 

“Here you are!” she yelled, then turned her head to someone inside. “Bobbers! I found our love birds!” She turned her head to the two on the bench and smiled. “Come on, you guys! There’s a party downstairs! We need to celebrate y/n’s greatest victory ever!” 

“We can dip if you don’t wanna go back out there,” Luke told her as she stood up. 

“I think I’ll be okay,” she smiled thankfully at him before reaching out her hand for him to take. “Come on, let’s get jiggy!” Luke smirked before gently placing his hand in hers and letting her pull him up to his feet. 

Together, the two of them followed Lydia and Bobby back downstairs to the party, their fingers laced together as they made their way through the crowd. As if on cue, the people started to whisper again as they passed, but y/n didn’t care. She had her best friends with her, she just stood up to her ex-boyfriend, and she found out her best friend was a feminist. There’s no better night than that. She was not going to let it get ruined by a few whispers. 

For the rest of the night, y/n danced and partied with her friends until the sun came up again and it was time to head home. Like every other party night, the six of them ended up in Bobby’s garage. Luke and y/n snuggled up on his couch, Bobby and Lydia in a sleeping bag together, and Reggie and Alex spooning on an air mattress. 

Can’t get more perfect than that.   

 New week, fresh start, people always said. Y/N used to think of it as bullshit, but this time around, she could actually feel it. She felt refreshed, as if a whole new world opened up to her. As if she’d started a new chapter, nay, a new book. One with a happy continuation. One without Matt. 

Monday also meant practice after school. For all of them. The football team had practice out on the field while the sprint relay team ran around it and the cheerleaders practiced on the sidelines. It was the one extracurricular they did together without actually doing it together. 

“Hey, y/n…” a voice she recognized as Sam’s made her look away from the boys on the football field. Her voice sounded ambivalent, which confused y/n as the girl would normally be chirpy and cheery. 

“Hey, Sam. ‘Sup?” y/n gathered her long hair in both hands and tied it up at the top of her head with a bright pink scrunchie. 

“I just--I wanted to apologize for what I did…” she mumbled, her eyes cast on her fidgeting finger. Y/N had never seen her teammate like this. The otherwise lively sport nut now sounded guilty and like the light had been snuffed out of her. “I knew you and Matt were together and I still let him…” she trailed off as though saying the words would make them true. 

Y/N flinched at the mention of the boy’s name. She had hoped it wouldn’t have been brought up and besides the occasional whisper she’d caught during lunch, the objective had been quite successful. Until now. 

“I really don’t wanna talk about him right now, Sam,” y/n muttered, and when she looked up at Sam, she knew she had to say something to ease the girl’s mind. “But this wasn’t your fault. Matt should’ve not tried anything with you. He was the disloyal one, he was the one that cheated on me, not you.” A teasing grin played at y/n’s lips when she continued, “You know, unless you’re gonna tell me now you doped yourself up for practice and are gonna make me lose.” 

Sam worriedly looked up, but when she noticed the grin on y/n’s face, she immediately calmed down and couldn’t help but laugh. 

She shook her head, “No, I’m no cheater.” 

Y/N’s lips curled up into a smile as she grabbed Sam’s hand and squeezed it, letting her know the two are on good terms. Nothing should ever break up the team, especially not a boy. 

“She's talking about you, y/n?” 

Speak of the devil… 

Y/N turned around to where the voice came from, finding a tense Matt in front of her. She should’ve known there was no way of avoiding him all day today. 

“I knew you were lying to me. I knew you and Patterson were a thing and you cheated on me with him.” His voice resounded across the entire area, attracting everyone’s attention with the sudden commotion. 

The football team stopped their exercise half-way, much to the coach’s dismay, and the cheerleaders broke up their human pyramid to find out what was going on. Luke, Bobby and Lydia were the only ones of each team to give incentive to the rest of the team to walk up to the ex-couple fighting. 

“And you just kept on guilting me because I was the only one to be disloyal,” Matt grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. “I heard the whispers, y/n. I heard what happened the other night!” 

Y/N’s eyebrows rose, unimpressed at his outburst. “What did you hear this time, Matthew?” 

“You and Patterson getting dirty on the balcony at Bryan’s party!” he spat, and drops of saliva actually found their way to y/n’s face. She kissed her teeth before wiping her cheek with one forceful finger. 

“Have you learned nothing, asshole?!” y/n shouted. She wasn’t going to keep her cool anymore. Ever since Friday, she learned that she was able to stand up to herself, no matter how scary Matt could get. 

She stepped forward, erasing the space between the two as they stood chest-to-chest. Seeing this, Luke halted and averted his eyes. He thought this situation would actually give him a hand at finally asking y/n out for real, but it seemed like the two were about to make up. 

“Didn’t you learn about whispers being just that, whispers? Nothing happened between Luke and me. Not when we were dating, not at Alexis’ party. And the fact that you even dare to insinuate I would be capable of cheating just shows once more that you don’t know me and you don’t care about me.” She pressed her index finger to his chest harshly. “You are a selfish, self-indulgent prick who doesn’t deserve all the wonderful women that have thrown themselves at you. You don’t deserve anything and--” y/n flinched as she watched his hand come up and two hands pulled her away from Matt. 

“Patterson, stay out of this,” Matt growled. Y/N opened her eyes at the mention of her best friend’s name, finding him between her and her ex now. As she turned her head, Bobby was standing behind her, his hands on her shoulder. 

Matt turned back to Y/N, the growl persistent on his face. “No,” Luke said, capturing Matt’s attention once more. 

“No?” His voice was abrasive, a tone y/n had gotten used to over the years. 

“No,” Luke repeated. He glanced back at y/n before jamming his hands into his trousers and looking at Matt again. Though Luke was a lot smaller than the broad, tall teenager in front of him, his confidence was twice the size of the other footballer. “Technically, you’re pinning me down as a home wrecker, so you pretty much pulled me into this yourself.” 

Y/N raised her eyebrows at the new-found confidence. Luke was cocky and flirty around girls, but he’d never been this overly confident version of himself towards his teammates. It was refreshing to see this entirely different side from her best friend. 

“Well, yeah, because she clearly did cheat on me with you. Why else would you guys be fooling around after her little outburst to me?” The overconfidence Matt normally carried had now washed away. He hadn’t seen this side of the quarterback yet either. 

Luke let out an airy laugh, and retorted, “Yeah, well, see, that’s where you’re wrong.” He tilted his head ever so slightly, his green eyes looking up at the big, burly footballer. “There’s this misconception about our relationship, you see? Y/N and I are the best of friends, and I get it we’d look super hot together as a couple, but the sad truth is -- well, sad for me -- that Y/N has always been too busy being loyal to an asshole like you to see that. So, despite popular belief, y/n and I are just the best of friends and she deserves the world, more even, she deserves a whole-ass new universe. Which is something you can’t give her.” 

Y/N stared at her best friend in awe. She had never seen this side of him but she couldn’t say she disliked it. In fact, there was this attractiveness about an overconfident Luke defending her against her ex-boyfriend. And reciting the words in her mind, she realized something she hadn’t seen before. Luke was in love with her and he’d tried to tell her so many times before, but she took it as harmless flirting. 

Moreover, y/n realized she was in love with her best friend too. 

“But you, Matthew McSomething,” y/n chuckled at Luke’s name dig at the Scottish boy, especially with the added bonus of an attempt at a Scottish accent, “You are too self-indulgent to even give her a fraction of a world. So, unless you can actually give her more than that, stay away from her…” 

“Or what?” Matt snarled. 

“I’ll put you on the bench for the rest of the season. And we all know you can only get the girls when you’re on the field, don’t we?” 

Matt’s eyes widened at Luke’s words as the panic set in. Matthew McGregor was nothing on the bench. Even worse, he was less than nothing. On the bench, he’d get associated with Bruce Frederickson, coach’s nephew who was just there because he was family and not because he was actually good at football. 

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Luke murmured and then turned to the coach, who, too, had joined in the drama. “I think we can hit the showers now, can’t we, coach?” The tall man nodded his head slowly, unsure about what had just happened to his star player. He’d only ever got this confident on the field, never off. Even the coach knew that. 

As all teams dispersed, y/n grabbed a hold of her favorite cheerleader’s arm, pulling her aside while Luke and Bobby walked away. They didn’t even notice y/n’s panicked rush. 

“Lyds, I think I’m in love with my best friend,” she whispered. Her eyes were wide, her tone hurried and filled with panic. The strawberry blonde’s lips curled up into a grin as she patted her best friend’s hair. 

“Oh, we know, sweetie…” she said, confusing y/n even more, “It’s about time you admitted it.” Y/N rolled her eyes and shook her head as she anxiously played around with the friendship bracelet around Lydia’s wrist. 

“I’ve been dreaming about my knight in shining armour since I was ten, Lyds. I never thought I would find it in my best friend. My best friend, Lydia!” The girl let out an endeared laugh as she tucked a flyaway behind the other girl’s ear. 

“I know, sweetie.” Her hand landed on y/n’s cheek and her thumb gently swiped across the skin. “Now, go! Tell him!” 

“Yeah! Right! Right!” she vigorously nodded her head, but she didn’t move a muscle. 

“Y/N… You’re gonna have to move if you wanna go and talk to him.” 

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out, so she shut it again. “Right, yeah…” she swallowed a lump as the fear sank in. She had never had to tell her best friend she had feelings for him. All of this was new to her. How does one even confess that? 

“Sweetie, you can do this, okay? Just follow your gut.” Lydia’s tone was stern, but it was exactly what y/n needed to hear. “Like how you don’t calculate your moves on the track, but you just go! Like Gail Devers!” The mention of y/n’s absolute favorite athlete made her look up. 

“Gail Devers was actually very meticulous,” she corrected her best friend’s metaphor.

Lydia deadpanned, “Not the point, y/l/n.” She placed  her hands on y/n’s shoulders and turned her around, pushing her towards the field. “Now go! Shoo!” She waved her hands in a dismissive manner, and after one more hurried look, y/n sprinted across the field. “Atta girl!” she heard Lydia yell before making her way into the school, through corridors until she reached the boy’s locker room where Bobby had just walked out of.  

The boy glanced at her, and when he realized what she was there for, he nodded his head towards the closed door, giving her permission to go inside. He said, “He’s the last one in.” 

