#really shocked at how bad the game is. jesus

[ultimateinsomniac]

finally finished udg and WOW that game is bad. however i am cooking up a rewrite that might turn into a komaeda mastermind au. joy and whimsy forever.

[i2sunric]

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE (s.jy)

pairing: rich boy!jake x reader (f)

summary: you knew jake was trouble as soon as he walked into the party, and despite that, the moment he proposed a deal to you, you sold your heart as you signed the contract.

warnings: making out, kissing, fake dating, bad relationship with parents, smut (pussy eating, fingering, masturbation), fighting, alcohol consumption, mentions of weed and drugs, jake is rich as hell, reader has a nasty personality, curse words, pet names (baby, ma chérie, love), lmk if more. PROOFREAD → READ PART 2

published: 10th May 2024

wc: 6.1k

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @jwnghyuns @seunghancore (one shot) @anittamaxwynnn @jvjsssnaa @minniejenseo @slut4hee @kgneptun @nyxtwixx @laurradoesloveu @star4rin @capri-cuntz @eneiyri @samouryed @heyniki @ineedsomezzz @nanamongmong @aishigrey @naurrjakeu @ak-aaa-li @sjakewrld @nikiswifiee @koralira-kira @daisycottage @yunhoswrldddd @smisworld [BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED]

a/n: here it is the long awaited jake fic! i don’t really like how it turned out but i thought i already made you wait enough <//3 please LIKE & REBLOG to share! i’d really appreciate that 🎀🎀 also, let me know your thoughts, comment!

You stared at your own reflection in the full-length mirror, the dress you wore was riding a little too high, showing more skin than you usually did.

The fresh polished black nails matching with the inky colour of the dress, a few bracelets and nice earrings made the whole outfit even better.

“Girl, you look amazing.” Your best friend, Yunjin, commented as she wore a matching dress with yours, just in white.

“You look stunning as well.” You complimented her back, blowing her a kiss.

“So, what’s tonight’s plan?” She asked, putting some lipstick on. You sat down on her bed, stretching your limbs “Mh.. Find a nice guy to make out with?”

Yunjin hummed “Thought you were in a situationship with Heeseung?” She asked, mentioning the guy who hosted the party.

“I just needed someone to get us to a nice party.” You smirked cunningly, “You’re truly a bad bitch.”

You shrugged “You need to be smart to live in this world.”

Yunjin popped her lips and turned around, throwing the lipstick at you so you could apply it as well “Yeah, but be careful.”

You raised a brow “Of?”

“The games you play,” She stated, sitting beside you to put her heels on “They are going to backfire on you, someday.”

You just scowled at her, cause why on earth would the Y/N get hurt by a boy? That wasn’t going to happen.

“Jesus..” Yunjin’s eyes widened as she took in the house of the party. It was huge, probably bigger than both your houses combined, the amount of people inside was shocking, all drunken teenagers trying to take a break from the boring world.

“We don’t really belong in this side of the city.” Yunjin nudged your shoulder, “They’re all rich kids here.”

“So?” You entered the house, swaying your hips, already putting your charm to use “Nobody will know.” You winked at her.

The whole house was packed with people, some already drunk and stumbling around. You and Yunjin stayed together, knowing better than accepting drinks from strangers.

You went to the kitchen and stole one cup of punch, the bitter liquid burning your throat— Someone must’ve put more alcohol than it was supposed to.

A few drinks later, your ginger-headed friend was already starting to get out of her comfort zone and she dragged you to the dance floor.

You moved to the sound of the music, your eyes occasionally scanning the room to search for an attractive someone.

As you danced with Yunjin, your gaze fell on one particular guy leaning against the wall, his aura so attractive. He met your stare and didn’t even hide the way his eyes scanned your body, lingering a little longer on your curves.

There it was, your potential interest of the night.

Though, like you had learned with age, you needed to act as if you didn’t care to get boys to care enough. So, you just kept staying by Yunjin’s side, dancing with her and moving sensually, the alcohol in your system making you bolder than usual.

𓆩♡𓆪

You had noticed the way he was eyeing you, occasionally licking his lips or biting his bottom lip. His stare was hungry, so lustful— And you liked it. You enjoyed such attention, so you did your best to maintain them.

Occasionally swaying your hips a little too close to someone else, holding eye contact just to look away before he could. Needless to say, he was as shameless as you, giving you that stare that spoke volumes about how much he craved you.

So, you decided to give him one last, long stare as you smirked before detaching yourself from your best friend and walking upstairs to the bathroom.

You opened the door and loudly closed it behind your back.

Five, four, three— You miscalculated his eagerness because in just three seconds the door already opened behind you.

You saw his reflection from the mirror, his body towering over you, like a dark aura. You smirked “What are you doing, following a lady to the bathroom?”

His lips curved into a small, cunning smirk as well “Don’t act like you didn’t want me to.” His voice was so husky, a heavy australian accent lingering on his tongue, as sweet as honey.

You turned around, the small of your back resting on the countertop, near the faucet. You tilted your head, giving him a fake innocent smile “What’s your name?”

“Jake,” He then asked “What’s yours?”

“Y/N.” You answered. “Well, Y/N.” Jake nodded and stepped closer to you, slowly. He placed both his arms on each side of you. You could feel his warm breath hitting your face “Looks like I’ve got you all for myself.”

You chuckled, a dangerous one “Are you sure it ain’t the other way around?”

Jake raised a brow at your statement, a laugh escaping his lips. So joyful and intoxicating “Maybe it is.”

His finger started caressing your skin, barely touching it, just enough to leave you wanting more “What do you want from someone like me?” He asked, his dark eyes meeting yours “I’m a bad bet, Y/N.”

And lord, if you didn’t love the way your name rolled off his tongue, with the voice of an angel but devil intention.

“I’m not exactly good either.” You stated, your arms wrapping around his neck, your lips so close.

“No?” Jake raised a brow, his big hands settling on your waist, “No.” You stated and brought your lips on his.

He let out a surprised growl and kissed you back right away, so hungry and desperate, like he needed that to release some sort of built stress.

Jake lifted you up, your bare thighs landing on the cold porcelain sink, but you didn’t have time to hitch your breath since his tongue swirled inside your mouth, tasting all of you.

“I’ll ask again,” He murmured on your lips “What do you want from me?”

You caressed the back of his neck, your palm tracing over the little hair he had there. “What do you want from me?” You asked back.

He gently bit your bottom lip, letting a moan escape from you “Hear those pretty sounds.” He answered.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and moved against him, basically jumping him. He let out another deep groan, his lips claiming yours once more.

His whiskey-flavoured tongue licked your lips, one of his hands groping your breasts through the thin fabric of your dress— You had to admit he was rather skilled.

Jake knew where to touch and when to touch, he knew how to drive you insane, leaving your body burning in desire.

Your hands blindly went to undo his buttons, clumsily snatching his shirt open. You let your palms wander on his sculpted figure as his own fingers found your panties.

“Jake,” You breathed out, rocking your hips on his fingers “So eager.” He tsked, letting you grind his hand

But as soon as he was about to pull your underwear to the side, loud knocks were heard from outside.

“Open up!” A male voice said, sounding desperate.

“Fuck off!” You answered, frustratedly letting your head rest on the mirror at your back.

“I need to puke,” The guy outside knocked some more, harshly “Open the damn door.”

Jake cursed under his breath and let go of you, walking to the door before turning around again. He helped you down the counter and winked “Need to help a lady out.”

He then opened the door and the drunk guy threw himself in, reaching the wc. You didn’t want to witness whatever was going to come out of him so you quickly stepped outside.

“What a way to cockblock me.” Jake scoffed and you laughed, patting his shoulder “That’s a shame.”

You started to walk away when Jake hurried after you and took your hand “Where are you going?”

You frowned “Downstairs?” As if it was the most obvious answer.

“So, you’re going to act like I didn’t just stick my tongue in your mouth?” Jake scoffed

“I thought you just wanted a hook up?” You said, titling your head “And I ain’t going to have sex in some stranger’s bedroom, that’s nasty.”

Jake chuckled “But the bathroom is alright?” You shrugged “Better than dirty sheets.”

He then shook his head, the charming smile still on his lips “No, I don’t want just sex.” He pulled you closer by your head, brushing your hair to the side “I can settle with making out.”

You bit your bottom lip and fisted the collar of his shirt, “Bring it on.”

𓆩♡𓆪

A lot more kisses later, you and Jake sat on the grass of the backyard garden. The cold breeze hit your bare skin but even with your thin dress you weren’t bothered one bit, the alcohol in your system serving as a heater.

Your shoulders brushed against each other while you both sipped on two cans of beers— At which number you were, you weren't really sure.

“You go to a private school?” You asked as you were having a small chat with him. You two had been attached to the hip bone the whole night, getting to know the other.

You found out his family was originally from Australia, which explained the heavy accent— and that he was painfully rich.