Y/N kissed Bobby on the cheek before opening the door. She was met with the stench of sweat and deodorant, but it didn’t phase her. Not today. The girl was on a mission. 

She weaved through the rows of lockers until she found him standing near a bench, zipping up his trusty black jeans, shirtless. Her eyes scanned his entire physique from head to to toe until she realized she was actually checking out her best friend in a way she hadn’t done before.

“Y/N?”  

For a second, she tried to calculate her next move, but then decided to throw it all overboard, and instead marched up to him. She grabbed his face with both hands and brought him down to meet her lips. His breath hitched in his throat before melting into the kiss and bringing his hands up to her waist, pulling her closer into him. 

“Give me that whole-ass universe,” she muttered as they pulled away to come up for air. Luke huffed, a relieved smile pulling at his lips. This was what he’d been dreaming of for so long; kissing her, holding her, cherishing her. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replied before kissing her again. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for ages,” he added, his words disappearing into her mouth.  

“Oh, I know.” 

With the same words their friendship started, started a whole new chapter in their lives and their relationship. Everything would change now, but neither of them cared. They were granted a whole new universe. 

*

*

*

JATP taglist: @hannahhistorian92​ @marinettepotterandplagg​ @thequirkybookaholic​ @bookdealer5​ @tenaciousperfectionunknown​ @hemmingsness​ @iainttakingshitfromnobody​ @ifilwtmfc​ @angryknightstatesmantrash​ @kiss-themoongoodbye​ @rudysbay​ @thedarkqueenofavalon​​ @caitsymichelle13​​ @calamitykaty​ @wiselight​ @kcd15​​ @vicesvsvirtuesfanfic​ @stars-soph​ @kinda-really-lost​ @notasofti​ 

Charlie/Luke taglist: @parkeret​​ @lukeys-giggle​ @gingerxarmy​ @lovesanimals​ @lolychu​ @perfectlywrongformend3s​ @luckylouiebug​ @camiladelrio98​ @myfriendscallmebeans​

Lemme know if you wanna be on my taglist! 

[45percenterthen]

merry christmas @rambleoncas from ur spn fam secret santa !! sending all the love to u, ely 🥰🎄 i’m SO sorry this is late, pls absolutely yell at me i’m the worst 🙃 had such a fun time writing this tho, hope u love it ! <33

In which Sam and Eileen are not the comedy duo they think they are, a new board game is invented, and Dean and Cas learn a valuable lesson about the perils of ice skating. (2.7k, minor angst followed by ridiculous festive fluff, read here on ao3)

As a child, Dean picked his scabs. Forever scratching at his knuckles, knees, the scarred backs of his elbows. The rhythmic scrape and peel of it. Absentminded in the backseat of the car, or sitting next to Sammy in whatever run-down motel of the week, one eye trained on the door. A life built on rituals and routine; Dean was bound to form some of his own.

There’d been this one vamp in Des Moines, back in ’93. Towering beast of a guy. Dean was pinned up against cold brick in a dimly-lit alley, something sharp digging into the back of his knees and something sharper rising in the back of his throat. Better Dean be bait, of course, than some random civilian. But Dad wasn’t there yet. The guy was at full-fang, teeth inching towards his neck, and Dean was casting silent prayers skyward that Dad had killed the rest of the nest by now, that he was on his way, that this was all still part of the plan.

The vamp had roughed him up a bit, but Dean had given as good as he got, punching and kicking and spitting and punching, smart mouth working overtime to distract from the trembling of his hands. And then, finally, seconds from the precipice: Dad was there. His blade sung as it sliced through the thing’s neck, spraying blood and bone and gristle. And Dean was saved. Dad had grinned, clapped a hand on his shoulder. You did well, son. And Dean had looked up at him from where he’d crumpled to the ground, as if he could float up from the gutter on just those words alone. Let his head tip back to hit brick, lip split, face cracked with blood and pride. In the car back to the motel he was glowing, the compliment sinking into split, aching flesh like a balm. His hands were still shaking, though. Dean had tucked them under his thighs so Dad wouldn’t notice.

He wore his scabbed knuckles like a badge of honour, scratching at the welts in neon-lit diners, reaching out occasionally for faux-attacks on Sam’s fries. He’d wanted it to scar. Wanted to peel away at ruined skin until his knuckles were pink-raw and silvery. A souvenir of a hunt well done, of Dad smiling at him like he’d done something right. Of the four people they’d saved from the nest. Dad’s words rattled around his hollow insides like he could live off them the next few weeks. Scrape. Peel.

Twenty-something years later and Dean hasn’t managed to shake the habit. But as he walks into the bunker’s library, surveys the scene like an audience member of his own life, Dean thinks he’s managed to break a lot – a lot – of others.

“Check it out, Sammy!” He shoves bloodied knuckles in Sam’s face, smiles at him through a mouthful of gingerbread. “Think it’ll scar?”

Sam’s next to Eileen at one of the tables, two slices of cake in front of them, the sound of It’s A Wonderful Life echoing from tinny laptop speakers. It’s balanced precariously on some dusty spell-books, just as a bowl of popcorn is suspended between the armrests of Sam and Eileen’s chairs. Dean’s been watching the politics of the bowl’s positioning with great amusement; Sam’s previous attempts to tilt it to his own side have resulted in glares of ranging affection (and one shoulder-punch) from Eileen. The bowl was swiftly returned to original formation.

At the sight of Dean’s hand, Sam’s face instantly wilts, recoiling like Dean’s smacked him with it. Eileen winces slightly, signs ‘you're such an idiot’, smiling around a mouthful of cake.

“God, Dean, we’re eating–”, Dean smirks harder, crumbs threatening to overspill. “–you’re so gross.” Sam cranes his neck to make eye contact with Cas across the room, shoots him a grin. “Besides – that’s what you get for taking Bambi out on the ice.”

Cas leans back in his chair, head tilted, eyes narrowed suspiciously. One of Dean’s old flannels rolled up to his elbows. He regards Sam like he’s practicing spontaneous human combustion via telepathy.

“I have very little in common with an animated deer, Sam.”

“Only the coordination issues,” Claire chips in from opposite Cas.

“Whose side are you on?” She smiles sweetly at him.

Dean steals a piece of Sam’s popcorn (“other hand, dude!”) just to throw it at him. Waits till the Sasquatch’s eyes are fixed back on the movie, then signs ‘dork’ at Eileen, gesturing to Sam with comically-wide eyes.

She laughs. “Absolutely.”

Engrossed in the film, Sam loops an arm around the back of her chair, oblivious, and Dean walks back across the room, gingerbread in hand. Cas is sitting at the next table along from Sam-and-Eileen, settling back into observing – what appears to be – an incredibly heated game of UNO. Dean’s not sure it is UNO, actually, he’s certain he saw some playing cards caught in the fray. Monopoly cards too? Dean makes a mental note to start paying more attention to the quality of his thrift-store-finds. Regardless, Claire seems to have manoeuvred the situation to her advantage, no doubt convincing Jack and Cas that yes, actually, this is exactly how you play it. She’s chewing on her lip slightly, in way that could pass for concentration. More likely though, Dean thinks, it’s to hide a smile that says: this is like taking candy from a baby-God. The baby-God in question is sitting across the table, next to Cas, eyes wide and earnest, contemplating his nonsensical hand of cards with the focus of a laser-pointer. Dean hopes they’re not playing for money. Claire would clean up.

Dean smiles at Cas, hands him the plate of gingerbread. Reaches out with his uninjured hand to sweep a thumb over his cheekbone. He leans down to press an unselfconscious kiss to the centre of his forehead, and isn’t that a testament to how far he’s come. (From the corner of his eye, Sam watches the exchange. Sees Dean’s wedding band glint in the lamp light as he touches a palm to Cas’ cheek. Smiles to himself.)

Cas accepts the gingerbread, pats the chair next to him. “Sorry I skated over your hand, Dean,” he says woefully.

Dean, always Dean. Never babe, or honey, or something equally as cloying that’d have Sam choking on his granola. Just, Dean. He’s never heard his name spoken with such weight before. It’s like a code between them, like only Dean can hear that secret reverence, the adoration that Cas pours into the single word. A benediction, confession. A promise. At the risk of sounding self-important; Dean’s never loved the sound of his own name more.

“S’alright. Better story than all my other scars.” He points at his right shoulder through his Henley, knowing Cas has memorised all the skin underneath. “Vamp.” Left knee: “Shifter.” Left hand: “Crazed husband on ice skates.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “I did tell you not to lie down.”

Dean looks at him, scandalised. “It’s a well-known fact that star-gazing is, like. The peak of romance–”

“But I was still–“

“–but stargazing and ice-skating? You should probably, like, marry me, dude. Get me locked down quick, and all that.”

He drags the chair a bit closer to the table and sits down. Cas beams at him, eyes shining over these cute little round reading glasses they’d bought for him last week. “I believe I already have that covered.”

This time it’s Claire that rolls her eyes. “God, you two are ridiculous. Can’t you see we’re locked in tense gameplay here?”

Jack nods, palpably sincere, eyes still rooted to his cards.

“Sorry, sorry.” Dean pushes the gingerbread plate in Claire’s general direction in apology. Claps a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Who’s winning, then? Also, uh… what are the rules, exactly?”

He rests a hand on Cas’ knee, draws patterns on the denim. Listens as Jack gives a roundabout explanation of Frankenstein-UNO, how Claire is inexplicably winning every round. It’s weird to think of Jack as actual God now, not when he’s sitting here like this, turning over a Virginia Avenue monopoly card and expression immediately souring. It’s like he has this internal switch, able to toggle between normal-Jack and God-Jack when needed. In moments like these, it almost feels like nothing’s changed. But then he’ll get that glint in his eye, stand up a little straighter, like divine duty’s been injected directly into his veins. Teleport off, continue working on that ground-breaking heaven restructure he’s been talking about. Dean always says that he hopes they’re living it up, Bobby and Ellen and Jo – and all of the rest of them – in heaven-mark-three. That he can’t wait to see the changes. Then Cas’ll chime in, like clockwork. Not for another forty years, I hope. Dean wonders if they’ll get, like, coupons for the heavenly frozen yogurt places, or something. Being one of the unofficial fathers of God has to hold some clout up there, right?

In truth, Dean has some more questions about heaven, heavier ones that weigh on his chest. Lead on his tongue, back-of-his-mind whispers that louden at night. Ones he hasn’t quite found the words to articulate aloud yet. Who, exactly, will be there waiting for him, when he gets there?

Absentmindedly, Dean’s right hand moves to scratch at his left. It’s not at all scabbed yet, but the pain doesn’t really register. He’s just going through the motions. Scrape. Is it wrong, to not want him to be there? Peel. There is a monster at the end of this book. Scrape–

Cas catches his hand and Dean’s thoughts are halted in their tracks. He takes a breath. Cas’s palm sweeps over his knuckles, pulls at his wrist. Loops Dean’s arm around his own shoulders. The careful intensity of his gaze feels achingly familiar. Dean’s hand rests on Cas’ shoulder, now. Cas keeps holding it. Hand and gaze alike.

It’s like he has a permanent window into his thoughts. Dean wonders if it’s some celestial muscle memory, considering all that practice he’d had as an angel. So used to looking beyond Dean’s face, underneath the bone and flesh of it; seeing his soul itself shifting under his skin. Or maybe this is just Cas. Freakishly attuned to him in a way that transcends angelic powers and logic. Maybe this is just Cas-and-Dean.

He’s vaguely aware that Claire and Jack are still talking, arguing the merits and impact of a rogue nine of diamonds, when Sam announces a text from Jody. Apparently, the snowstorm’s eased a bit, and they’re good to hit the road again tomorrow. They’ll probably be at the bunker within a day or two.

Claire’s looking up from her cards now, the thrill of young love apparently overpowering the need to thrash your brother-God at Monopoly-UNO.

Sam aims a piece of popcorn at her. “She also said that Kaia’s really looking forward to it.” He launches it at her and she catches it, effortlessly. The slight flush though, high on her cheekbones, betrays her.

“Did you end up getting through to her earlier?” Cas asks.

“No – just dial tone. Must’ve been because of the storm.” She pauses. “Actually. If the snow’s died down a bit…” she glances at Jack, scoops her cards up into a neat little pile. “Fifteen minutes,” she says to him, grabbing her phone of the table. “I’ll be right back! Don’t look at my cards!”

Jack nods amiably, smiling at her like she’s just put an idea in his head.

Claire reaches the doorway just as Charlie walks in, towel on her head and hot chocolate balanced on her laptop.

“Lesbian relay race,” she says, deadpan, as Claire greets her. Claire snorts, manages to high-five her without looking up from her phone.

Charlie sets her mug down on the table, stealing a bit of gingerbread from Dean’s plate in one swift movement, grinning at him. No doubt she’s ventured out of her room in the hopes of being fed. She’s always first up on weekend mornings, seemingly able to hear the sound of Dean plating up pancakes from seven rooms over. Dean loves having Charlie visit.

“Two very important questions, folks. One: shall we all watch Die Hard tonight?” There’s a chorus of yeses, punctuated by Cas shaking his head at Jack. “Two: what is this monstrosity of a game and how do I play it?”

“Sit here,” Dean says, making a move before the ‘Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?’ debate can start up again (for the record, it absolutely is). “Jack’ll explain. Me and Cas need an eggnog top-up.” He taps Cas on the shoulder, nods in the general direction of the kitchen.

“Two-man job, is it?” Sam smirks at Dean as they pass by. He’s facing Eileen as he says it, so she too, can appreciate his unending wit. She giggles at Sam, raises an eyebrow at Dean and Cas. They’re an absolute double-act tonight, Dean thinks. This is probably the least attention they’ve paid to a movie since he finally sat them all down to watch Star Trek IV. Ingrates. He’s once again delighted that Charlie’s here.

Dean opens his mouth, ‘the best ones always are, Sammy!’ already forming on his tongue. Low-hanging fruit? Probably. Hilarious? Definitely. Cas glares at him though, and he glances at Jack. Somehow still the picture of innocence, even as he rummages through a hand of cards that he’s failing to pass off as his own. Dean closes his mouth. Sticks to a gesture of universal understanding that he can shoot at Sam, when Jack’s not looking.

When they finally reach the kitchen, Cas stops him in the doorway. He gently takes his injured hand and brings it up to his lips, kisses the palm.

“I hate hurting you,” he says quietly. He leaves the rest of the sentence stuck at the back of his throat; I can’t even heal you anymore. Dean hears it anyway. Crowds him into a hug.

“Honestly, dude, it’s fine.” He presses a kiss to his hairline. “Accidents happen. And it’s kinda hilarious.”

“Hmm.”

“It is. Next time we go, remind me to take you to an actual rink. That way you can hold on to the side with the other twelve-year-olds.”

Cas narrows his eyes, twisting in a half-hearted attempt to disentangle himself from Dean’s arms. Dean doesn’t let him. Lightly runs his fingernails over Cas’ forearms until he shivers.

“We can make it a Christmas tradition.” Dean looks upwards. Shifts them a half-step left. “And speaking of traditions…”

Cas follows his line of sight, eyes coming to rest on a tiny sprig of mistletoe taped neatly to the lip of the doorframe. He grins.

“Why do you think–,” he leans in, an inch from brushing Dean’s smiling lips with his own, “–I stopped us in the doorway?”

“Great minds, dude,” Dean whispers.

His heart soars ridiculously in his chest, like this isn’t something they’ve done a hundred, a thousand times before. He closes his eyes against the sudden rise of emotion and then they’re kissing, Cas smiling into it. Dean’s good hand moves up to Cas’ hair, curves round to stroke at the nape of his neck. Cas’ lips are soft, achingly gentle, parting easily for him. He’s got both hands cradling Dean’s face, like he’s holding him in place, trying to explain something to Dean without words. Using just the connection of their lips. They break apart after a while, breathless, and Dean presses a handful more chaste kisses to Cas’ cheek until he’s laughing, walking backwards until Dean has him pinned up against the doorframe.

Dean looks around furtively, then unbuttons the top of Cas’ stolen flannel, presses an open-mouthed kiss to the thin scar he finds at his Adam’s apple. This is a tradition too, now. Cas sighs, murmurs three words into his hair, and Dean answers with four more kisses down the hollow of his throat, one for each word of his reply. The eggnog sits, untouched, on the countertop and, honestly, this is turning into an accident just waiting to scar a family member. At the moment, though, Dean can’t really bring himself to care. He trails his mouth upwards to capture Cas’ lips, again, again, again, and the sound of easy laughter from the library sits light and buoyant in the air. Back in their room, a little vial of orphaned grace sits, forgotten and dusty, on the uppermost shelf of their closet. 

tag list:

@drriffly @cas-s-sinoatrial-node @seraphlm @itsinjustbeing @cursed-or-not@casandeans @dreamnovak @heller-jensen @joharvele @chaoticdean @dickspeightjrs @contemplativepancakes @oflosechesters @acabdean@aelysianmuse @yearningcas @murphycooper @casbelieves @tearsofgrace @footstepsontherun @adsdragonlover @half-dead-hunter @knowyourworth-sellyoursoul

[heauxplesslydevoted]

Fire & Desire (Ethan x MC)

Warning: NSFW, 18+

Summary: After the funeral, Naomi heads to Ethan’s apartment for comfort. Let’s pretend that 30 diamond scene in chapter 12 didn’t happen, okay? I made up 95% of this.

A/N: Guys, I have an embarrassing amount of rewrites/drafts of this on my computer. Pls enjoy.

~v~

In order to survive the past few days, Naomi has made it her mission to get through things one step at a time. Her first goal was to survive the toxin. She did. Then it was to just get well and be discharged from the hospital. The last step was to make it through Danny and Bobby’s joint memorial service in one piece. Not only did she do that, but she delivered a eulogy flawlessly, while her friends and colleagues all fell apart at the seams and waited for her to do the same.

But now that it’s all over, now that there’s no goal to work towards especially since Naveen won’t let her back in the hospital without clearance from a therapist, Naomi has never felt more lost or out of sorts in her life.

After the memorial, Naomi went home with her roommates and she regrets it. Jackie and Elijah can barely look at her without giving her pity glances, Sienna has been trying to feed her nonstop, and Aurora has convinced them all that she’s spiraling due to her meltdown at Ethan earlier that day. So she hid in her bedroom, pretending to be asleep simply because she was tired of them.

But sleep evades her. Outside of a quick 15 minute power nap, Naomi hasn’t been able to sleep, thoughts of being back in that hospital room never too far from her mind. Every time she closed her eyes, the fear took over, gripping her and refusing to let go.

So that’s how she ended up here, in Ethan’s apartment, on his couch, nursing a glass of scotch. Being at home wasn’t an option and there’s no one else she’d rather be with, so as soon as her roommates went to bed, Naomi slipped out and made her way across town to Ethan’s place. Ethan was shocked when he found her outside of his apartment at midnight, especially with the way their last conversation ended. He wanted to scold her for taking an Uber so late at night by herself, but of course he didn’t turn her away. 

“Are you hungry?” Ethan asks, opening and closing his refrigerator a few times, as if that will make food magically appear. “I didn’t cook today, but I can probably throw something together.”

Naomi doesn’t know if her appetite still hasn’t returned or if it’s her mind playing tricks on her, as she can still taste the vomit in her mouth at the mere mention of food. “No, I’m fine for now.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Okay.” Ethan wants to ask questions because she’s obviously come here for a reason, but he doesn’t want to push her. “It’s late and you must be exhausted though.” He walks back to his living room and holds out a hand, which Naomi grabs. He ushers her to his bedroom. “You can sleep in here.”

His room still looks like she remembers. The king sized bed takes up most of the space, and he still has the most amazing view in all of Boston. The night is still young and bustling, the buildings all lit up.

“You’re sleeping in here too, right?” Naomi asks.

“I was going to take the guest room, or the couch.”

Naomi shakes her head. “Nonsense, you’re sleeping with me.”

Even though there’s no light other than moonlight spilling into the room, Naomi can still see his cheeks tinge pink. “I didn’t want to assume.”

“I think after our night together in the hospital, assuming will be safe. It’s cute, but we’re grown and you won’t offend my virtue.”