“Yup,” He answered, popping the ‘p’ “With a uniform.” You grimaced “Don’t tell me you ever wear a blazer.”

The silence following your question made you widen your eyes “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way.” Jake chuckled, leaning back on his hands “It’s so ugly, I don’t look as attractive with that on.”

You laughed, “I’d like to see you.” Jake beamed back at you “Maybe one day.”

You got closer to him and whispered “Is your toilet paper made from fifty dollar bills?” At that, Jake let out a heartfelt laugh “I hope you’re not serious.”

“I’m joking.” You waved your hand, taking a sip from the can.

“What about you?” He beckoned at you, “You go to the public school? The one with the weird kids?”

“At least I don’t have blazers.” You gave him a sheepish smirk “And yes— When I go, it’s not like I attend it a lot.”

Faint music was heard from afar, but the only sound you could concentrate on was the giggle of the guy sitting next to you. His dishevelled state did little to hide the handsomeness of his face.

"You really don't give a single shit about the world?" Jake asked, shaking his head as if he could not believe you.

You just shrugged "Life's too short to give a shit." You took a sip from the can of beer "Besides, I'm still a teen only for." You counted mentally "Like, two years, why should I care about anything now? Better partying."

Jake laughed once again, perhaps the alcohol in his system making him feel better about the meeting he had to attend the next day— Shoot, he had completely forgotten about it.

The moonlight shone on your figure, making your skin seem brighter, your hair softer. Jake stared at you like you were a piece of art at a museum, to be worshipped.

His eyes fell on your small dress, a smirk spread on his face; despite knowing you for not over three hours, he felt a deep connection to you, like you could get him.

"Want to go on a date tomorrow?"

Your browns knitted "Wo, wo, wo." You said, placing your hand between the two of you, "Aren't you running a little?"

Jake licked his bottom lip, chuckling "Nothing serious, I just need you to fake being my girlfriend."

At such a statement, your brow raised "Why?" You asked and he stole the can from your hand, taking a sip as well.

You watched as he chugged down the liquid, his Adam apple in plain sight, making you feel a little light headed. He sighed and cleaned his mouth with his sleeve "You're reckless, a free spirit and you look like you smoke weed in your free time."

"Well damn, you got me." You joked, snatching the can from his hands, "You're everything my parents wouldn't like."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" You laughed and Jake got closer to your ear. "Oh darling, you bet it is."

You gulped, a shiver running through your spine "So, you just need me to meet you again tomorrow and be your fake girlfriend?" Jake nodded, "At least my acting classes won't go to waste."

Jake chuckled and nodded, caressing your thigh, his thumb brushing against your sensitive flesh "So... Will you help me anger my parents?"

You had no business accepting a drunken offer from the hot guy you made out with at a frat party, getting involved in his family matters and even fake dating him— But what could you do? You loved challenges.

"Deal."

Jake raised a brow “Really? You’d do that?” You just shrugged in response “Not like I have anything better to do.”

“That’s great,” Jake beamed, “And are you planning on going to school tomorrow?”

You raised a brow “Why?” Jake answered, “I’ll come pick you up.”

“You don’t even know what school I attend.” Jake smirked and stole your can again “Guess you’ll have to give me your number to text me the address and your schedules.”

You rolled your eyes “Just say it you want an excuse to fuck in the back of your car.”

“You don’t consider that nasty?” He raised a brow, recalling your previous comment, “Depends, if you can make me forget it with your skills.”

“Want to find out?”

𓆩♡𓆪

“You’re kidding.” Yunjin’s mouth fell agape as she took in the sight of the crimson sport car parked outside your school. You smirked knowingly as Jake waved his hand to you.

“I ain’t, baby.” You raised your brows to her, showing off. Yunjin patted your shoulder “I take back all the bad things I told you when you left me alone— I would’ve done it too.”

You laughed quietly, and was about to step further when your best friend stopped you, taking your hand. You turned around “What?”

“Are you sure you want to go?” She eyed Jake warily, scanning him, “Do you trust him?”

You let go of her hand and gave her a gentle smile “Weird, but I do.” You stated

“You were pretty drunk last night..” She trailed off “Not as much as you, I know what I did and I can tell you, he’s not dangerous.”

She looked at you a little reluctantly before nodding “Okay… Just be careful.”

You blew her a kiss and waved “Call ya later.” And then walked toward Jake. You laughed as you saw his uniform “Not the blazer.”

Jake opened his arms as if to show you his school uniform better “I promised to let you see it.”

You eyed him and then looked at the car, “What a show off.” Jake shrugged “What can I say? I wanted your friends to talk well about you.”