“Noted.” Naomi watches him as he moves around the room, a sort of anxious energy radiating off of him. He rummages through a drawer until he finds something suitable for her to put on. “Here you go.”

It’s a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt from a charity 5k because of course Ethan is the type to participate in something like that. Naomi rids herself of the jeans and sweater she haphazardly threw on in her rush to leave her apartment and slips on the t-shirt, forgoing the pants. Their obvious size differences make the shirt look comically large on her like a nightgown.

“Fair warning, I don’t have a scrunchie or anything to wrap my hair in, so I apologize if you wake up to like...a lion’s mane of hair in your face.”

“I think I’ll survive.”

Naomi pulls back the covers and slides into the bed, moaning upon contact. Oh, to be rich and have fancy high thread-count sheets and a memory foam mattress. “God, I never want to leave this bed.”

“Keep making noises like that, and I won’t let you.” He doesn’t climb bed behind her, opting to sit on the edge. “You want to talk?”

“About what?”

“The fact that you’re here right now, instead of your own apartment.”

“Is it not enough to say I wanted to see you?”

Ethan scoffs. Naomi is charming, but she can’t bullshit him. “Sure.”

She doesn’t want to talk about herself. That’s all she’s done for the past 48 hours, and she’s tired of it. It’s selfish.

She manages to turn the tables on Ethan. “You look tired. I’m sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t,” Ethan assures her. “I wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

“I didn’t have you pegged as an insomniac.”

“We’re doctors, so it goes without saying that we’re all insomniacs.” Ethan sighs. “But to be honest, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep all week.”

“I get it. With the toxin, and Bobby and Danny, and Raf–”

“It’s not them, Naomi, it’s you,” Ethan argues. “I spend all 24 hours of the day with you on my brain, worrying about you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I thought you were going to die in my arms,” Ethan continues. “I tried to stay optimistic for you, but all I could think about was the fact that it could’ve been my last night with you. That night, after you finally fell asleep, I stayed up, analyzing your vitals. The only time I wasn’t looking at you is when I was looking at your chart. And every night since, I lay awake, forcing myself to not contact you.”

Naomi frowns. She’s spent so much time wrapped up in her own head, she didn’t take much time to think about how Ethan was affected as well. She’s sure she’d be a wreck if the situation was reversed, if he was the one fighting an unknown deadly agent. 

She crawls out the sheets and joins Ethan at the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think–”

“Don’t you dare apologize to me. You’ve been going through enough, I shouldn’t even be burdening you.”

“It’s fine. We shared deathbed confessions, I think I can handle whatever else you throw my way.”

Ethan turns to lock eyes with Naomi, her expression open and earnest. “I meant everything I said in there. I regret putting us on hold, and I’m sorry I wasted so much time.”

Naomi sucks in a deep breath. “Okay. So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I’m done pretending that I don’t have feelings for you. I’m done trying to hold you at arm’s length. I want you, Naomi.”

“Are you feeling like this because I almost died?”

“No. I mean, sure it was a major wake-up call for me, but I’ve felt this way for a long time. The last time you were here, the night of the softball game, I kissed you, and instead of making my intentions known then and there, I put it off, and that almost cost me everything. I don’t have all the answers, because I’m your boss, and people at hospitals like to gossip, but whatever this is, I want to explore it with you.” 

Naomi doesn’t say anything, her brain and heart trying to process all of this information. Ethan watches her, his heart pounding wildly. Did he seriously miscalculate her feelings for him? Did he pick the most inopportune moment to drop this on her?

“It took you long enough,” Naomi says.

He laughs, his relief evident and he grabs her hand. “Well I appreciate you having the patience of a saint, Rookie.”

“It’s because I am a saint.”

He runs his thumb along the inside of her wrist, tracing a pattern into the warm skin. The steady thump of her pulse is enough to soothe the anxiety that lingers. She’s here. She’s with him. She’s alive.

His other hand grips the back of her neck, forcing her to look him in the eye. Ethan’s gaze sweeps across her face, his 11 years as a doctor having given him a keen eye for detail. There’s her long, dark eyelashes, her full lips, her pronounced cheekbones, her button nose that crinkles whenever she’s smiling and laughing, a sight he hopes to see again soon. He doesn’t know what emotion is more overwhelming: the relief that she’s alive, or the fear that she was that close to dying.

Ethan is all too aware of the fact that he could’ve lost her. That he and Naomi would never share a quiet moment like this ever again. That she’d never know the full extent of his feelings for her, because he’d been too much of a coward to be honest a long time ago. The thought of the hypothetical makes his insides twist uncomfortably. He can’t dwell on it, not while she’s here, looking to him for comfort.

Without thinking further, his lips slowly collide with hers, pulling the younger woman into a kiss. She wastes no time, kissing him back with an unrivaled fervor that borders on desperation, but Ethan isn’t one to complain. He deepens the kiss, his tongue sweeping her mouth until he finds her own.

The kiss sparks something inside of Naomi, a buzz building in the pit of her stomach, so potent and all consuming, it nearly startled her. For the first time in what feels like forever, the rest of the world fades away. It’s just her and Ethan, and this magical little flame between them. So she clings to it, to him, to them, and swings one of her legs over, straddling him. One arm wraps around the back of his neck, one hand tangles in the hair at the nape of his neck as she pulls herself closer. He tastes smoky like the scotch they drank earlier, and she swears the kiss alone is enough to leave her intoxicated.

Desperate for any sort of friction, Naomi rolls her hips into his. She can feel him hardening beneath her, his erection straining through the thin layers of fabric preventing them from being completely bare with each other. Unable to help himself, Ethan breaks the kiss only to let out a low, “Fuck.”

He needs to stop this. Logically, Ethan knows that putting a kibosh in this is the right thing to do. Naomi came to him because she needs a support system, and the last thing he wants to do is take advantage of her trust and manipulate her grief.

“Naomi, stop,” Ethan gently commands, hands gripping her hips in order to keep her still.

“What? What’s wrong?”

“We don’t have to do this tonight,” Ethan says. “Let’s just go to bed.”

“But I don’t want to go to bed.”

“But you should.”

“No. I want this, I want you.”

Her lips are on his jaw, kissing and biting, and it’s becoming harder for him to stay focused. “You’ve had a very long day, it’s been emotionally draining, and I’m sure you’re exhausted–”

“Oh my God, stop!” Naomi exclaims. “I don’t need another person explaining to me what I’m going through or what I’m feeling. Trust me, no one is more aware of my shitty life than I am.” She leans forward resting her forehead against his. “I get it, I’m the one who barely survived an assassination attempt, and I’m going to walk around with that for the rest of my life. For tonight, can I just be a normal girl who wants to fuck her boyfriend, or whatever the hell you are to me? Please?”

Despite the circumstances, his cock twitches almost painfully as soon as the word “boyfriend” leaves her mouth. He’s a grown ass man, he hasn’t used the term since high school, and here he is, ready to dissolve into a puddle of goo. What the hell has Naomi Valentine done to him and who is this mess of a man that she’s replaced him with?

Whatever she’s trying to do won’t work. Pushing aside her grief and trying to avoid the problem with sex isn’t a coping mechanism he’d ever recommend (not that he has any brilliant ones of his own, but still). It’s not going to fix anything in the long run. 

Naomi’s lips brush against his before giving him another teasing kiss before pulling away. “Please,” she whines. “I want you, Ethan.” Ethan has always considered himself to be a staunch man who isn’t easily swayed. Until he met Naomi. How can he be when she’s looking at him with those big doe eyes of hers, weakening his otherwise tough resolve? It may not help her tomorrow, but who is he to deny her reprieve at least right now? Saying no to her has never been a strength Ethan claimed to possess.

Not giving any sort of warning, Ethan grips the oversized shirt she’s wearing and forcefully pulls it up, barely giving her enough time to lift her arms and help with the process. Once the piece of clothing is discarded somewhere on his bedroom floor, Ethan flips their positions, Naomi’s back landing on his mattress with a soft thud.

He sucks in a sharp breath. Ethan considers himself to be a well traveled, well cultured man. He’s seen the Eiffel Tower multiple times, visited the Christ the Redeemer statue in Rio de Janeiro, driven a Ferrari through the streets of Rome, drank wine while overlooking a Napa vineyard, and more. But none of those even comes close to the sight of Naomi naked in his bed, writhing on top of his sheets, her curly hair splayed out like a crown atop her head. She’s absolutely beautiful, and he’s a goner. He’s always known it, but this moment right here, right now actually seals the deal.

“Why don’t you take a picture?” Naomi asks, jolting Ethan out of his thoughts. He feels her dainty foot running along the soft cotton of his pajama pants before traveling higher, lightly brushing his side.

He catches her foot, his strong hand wrapping around her ankle, and yanks her forward. “I don’t need to take a picture because the real thing is just fine.” Maintaining eye contact, Ethan presses a line of kisses from her ankle to the inside of her knee, smirking as he feels the goosebumps pop up along the trail he’s set. “God, it really doesn’t take much to get you going, huh?”

“Not when it involves you, no,” Naomi replies.

Ethan drops her leg unceremoniously. His hands wander until they’re hooked into the waistband of her lacy underwear, and he pulls them down quickly, deciding not to make a production of it. A hum of approval leaves his throat when he finds her already soaked for him. He runs a finger along her spreading the wetness around before pressing the single digit into her. “I like that answer.”

Her toes curl at the contact and Naomi grips the sheets beneath her. “Oh, fuck.”

“Christ, you’re tight.”

“It’s been a while,” Naomi admits, panting heavily. “The guy I was into ran off to another continent, and put us on ice.”

Ethan can tell by her tone that she’s merely teasing, but his heart still hammers wildly nonetheless. He wasted so much time, and for what? He slides another finger into her, enjoying the moan she gives him in return. “It appears I have some atoning to do, hmm?”

Naomi nods. “A lot of atoning.”

“Very well.” 

She feels him remove his fingers, and nothing makes her head spin more. Lifting herself up by her elbows, Naomi glares down at Ethan. “What are you doing? You can’t just stop!”

“Relax.” Ethan forces Naomi back to her originally flat position. “I think you know better than anyone that I’m going to take good care of you.” She chooses not to respond, because they both know the answer to that is a resounding yes.

He spreads her thighs and Naomi shivers at the gleam in his eyes, positively engraved by the way he looks at her: all lust and hunger. Desperate for Ethan to actually do something, she tilts her hips up, hoping he’ll get the hint.

Ethan chuckles and places an open mouthed kiss on the inside of her thigh. She swears she can feel herself buzzing with anticipation, her insides on fire, and all she wants him to do is just touch her.

When he finally does, she’s shocked she doesn’t combust then and there. Her head tips back and a low groan tumbles from her lips, and her thighs clamp shut so tightly around Ethan’s head, she’d be apologetic if she wasn’t so far gone. Ethan doesn’t skip a beat though, his fingers digging into her thighs and spreading them apart, and then he’s back to his original mission.

Ethan’s tongue glides through her folds with ease, stroking her up and down a few times before closing his mouth around her clit and sucking hard. Her hips fly off the bed and she grinds into him with a reckless abandon she hasn’t felt in a really long time, but Ethan splays a strong hand across her stomach to hold her down, trapping her between him and his bed.

Trying to gain a modicum of power back, Naomi grips a handful of his hair and tugs at it roughly. It’s an action that makes Ethan growl, his mouth vibrating against her.

Her little moans and cries do nothing to help the raging ego Naomi claims he has, instead they only fuel him further. He ups the ante, his two fingers sliding back into her, curling in a come hither motion and pressing repeatedly against the spot that makes her see stars.

He can tell by the vice grip she has on his fingers and the way she’s undulating against him that she’s close. And while he’s content to draw this out for as long as humanly possible, until he’s wrung every little ounce of pleasure from her that he can, Ethan is well aware that the woman occupying his bed doesn’t have that type of patience.

Giving her a bit of reprieve, he takes his mouth off of her, only moving it slightly so he can kiss the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

“God, Ethan.”

“Say my name again, Rookie,” Ethan commands. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Naomi obeys without as much as a second thought. It doesn’t take much to get her to say his name again, the word coming out as a shout in between a broken cry. Ethan smirks, satisfied with his work, and his tongue finds her clit, stroking the tiny bundle a few more times until her orgasm zips through her with the intensity of a lightning strike. Her entire body tenses up as Ethan continues to lap at her, as she rides out the aftershocks.

When she’s finally in control of her senses again, the first thing Naomi notices is how absolutely wrecked Ethan looks, eyes red and glossy, mouth and beard soaked, and she wants to do nothing more than kiss him. So she does, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him back on top of her. She can taste herself on his mouth and it makes her moan.

Impatient, Naomi reaches between their bodies and tugs at the waistband of his pants. Ethan receives the message loud and clear, and he breaks the kiss to strip as quickly as he can. She watches as Ethan flings his shirt across the room and kicks off his pajama bottoms. He isn’t the only one with above average observation skills, and she notices the slight tremble in his hands, the anticipation as intense for him as it is for her. She’d be lying if she said reducing this great and powerful man to nothing more than a shaky mess isn’t a turn on. Once his boxers are gone, Naomi looks him up and down, every part of him still as she remembered.

Her eyes zero in on his erection, painfully hard. She wraps her hand around him, stroking firmly. “My my, doctor, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you like me.”

The other four letter L-word rattles around in his brain, begging to be set free, and with more strength than he thought he had, Ethan manages to keep quiet. He’d never forgive himself for such selfishness if he blurted out he loves her in the middle of sex. Naomi has enough to deal with already without that added layer of complexity.

Ethan’s thoughts are interrupted, a sharp hiss passing through his teeth as he feels her tongue languidly glide across the swollen head of his erection before taking him fully in her mouth.

He doesn’t know what will kill him first: how good it feels, or the fact that she’s staring up at him with those fucking Disney princess eyes again, feigning innocence like she’s unaware of exactly what she does to him.

He allows her to get in one more stroke of her tongue before he grabs a fistful of her hair and pulls her away. One of her eyebrows raises in question. “What’s wrong? I was just getting started.”

He drags them back into bed before answering, “I need to be inside you. You can do whatever you want to me afterwards.”

She grins at the promise of a next time. Whatever she wants? “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Ramsey.”

“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise,” Ethan assures her. 

Naomi feels him, poised at her entrance and she arches backwards, too overly sensitive. Ethan’s hands are back on her hips, holding her in place, and inch by inch, he fills her. They both groan at the sensation, familiar territory but something new entirely. Her hands fly to his back, nails digging into the skin as she’s stretched to maximum capacity, uncaring if she leaves marks.

Ethan is unsure of how long they’ve been like this, but he’s nearly shaking with the restraint it’s taking him to not thrust into her. He drops his head, kissing a line across her collarbone. “Fuck, baby, I need you to let me know when I can move.”

The pet name wasn’t intentional, spilling from Ethan’s lips before he could stop it, but Naomi whimpers regardless. She hooks her legs behind his back, keeping him just as trapped as she is. “Please.”

He moves slowly, partially to give her a chance to adjust to his size, the other reason because he doesn’t want it to be over as quickly as it started. This, being inside of her again, is overwhelming and Ethan can’t believe there was ever a time he thought he could go without.

“You’re incredible,” Ethan compliments.

“Okay, say it again when I’m not in your bed. Like during a team meeting where you’re shooting down my ideas.”

“You are,” Ethan insists.

He thrusts into her again, and Naomi cries out, nails raking at his back. Surely she’s broken skin at this point, but Ethan doesn’t care. He’s never been one for pain in bed, but with Naomi, he’s willing to make an allowance, especially since it leaves way for pleasure. They move in tandem, hips moving against each other, both trying to coax out the release that’s been building. Unable to do much of anything else, Ethan leans forward, kissing Naomi again. She meets him halfway, just as eager as he is.

Eventually she has to break the kiss, and she gasps in a large breath of air, her lungs constricting tightly in her rib cage. In her distracted moment, Ethan manages to free himself of her hands marking him relentlessly, and he captures both of her wrists in one fell swoop. He holds them above her head in one hand, pressing her as deep into the mattress as possible. The new angle catches her by surprise and she can’t do anything but gasp into the air above her.

“Please.” She doesn’t even know what she’s pleading for at this point, but it’s the only word her brain can comprehend so she chants it repeatedly like a prayer until she’s shattering around him, mouth open, head tipped back, skin flush and warm. She’s perfect like this, Ethan surmises. 

It doesn’t take him more than a few more thrusts before Ethan’s own release takes control and he falls forward, leaning some of his weight onto Naomi. He doesn’t trust himself to not say or do something completely stupid, so he buries his face in the crook of her neck, biting down on the sensitive flesh.

It could’ve been mere minutes that they spent in that position, or it could’ve been hours for all Naomi knows, but when Ethan finally pulls out, he’s kissing her all over: her cheeks, her nose, her forehead.

He wraps her in a solid embrace, arms circling around her and holding her close, their erratic heart rates trying to slow down. Ethan feels at peace doing just this, holding her close to him, feeling the rise and fall of her chest.

Do you feel any better?”

That isn’t a question Naomi expects to hear right after sex, and it causes her to pause.  After a few more moments of silence, she answers, “I mean, the endorphin release was great if that’s what you’re asking.”

“It’s not what I’m asking, and you know it.”

Naomi knew going into it that the sex wasn’t going to soothe all of her hurts and be the magical solution to her problems, so she doesn’t need some major “I-told-you-so” moment from him. But for the first time in almost a week, she feels like herself again. Within the confines of these four walls, Ethan didn’t treat her like some fragile little doll, and her mind was able to take a break from overthinking.

“It was nice to turn my brain off, if only for a short time,” Naomi replies. “It was nice to not be a captive to my trauma.”

Ethan’s fingers gently graze her scalp, massaging. “Do you think you’re ready to talk to me now?”

“No.”

She’s as stubborn as ever. “Fair enough. But if we were to talk about it, I would say that you went through something horrible and traumatic, and you have to allow yourself to actually feel and process whatever emotions you have. I’d also say that you are incredibly strong, but your strength doesn’t mean that you have to bottle everything inside in order to make everyone around you feel better, especially when you’re with me. Strong people have the right to be vulnerable too.” Ethan sighs. “But since we aren’t talking about it, I’m not going to say any of those things.”

Naomi curls in closer to Ethan, comforted by his body warmth. “I think I would really enjoy hearing those things if this was a conversation we were having.”

“Good. Now whenever you’re ready to talk, I’ll be prepared.”

“Thank you.”

“I think it’s what good boyfriends do. Or whatever the hell I am to you. That’s what you said, right?”

“Okay, I have an explanation for getting agitated about the technical definition of our relationship.”

“Oh yeah? I’d love to hear it.”

“I was impatient and horny.”

Ethan laughs, the warm and rich sound curling around her insides. It does more to help than she’ll ever be able to convey to him. “You’re also very honest.”

“To a fault at times, yes.”

A silence settled between them again, and Naomi feels her eyelids getting heavier. Maybe she’ll be able to finally get some real sleep, not the fitful unconsciousness she’s been subjected to for the past few days.

“Thank you for indulging me tonight,” Naomi says. 

He’s going to suggest she talk to a therapist. He’s going to say it multiple times, until he’s blue in the face and she’s tired of listening. But he'll leave her alone for tonight.

“You’re welcome. Now, get some sleep. The sooner you get to bed, the sooner we wake up, and I can cook breakfast for you.”

“Mhmm, sounds like a plan, Ramsey.”

Ethan can feel her falling asleep on him. He presses a kiss into her forehead. “Naomi?”

“Hmm?”

“For the record, I am definitely your boyfriend.”