You rolled your eyes at his comments. Jake opened the car door and motioned you to enter it “After you.”

Jake followed right behind and got the car going, “You haven’t told me where we’re going since I need to meet your parents at dinner.”

“To buy a pretty dress for a pretty girl.” He answered, placing one hand on your thigh. The skirt you were wearing exposed your bare flesh — not as much as the day before — and the contact of his cold palm made you shiver.

“You don’t look that bad with the blazer.” You commented, settling yourself better inside the car. It was spacious, the seats were beige leather, and it felt as if the whole car had cost more than any expense you had made in your life.

“No?” He asked, the same sweet tone of the previous day returning, “No.” You stated.

“Why do I need a new dress?” You asked, “I think I have a few in my wardrobe.”

Jake chuckled “Oh, Y/N.” He shook his head, “The restaurant where we’ll have dinner is very… fancy,” He informed you, “And you’ll need a fancy dress.”

You crossed your arms on your chest “So, you just assumed I don’t own one?”

“Do you?” You answered, “No, but it’s rude that you just assumed I don’t have one just cause I’m not as rich as you.”

“That’s not what I meant.“ Jake sighed “I didn’t—“ He tried to explain but you had already looked out of the window, your mood ruined.

Silence fell in the car until Jake parked in the parking lot of the mall. You were about to exit it when you heard a ‘click’. You turned around and raised a brow “Why did you lock it?”

“So you’d listen,” His whole body was turned to face you “I did not assume a single shit, alright?”

You rolled your eyes, not wanting to hear him “Don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not.” He stated, his stare so serious “I honestly don’t even care if you’re not rich, but I care the stares people will give you if you come wearing something normal.”

“I don’t care about them.” You frowned “Believe me, you will.” He seemed bothered by something. “They’re just… so mean, and I don’t want you to become their victim.”

You tilted your head to the side “But I need to piss them off.”

“My parents,” Jake said, “Not the people in the restaurant.”

You stayed silent a few seconds before nodding “Okay, I’ll let you buy it.”

Jake smirked, “Good girl.”

𓆩♡𓆪

You got inside a shop you had never even dared walk in front of, it smelled like a fairytale and all the assistants wore suits or elegant dresses. They all had the same forced smile and no matter how harsh a client was treating you— The assistant was always wrong.

You bit down your tongue to prevent yourself from commenting on one particular demanding lady who kept shouting at a poor guy who was obviously new and inexperienced and followed Jake into trying a few dresses on.

“Why is this so tight?” You commented, stepping out of the dressing room for what felt like the nth time.

“It’s supposed to be,” Jake said, glancing at you up and down, not even bothering to hide his hungry stare from the worker that was assisting you.

“But I can’t breathe.” You hissed, trying to move in that white dress “Maybe I should change the size?” The assistant suggested but Jake just dismissed him with his hand “No, try the other one.”

You rolled your eyes “Just another one, and then we’re going away.”

Jake raised a brow but then agreed “Fine…” He scanned the dressing room which was packed with so many dresses it looked like a princess’ wardrobe “Try the burgundy one.”

You let out a deep breath and went back into the cabin, fighting to get out of that tiny dress. You stood in your underwear, glancing at the burgundy dress that Jake suggested you wore.

It was fancy and elegant, sleeveless and short, but not too much. You had to admit it was the best one you’d seen so far, so you quickly changed into it.

“Here.” Jake said as he entered the dressing room, closing the curtain so no one could peek.

He helped you zip it up, maintaining eye contact with you from the reflection in the mirror. It felt like a dejavu of the previous night, his gaze so primal and dark.

He fixed your hair back and nodded “You look stunning, ma chérie.”

You widened your eyes at the nickname, Jake lowered to the height of your ear and whispered “Don’t you like it? We need to start acting as a couple if we want to be convincing.”

You turned around “I like it very much, baby.” You added the pet name with a smirk, making Jake chuckle.

His gaze fell on the curves of your body, the dress seeming as if it was perfectly made for you, “Damn Y/N.” He let out a deep groan “You are perfect.”

“Enough with the compliments or I might start to believe it.” Jake ran his fingers on each side of your waist. “You already do.”

You smirked, loving the way he already knew you well “Yeah, I already do.”

Suddenly, he pushed you so your back was pressed against the mirror, making you gasp. He put one hand in front of your mouth “Shh.” He demanded and you nodded.

Jake slowly sank to his knees, his palms grazing the bare flesh near your thighs. The contact made you shiver as you watched with knowing eyes what he was doing.