~v~

tags: @maurine07 @aka-calliope @edgiestwinter @soft-for-drake @greenbean-kylie @akshara16 @mrsramseyy @honeyandsunfl0wers @blossomanarchy @takemyopenheart @fanmantrashcan @whatchique @ao719 @x-kyne-x @colourmeshy @paulfwesley @writinghereandthere @ramseyandrys @perriewinklenerdie @aworldoffandoms @thatcatlady0716 @drakewalker04 @canknot @hatescapsicum @lapisreviewsstuff @senseofduties @badchoicesposts @ethandaddyramsey @chasingrobbie @zodiacsign1 @choices-lurker @trappedinfandoms @my-heart-beats-for-ya @adrian-motherfucking-raines @riverrune @edith-eggs1 @thatysn @bellcat2010 @theeccentricbibliophile @cecilecontrera @junehiratas @choices-love-affair @openheart12 @caseyvalentineramsey @desmaranj @nazario-sayeed @aestheticartsx @ruinedbypixels @mvalentine @nooruleman @rookie-ramsey

[cardest]

New Orleans playlist

Hungry for some po boys? Feeling the Mardi Gras vibes for this weekend? This is the ultimate NOLA playlist, right here. Play the songs here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC182dTlE-Gii6ZOO5ZrN1Z1T

Louisiana and New Orleans, all in the one awesome playlist. If there are songs I left out, let me know and I can add those. Or come meet me at Le Bon Temps Roulé  and we’ll listen to this NOLA playlist together with drinks.

LOUISIANA & NEW ORLEANS

001 Bob James - Take Me To The Mardi Gras 002 Earl King - Ain’t no city like New Orleans 003 John Lee Hooker - goin’ to Louisiana 004 Crowbar -  Wrath Of Time By Judgment 005 True Detective - Theme (The Handsome Family - Far From Any Road) 006 EyeHateGod - New Orleans Is The New Vietnam 007 The The Meters -  Chicken Strut 008 Paul McCartney - Live And Let Die (from Live And Let Die) 009 The Rolling Stones - Brown Sugar 010 Lucinda Williams - Crescent City 011 King Hobo -  New Or-Sa-Leans 012 Concrete Blonde - Bloodletting 013 Down - Underneath Everything 014 True Blood Theme Song (Jace Everett - Bad Things) 015 Corrosion of Conformity -  Broken Man 016 The New Orleans Jazz Vipers - I Hope Your Comin' Back To New Orleans 017 Willy DeVille - Jump City 018 Left Side - Gold In New Orleans 017 Necrophagia -  Reborn through Black Mass 018 Johnny Horton -  The Battle Of New Orleans 019 Dr John - Litanie des Saints 020 Foo Fighters - In the Clear 021 Redbone - The Witch Queen Of New Orleans 022 Jucifer - Lautrichienne 023 Danzig - It's a long way back from hell 024 Harry Connick, Jr. -  Oh, My Nola 025 The Gaturs - Gator Bait 026 Jon Bon Jovi - Queen Of New Orleans 027 Cyril Neville -  Gossip 028 Carlos Santana - Black Magic Woman 029 Gentleman June Gardner - It's Gonna Rain 030 Eddy G. Giles - Soul Feeling (Part 1) 031 Tool - Swamp Song 032 Beasts of Bourbon -  Psycho 033 Seratones - Gotta Get To Know Ya 034 Chuck Berry -  You Never Can Tell 035 Grateful Dead - Mississippi Half-Step Uptown Toodleoo 036 Pale Misery - Hope is a Mistake 037 Exhorder - Homicide 038 King James & the Special Men - Special Man Boogie 039 Chuck Carbo -  Can I Be Your Squeeze 040 Amebix - Axeman 041 Tomahawk - Captain Midnight 042 Waylon Jennings - Jambalaya 043 Heavy Lids - Deviate 044 Red Hot Chili Peppers -  Apache Rose Peacock 045 Necrophagia -  Rue Morgue Disciple 046 Johnny Cash -  Big River 047 Albert King -  Laundromat Blues 048 Meklit Feat Preservation Hall Horns - You Are My Luck 049 Le Winston Band  - En haut de la montagne 050 Dr. john - I Thought I Heard New Orleans Say 051 Down -  New Orleans is a dying whore 052 Samhain -  To Walk The Night 053 Creedence Clearwater Revival -  Green River 054 Southern Culture on the Skids -  Voodoo Cadillac 055 Bonnie, Sheila -  You Keep Me Hanging On 056 Warren Lee -  Funky Bell 057 Elf - Annie New Orleans 058 Cannonball Adderley - New Orleans Strut 059 Doug Kershaw - Louisiana Man - New Orleans Version 060 Willy deVille  - Voodoo Charm 061 The Animals -  The House of the Rising Sun 062 Porgy Jones -  The Dapp 063 Lost Bayou Ramblers - Sabine Turnaround 064 IDRIS MUHAMMAD - New Orleans 065 John Lee Hooker - Boogie Chillen No. 2 066 Hank 3 - Hillbilly Joker 067 Nine Inch Nails -  Heresy 068 Talking Heads - Swamp 069 Irma Thomas - I'd Rather Go Blind 070 Mississippi Fred McDowell -  I'm Going Down the River 071 Dee Dee Bridgewater   - Big Chief 072 Dr. John  - Creole Moon 073 Agents of Oblivion -  Slave Riot 074 Steve Vai - Voodoo Acid 075 Saviours -  Slave To The Hex 076 Kris  Kristofferson -  Casey's Last Ride 077 JJ Cale - Louisiana Women 078 Cher - Dark Lady of New Orleans 079 LE ROUX - Take A Ride On A Riverboat 080 The Melvins -  A History Of Bad Men 081 Floodgate - Through My Days Into My Nights 082 Opprobium - voices from the grave 083 Quintron & Miss Pussycat - Swamp Buggy Badass 084 Child Bite - ancestral ooze 085 Sammi Smith - The City Of New Orleans 086 The Explosions - Garden Of Four Trees 087 Bobby Boyd - straight ahead 088 Bobby Charles - Street People 089 Wall of Voodoo -  Far Side of Crazy 090 Rhiannon Giddens - Freedom Highway (feat. Bhi Bhiman) 091 Elton John - Honky Cat 092 Serge Gainsbourg - Bonnie and Clyde 093 Fats Domino - I'm Walking To New Orleans 094 Cruel Sea - Orleans Stomp 095 Down -  On March The Saints 096 Danzig -  Ju Ju Bone 097 The Neville Brothers ~ Voodoo 098 Megadeth -  The Conjuring 099 Miles Davis - Miles runs the voodoo down 100 Elvis Presley - King Creole 101 Led Zeppelin - Royal Orleans 102 The Lime Spiders -  Slave Girl 103 BIG BILL BROONZY  -'Mississippi River Blues'   104 Kreeps - Bad Voodoo 105 Dirty Dozen Brass Band -  Caravan 106 Kirk Windstein -  Dream In Motion 107 Eletric Prunes - Kyrie Eleison - Mardi Gras 108 Merle Haggard - The Legend Of Bonnie And Clyde 109 Corrosion of Conformity -  River of Stone 110 THE ADVENTURES OF HUCK FINN (MAIN TITLE) 111 Zigaboo Modeliste - Guns 112 ReBirth Brass Band - Let's Go Get 'Em 113 Inell Young -  What Do You See In Her? 114 Jimi Hendrix - If 6 as 9 (Studio Version) Easy Rider Soundtrack 115 Deep Purple -  Speed King 116 Exhorder - The Law 117 Crowbar -  The Cemetery Angels 118 A Streetcar Named Desire OST - Main Title 119 WOORMS - Take His Fucking Leg 120 steely dan - pearl of the quarter 121 Tabby Thomas - Hoodoo Party 122 Black Label Society -  Parade of the Dead 123 Dwight James & The Royals - Need Your Loving 124 Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter (2012) The Rampant Hunter (Soundtrack OST) 125 PanterA - The Great Southern Trendkill 126 Ween - WHO DAT? 127 Earl King - Street Parade 128 Ernie K-Doe - Here Come The Girls 129 Dejan's Olympia Brass Band ~ Mardi Gras In New Orleans 130 Body Count -  KKK Bitch 131 Goatwhore - Apocalyptic Havoc 132 C.C. Adcock - Y'all d Think She Be Good To Me (from True Blood S01E01) 133 The Meters - Fire On The Bayou 134 Dr. John - I Walk On Guilded Splinters 135 Balfa Brothers - J'ai Passe Devant ta Porte 136 Ween - Voodoo Lady 137 King Diamond -  'LOA' House 138 Creedence Clearwater Revival - Born On The Bayou 139 Dax Riggs -  See You All In Hell Or New Orleans 140 Professor Longhair - Go to the Mardi Gras 141 Dixie Witch -  Shoot The Moon 142 Ramones - The KKK Took My Baby Away 143 Fats Waller -  There's Going To Be The Devil To Pay 144 Mississippi Fred McDowell -  When the Train Comes Along with Sidney Carter & Rose Hemphill 145 Treme Song (Main Title Version) 146 Tony Joe White - Even Trolls Love Rock and Roll 147 Nine Inch Nails -  Sin 148 Exodus -  Cajun Hell 149 NEIL DIAMOND - New Orleans 150 James Brown - Call Me Super Bad 151 Jimi Hendrix -  Voodoo Child ( Slight Return ) 152 Allen Toussaint - Chokin Kind 153 Dash Rip Rock  - Meet Me at the River 154 Hawg Jaw- 4 Lo 155 Hot 8 Brass Band - Keepin It Funky 156 Hank Williams III - Rebel Within 157 Dejan's Original Olympia Brass Band - Shake It And Break It 158 Jelly Roll Morton -  Finger Buster 159 The Royal Pendletons - (Im a) Sore Loser 160 Little Bob & The Lollipops - Nobody But You 161 Gregg Allman - Floating Bridge (True Detective Soundtrack) 162 Michael Doucel with Beausoleil - Valse de Grand Meche 163 Dolly Parton - My Blue Ridge Mountain Boy 164 Othar Turner & the Afrossippi Allstars – Shimmy She Wobble 165 Jucifer - Fleur De Lis 166 Soilent Green -  Leaves Of Three 167 Ides Of Gemini -  Queen of New Orleans 168 Betty Harris -  Trouble with My Lover 169 Lead Belly - Pick A Bale Of Cotton 170 Candyman Opening Theme 171 Goatwhore - When Steel and Bone Meet 172 Acid Bath - Bleed Me An Ocean 173 Pere Ubu - Louisiana Train Wreck 174 Walter -Wolfman- Washington - You Can Stay But the Noise Must Go 175 Alice in Chains -  Hate To Feel 176 Body Count -  Voodoo 177 Live and Let Die - Jazz Funeral 178 Smoky Babe -  Cotton Field Blues 179 Professor Longhair - Big Chief Part 2 180 Lewis Boogie - Walk the Line 181 James Black - Theres a Storm in the Gulf 182 The Balfa Brothers - Parlez Nous A Boire 183 The Jambalaya Cajun Band - Bayou Teche Two Step 184 The Deacons -  Fagged Out 185 Thou - The Changeling Prince 186 Black Sabbath -  Voodoo 187 King Diamond -  Louisiana Darkness 188 Doyle -  Cemeterysexxx 189 KINGDOM OF SORROW - Grieve a Lifetime 190 Hank Williams III - Louisiana Stripes 191 FORMING THE VOID - On We Sail 192 BUCK BILOXI AND THE FUCKS - fuck you 193 Down in New Orleans - The Princess and the Frog Soundtrack 194 Trombone Shorty & James Andrews  - oh Poo Pah Doo 195 Whitesnake -  Ain't No Love In The Heart Of The City 196 The Dirty Dozen Brass band - Voodoo 197 Joe Simon - The Chokin' Kind 198 Down -  Ghosts along the Mississippi 199 AEROSMITH  - Voodoo Medicine Man 200 Nine Inch Nails -  The Perfect Drug 201 The Byrds - [Sanctuary III] Ballad Of Easy Rider 202 The Iguauas - Boom Boom Boom 203 PJ Harvey - Down By The Water 204 Louis Armstrong - Do You Know What It Means To Miss New Orleans 205 Dr John - Right Place Wrong Time 206 ESTHER ROSE - handyman 207 Lightnin Slim - It's Mighty Crazy 208 Slim Harpo - Blues Hangover 209 Irma Thomas - Ruler Of My Heart 210 WEATHER WARLOCK - Fukk the Plan-0 211 Superjoint Ritual - The Alcoholik (Use Once And Destroy) 212 Stressball - dust 213 Trampoline Team - Kill You On The Streetcar 214 Xander Harris - Where’s your Villain? 215 Dukes of Dixieland - When The Saints Go Marching In 216 Kid Congo & The Pink Monkey Birds - Su Su 217 Danzig - I'm the one 218 EyeHatteGod - Pigs 219 Hank Williams Jr - Amos Moses 220 The Cramps - Alligator Stomp 221 Crowbar - The Serpent Only Lies 222 Shrüm - drip 223 Thou  - The Only Law 224 DR. JOHN - Babylon   225 Garth Brooks - Callin' Baton Rouge 226 Wild Magnolias - All On A Mardi Gras Day 227 NCIS New Orleans TV Show theme 228 Skull Duggery - Big Easy 229 Harry Connick Jr. - City beaneath the sea 230 Elvis Presley - Dixieland Rock 231 Tom Waits - I Wish I Was In New Orleans (In The Ninth Ward) 232 Neil Young - Everybody's Rockin 233 Philip H. Anselmo & The Illegals - Delinquent 234 CORROSION OF CONFORMITY - Wolf Named Crow 235 Widespread Panic - Fishwater 236 Lillian Boutté - Why Don't You Go Down to New Orleans 237 Bryan Ferry - Limbo 238 Scream - Mardi Gras 239 EyeHateGod - Shoplift 240 Better Than Ezra - good 241 Duke Ellington - Perdido (1960 Version) 242 Bob Dylan - Rambling, Gambling Willie 243 Big Bad Voodoo Daddy - sAve my soul 244 Le Roux - So Fired Up 245 Concrete Blonde - The Vampire song 246 Boozoo Chavis - Zydeco Mardi Gras 247 Idris Muhammad  - Piece of mind 248 Les Hooper - Back in Blue Orleans 249 Doug Kershaw - Cajun stripper 250 DOWN  - Witchtripper 251 Soilent Green - So hatred 252 Professional Longhair - Big chief 253 Willie Nelson - City Of New Orleans 254 Tom Waits - Whistlin' Past The Graveyard 255 Brian Fallon - sleepwalkers 256 Patsy - Count It On Down 257 Into the Moat - The Siege Of Orleans 258 Bruce Cockburn - Down To The Delta 259 Jello Biafra · the Raunch and Soul All-Stars - Fannie Mae 260 Exhorder - Asunder 261 Cane Hill - Too Far Gone 262 The Slackers - peculiar 263 Crowbar  - A Breed Apart   264 COC - Wiseblood 265 Necrophagia - Embalmed Yet I Breathe 266 EYEHATEGOD - Fake What's Yours 333 Alan Vega - Bye Bye Bayou 666 DOWN  - Stone the crow

I don’t beads by the way! Hit play here: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL-iHPcxymC182dTlE-Gii6ZOO5ZrN1Z1T

[jungshookz]

lmao imagine tae finds out Emma started dance class and *jimin* is getting along w emma so well and she always gushes about him bc he makes her bun and tae gets a lil jelly so he learns how to make hair for dance class so he can have Emma to himself my HEART PLS EXPAND UPON THIS 🥰🥰🥰🥰

y/n comes home from classes one afternoon to see tae aggressively gelling emma’s hair up into a slick ponytail and he keeps her distracted by letting her watch some nature documentary about sharks and he even gives her a whole bag of gummy bears so that she’ll stay quiet and noT move her head

“what’s… going on?” 

“we’re doing girl things, mommy.” emma mutters before offering you a decapitated gummy bear

you take it graciously from her and pop it into your mouth 

“what time does emma’s ballet class start today?” taehyung hums appreciatively as you give him a quick kiss on the cheek before checking the time on your phone 

“it starts in- oh, shit-”

“-dollar in the swear jar, mommy-” 

“it starts in half an hour. we gotta go now or we’re going to be late!” you pull a crumpled dollar bill out of your pocket before shoving it into the little mason jar sitting on the coffee table

“you mean we’re going to be late again?” emma pouts and winces when tae shoVes a bobby pin into her tight-and-loose-at-the-same-time bun 

“i’m sorry, baby, i had to talk to one of my professors about my presentation-”

emma blinks up at you “your history presentation?” 

“yes, my history presen-” 

“did you forget to cite your sources again?”

you press your lips together and taehyung snorts 

“…yes, but- where’s your ballet bag?” 

“i packed it for her, it’s over there- by the way, do you think i could drop emma off today?” taehyung asks while he wraps a thin pink ribbon around emma’s bun 

you furrow your brows 

usually you drop emma off at ballet

usually you fix her hair for her

it’s weird having tae around

but like

a good kind of weird! 

he’s just a reminder that you and emma aren’t alone anymore and that you don’t have to take on every single responsibility in the household 

“i mean… i guess so, but… what would i do?” you ask quietly and tae tilts his head at you before telling emma to go and get her bag 

“what do you mean what would you do?”

“i don’t have any homework for the weekend, and we said we were going to order takeout tonight so i don’t have any cooking to do… so… what do i do while you two are gone?” 

“you can watch tv?” 

“like… casually watch tv?” 

wow

it’s been so long since you casually watched tv by yourself 

…how does one casually watch tv, anyway? 

“i’m ready to go, tae-tae!” emma bounces back into the living room before stepping into her baby pink slides (tae got them for her birthday and she practically wears it every day) 

“alright - see you in a bit!” taehyung snAtches the keys from you before pulling you in for a kiss and you gAwk when you feel him give your bum a sneaky squeeze 

okay

look

here’s the deal

taehyung adores emma 

absolutely adores her and is starting to see her as his own kid

he would hanG the moon and the stars for her so imagine his surprise when she gets in the car one day and starts gushing about her new ballet teacher to you and him 

apparently his name is mr. park and he has a pretty smile and soft hair and is super sweet and whATEvEr 

tae hasn’t gotten the chance to meet this mr. park character because usually you’re the one dropping em off and picking her up while he takes care of things at home

there was just this one evening when you guys picked emma up that you pointed out that her hair was no longer in the ponytail that you had done up for her 

“that’s because mr. park fixed my hair for me!” 

“why would he do that?” taehyung raises a brow and turns to look at emma from the passenger’s seat 

“because he likes me n he says the ponytail that mommy did for me was too filmsy.” 

“the word is flimsy” you correct before furrowing your brows “…my ponytail was not flimsy.” 

for a while he thought you and him were on the same page in terms of haTing whoever mr. park was 

but thEN 

“jimin is actually very sweet. he’s so good with the girls!” 

“you’re on a first name basis with him?” taehyung raises a brow as he continues to slice up the carrot on the chopping board 

“i called him mr. park but he insisted i call him jimin… oh, i have to tell you about what he-” 

and he knows it’s silly

getting jealous over something as you literally just talking to someone of the opposite gender and getting jealous over how emma just rAVes about him every chance she gets 

but he can’t help it!!!! there’s no way in hell he’s going to let this,.,. pirouetting foOL whiSk you and emma away from him 

“emma! no ponytail today?” emma practically sprints over to mr. park as soon as they step into the dance studio 

taehyung clears his throat and plops emma’s bag down on the side where the other bags are 

he feels the itchy feeling of jealousy prickle at his skin when emma gives mr. park a kiss on the cheek 

“look at this bun! has mommy been practicing? say, where is mommy?”

“her mommy couldn’t make it today.” taehyung clears his throat as he hovers over a crouched down jimin

jimin raises a brow before standing up 

taehyung can’t help but smirk because the guy’s a little shorter than him

hA

“hi. i’m the-” 

well he can’t say he’s the father because he’s noT 

“mommy’s boyfriend!” emma interrupts and swings her hand back and forth with jimin

“that’s right. i’m the mommy’s boyfriend.” 

“why don’t you go and warm up with everyone else, petal?” jimin smiles fondly and pats the top of emma’s head 

she nods and bounds off to join her friends at the other end of the room

“i’m jimin. it’s a pleasure to meet you.” jimin sticks his hand out and taehyung grasps it firmly before giving him a quick shake 

“i’m taehyung.” tae smiles a little toO sweetly 

they aren’t saying much but it’s obvious the two of them are murdering each other with their gazes 

taehyung doesn’t like jimin 

and jimin doesn’t think he likes mommy’s boyfriend either   

[curiosity-killed]

fairytale

@bbtree ahem pls pardon the extreme self indulgence

Word count: 881 Pairing: Shallura

intimacy prompts

The hallways are buzzing with crew and cast alike but Allura manages to slip through mostly unaccosted. After this many years, the familiar chaos is almost soothing — an assurance that everything is going exactly how it normally does. She pauses to flatten herself against the wall as a gaggle of small children are herded down the hall by a harried-looking Antok before she finally reaches Shiro’s door and ducks inside. He’s sitting at the counter with his back to the door, but he lifts his gaze at the sound of the door opening and turns around to smile at her as she walks over. “It’s bad luck to see the groom before the wedding,” Shiro says, teasing. Rolling her eyes, Allura shakes her head and pulls her sweater closer over her chest Although the stage was always sweltering, the back of the theater is ever frosty. The cold creeps through the soles of her shoes and all her layers of warm-ups, chilling her. Shiro still wears sweatpants and his jacket, and fuzzy socks peek out over his running shoes. “And what kind of luck is it for partners to get married three times in the same week?” she asks.

“Well…” Shiro starts, standing and sliding his hands around her waist. “It depends on their reasons.” Smiling despite herself, Allura loops her arms around his neck. Already, diamonds sparkle in his hair and at the corners of his eyes like tiny stars brought down to Earth. He hasn’t finished his makeup, though, and his lips are still free of lipstick. “To entertain the masses in exchange for their money?” she offers, dry. “No,” Shiro protests. “It’s for art, for romance and beauty.” “Okay, Prince Bohemia,” she snorts. He laughs and slips his hands under her sweater to rest against her leotard, warm through the thin fabric. She takes a step closer until they stand toe-to-toe. “What, aren’t I supposed to be your prince charming?” he asks. “What happened with my roguish pirate from last week?” she teases. He leans close to press a tiny kiss to her mouth and pulls back. “It seems the people prefer a fairytale,” he replies.

Sighing, she sags back in his arms. “What a shame,” she says. “I prefer your old outfit.” A blush rises in his cheeks, pink against his skin. The other costume was — well, a lot less fabric than the tunic and tights that make up this one. Thought Shiro had voiced some doubts about it, neither the audience nor Allura had shared them. If she had her way, he could stay in it all the time. “You’re going to convince the costumers that we need it at home, aren’t you?” he groans. “Ooh,” she says, grinning. “What a good idea.” At his expression of dismay, she laughs and raises up on relevé to return his kiss. Consoled, he answers with pleasure and pulls her close until their bodies are pressed together. Her arms slide together and she lifts a hand to comb through the short hair at the nape of his neck. They won’t get up to much this close to show time, but like the muted chaos outside the dressing room door, this, too, is comforting. All of it — the heat of his body, the mint bite of his chapstick, the smell of old sweat mixed with baby powder in the room — spells out home without need of language. Wherever they are in the world, whatever company they stay with or theatre they perform at, this is a constant. Where he goes she goes, and where she leads, he follows. Onstage and off, this dance is the same. “Twenty minutes to curtain!” a familiar voice calls outside the door. They part only barely. The space between them is a warm contrast to the rest of the concrete room beyond, and neither is eager to leave it. Releasing one hand, Shiro lifts it to adjust her tiara, straightening it from where it had slipped out of the bobby pins’ hold. His hand trails down her cheek, the backs of his fingers light where they brush over foundation and blush. A finger hooks under the jewel-encrusted necklace laying over her collarbones and straightens that as well. It’s all an excuse, she knows: by the time she changes out of her warmups, a dresser will have resituated everything once more, and when they meet backstage they’ll surely give each other one last tiny once-over. Still, she’s not about to tell him to stop touching her. Behind her, the door opens. “I swear, if you two are getting lipstick all over each other again—” Allura laughs, pulling away from Shiro to turn towards Romelle. The blonde’s ponytail is already slipping loose, no doubt from the number of times she’s combed her hand back through it in distress. “That was one time, Romelle,” Allura protests. “One time too many,” Romelle retorts. “Now come on, you don’t make much of an Aurora in all those pajamas.” Snorting, Allura lets herself be pulled away to her own dressing room. As she goes, Shiro blows a kiss and she mimes catching it close to her heart before the door swings shut and she’s swept along through the busy hallway. They’ll see each other soon enough, when their fairytale begins.

[mycasandstarrs]

SPN 5x04: “The End”

Ahhh, the informant.

Why is Cas even on the side of the highway??? Baby, what is you doing??

“You know, it’s kind of funny. Talking to a messenger of God on a cellphone. It’s, you know, like watching a Hell’s Angel ride a moped.”

“This isn’t funny, Dean! The voice says I’m almost out of minutes.”

LMAO.

“What stuff?” lmao, Cas pls.

:’)

Cas dead ass stood there for hours tho, bless his heart.

So, while Sam was having his talk with Lucifer, Cas and Dean were having their own talk, Dean went to sleep and slept for a bit while Sam learned he was Lucifer’s vessel, than probably immediately called Dean to tell him.

“Lucifer’s wearing you to the prom?” Isn’t that gonna come back up at some point?

“Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you.” Aww, Sam.

“We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker.” Dean, pls.

It even pains Dean to suggest they stay apart, damn it.

Here we go. Endverse!AU.

(I like how Zachariah had the humor to place him in the exact location.)

Ha, “Luc y Bar”

You might wanna back away, Dean.

Oh damn, he just punched a kid.

I remember reading somewhere that Jensen ran so fast, he outran the extras, and they had to tell him to slow it down a little.

“Do You Love Me” by the Contours. The COOLEST WAY to use this song, period.

August 1, 2014.

And there's the bastard.

As a Houstonian, welp. 

So Bobby is RIP in this world?

Yep. :(

The photo! (That Dean somehow keeps, manages brings back to the present with him, stows it in John’s journal...where Mary finds it, many years later. Did she ever ask about it?)

The Impala is also RIP :( (I wonder at what point Endverse!Dean let her go to waste.)

dun dun DUN

“Why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't gank you right here and now?”

“Because you’d only be hurting yourself.”   

Dean’s got jokes, lmao.

Endverse!Dean got a certain look in his eyes when Dean mentioned Zachariah. I wonder what his last encounter with him was like.

“Rhonda Hurley. We were, uh, nineteen. She made us try on her panties. They were pink. And satiny. And you know what? We kind of liked it.”

Ooohhhh the CANON fact that Dean has tried on panties and liked it.

Ahh, so the virus started in 2012.

And Sam?

Endverse!Dean stopped talking to Sam in 2009...

I’d trust me.

Oh dear, I hope Dean didn't get any splinters from that.

Chuck!

(Tho it is rather fucked up that God just...stepped down and allowed this shit show to happen.)

Really Risa? There’s bigger things to worry about than Dean sleeping with someone else, get over yourself.

I love that Dean asks for Cas. I wonder how he would’ve reacted if Chuck told him that Cas was dead.

There he is.

Endverse!Cas is so funny, in a very sad way.

Dean’s reaction to the orgy thing, lmao.

“I thought you’d gotten over trying to label me.” Huh, wonder how long that lasted. And did it start when Cas started losing his powers? (”So you’re an angel...with no powers. What does that make you?” ) 

I can’t even revel in Cas laughing/smiling because I know he’s bitter about it.

“What happened to you?”

“Life.”

RIP that dude. Killed by Endverse!Dean.

“Me and him—It's a pretty messed-up situation we got going.” Umm, he was pointing at you Dean, why did you look at Endverse!Cas????

(Completely irrelevant, but Jensen has such a nice voice.)

The Colt! 

I was just about to ask if they had gone to Crowley’s for it, when Endverse!Dean explained that it’d been moved from place to place.

Endverse!Cas is mad cute.

And he still resents Dean torturing...as does Dean.

Me too, Endverse!Cas.

The banter between Endverse!Cas and Endverse!Dean is next level.

“Are you saying we, uh, walk in straight up the driveway, past all the demons and the Croats, and we shoot the devil?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, if you don't like, uh, 'reckless', I could use 'insouciant', maybe.”

“Are you coming?”

“Of course.”

But Cas’ loyalty to Dean still remains.

“Lucifer’s wearing him to the prom.” OOOHHH I KNEW THAT LINE WAS GONNA COME BACK UP.

“I’m begging you. Say yes...but you won’t. ‘Cause I didn’t.” Not yet, anyways.

Chuck and his advice, lmao.

Good lord, Endverse!Cas is going through it.

“I’m all but useless.” :(

“That’s just how I roll.” Why does Endverse!Cas talk like Dean?

Cas beside Dean, no matter what.

“I’ve seen your lying expressions. I see them in a mirror.” Ouch, that hurt.

Endverse!Dean is a dick.

“You mean you're gonna feed your friends into a meat grinder? Cas, too?” o h, why the distinction between “your friends” and “Cas” h u h

Poor Endverse!Cas probably died in that battle (or worse, he survived but had to go on without Endverse!Dean.)

RIP Endverse!Dean. Killed by Lucifer.

Archangels really like to look snazzy.

(Oohh lord, I’m remembering a post where someone suggested that Sam probably recognized Dean and tried to reach out to him, and when Dean rejected that, it would explain that hurt look on his face.)

Nature itself has always been Lucifer’s favorite thing about the Earth.

“The...little hairless apes.” Fuck u too, buddy.

“I know what you are.”

“What am I?”

“You're the same thing, only bigger. The same brand of cockroach I've been squashing my whole life. An ugly, evil, belly-to-the-ground, supernatural piece of crap. The only difference between them and you is the size of your ego.”  

All the angels seem to like Dean.

“You better kill me now. Or I swear, I will find a way to kill you.” And you will, Dean.

“ Whatever choices you make, whatever details you alter, we will always end up—here. I win. So, I win.”  (EXCEPT YOU WON’T, MOTHERFUCKERRRR)

Back to the present we go!

“Oh, well, if it isn't the ghost of Christmas screw you.” I love Dean.

“You’re the only person who can prove the devil wrong.” He’s riigghhttt.

!!!!!! Such a special, classic little moment between Dean and Cas. <3

“That’s pretty nice timing, Cas.”

“We had an appointment.”

“Don’t ever change.”

What an interesting car Sam chose.

I find it fitting that Ruby’s knife was sort of the olive branch here.

Did Dean eventually tell Sam about his 2014 trip?

“The point is...maybe we are each other's Achilles heel. Maybe they'll find a way to use us against each other, I don't know. I just know we're all we've got. More than that. We keep each other human.” :’)

I wanna hug both of ‘em.