He slowly hooked the fabric of the dress up, so it rode just above your waistline “Jake..”

“Mh?” He hummed, his nose between your thighs as he smelled your sweet scent “What, love?”

You let out a shaky breath, “Is this some sort of pay back?” Jake chuckled quietly “You could say that.”

He hooked his fingers on the waistband of your panties and dropped them to your ankles, the air of the room hitting your bare core, making you hum.

“Can I taste you?” He asked and you nodded frantically, butterflies filling your stomach as the filthy thoughts of his following actions clouded your mind.

That eager consent was all it took him to lick a long stripe from your clit, tasting your juices. You gasped out and quickly placed a hand to muffle your sounds, not wanting the poor workers to hear the corrupted things you two had going on.

He gave kitten licks to your sensitive clit, teasing your wet folds with his free hand. Your own hand went to grasp his hair, pulling him closer to you, “Hurry.” You whined.

“Yes, ma’am.” He said before attaching his lips to your pussy, sucking on your clitorids. You let out quiet moans, still muffled by the hand you were biting, clearly some marks would appear later.

You pulled his hair and Jake stuck out his tongue, his doe eyes looking up at you. You took the hint and started grinding his tongue, the spongy texture sending waves of pleasure through your whole body.

“Oh yes,” He incited you, “Fuck my tongue, baby.” You gave up on trying to stay quiet and grasped his hair with your other hand as well, not like the filthy sounds coming from him eating you out could be blocked out.

Jake inserted two fingers inside of you, the sudden intrusion causing your body to jolt, if it wasn’t for his strong grip keeping you still you would’ve fallen over him.

Jake took one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, your whole pussy stretched all for him as he rubbed your sensitive bud with his tongue.

He started thrusting his digits, speeding his movements to match his tongue and damn, it felt heavenly.

“Jake—“ You gasped out, your moans loud enough for the whole shop to hear “Shh.” He shushed you, pinching your inner thigh.

You let out a soft whimper and chewed on your bottom lip to prevent yourself from moaning. Jake’s movements along with the pornographic scene unfolding in front of you was what took you to the edge, falling apart on his tongue with a loud gasp.

Your body quivered and Jake helped you riding out of your high. He detached his lips from your pussy, a string of saliva keeping them connected. Spit and your juices coated his chin as he got back on his feet, cleaning his face with the sleeve of his suit. “That was amazing.”

You smacked his shoulder lightly, still panting “You’re crazy— They heard us.”

Jake pulled you into a heated kiss, his dirty fingers wrapping around your throat, not adding any pressure, but enough to keep you still.

He rubbed his hard bulge on your stomach, needing to ease the aching feeling coming from it “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

You eyed him as he pulled away, your stare falling down to the evident hard on he had. You felt a little pitiful. “Let me help you.”

You were about to get on your knees when Jake stopped you, a warm smile on his face “No, don’t.”

You tilted your head in confusion “Why? You clearly need to fix it.”

Jake hummed “And I’ll do it in the bathroom, because if you want to help me, I wouldn't use your throat, baby.” His fingers traced the outline of your jaw “And I’m sure you don’t want it here.”

𓆩♡𓆪

As Jake helped you get ready and drove to the destination of the mission, you started to believe that was some kind of mockery.

The houses in your neighbourhood were half of the ones in Jake’s, all of them had at least one swimming pool and useless expensive cars.

You scoffed as you drove past them, making Jake smile. He put his hand on your thigh and caressed it “Let’s review what we said.”

You rolled your eyes “Act like a couple and make your parents believe it, just be me and use my sharp tongue to piss them off, possibly have sex later.”

Jake raised his brows in surprise “I didn’t know about the last point.”

You smiled proudly, “I just added it.” You took the hand he had on your thigh and slowly accompanied it higher, almost near your dangerous zone “Like it?”

“I’m driving, Y/N.” He scolded with the same deep voice he used to flirt. Damn, if it didn’t turn you on “And I ain’t doing anything.”

Jake placed his hand a little further “There won’t be any sex if we die in a car crash.” You crossed your arms on your chest “You’re so dramatic.”

He just let out a small chuckle and you two continued the drive in a comfortable silence. As soon as he reached the location, he killed the engine and got out of the car, reaching your side and opening the door for you “After you, ma chérie.”

You shook your head at his pet name and took his hand, walking out the door “These heels are killing my feet.” You complained, stumbling a little.

Jake wrapped one arm around your waist, supporting you. He leaned down to whisper in your ear “You look amazing.”

You shivered at his deep voice, his breath hitting your sensitive skin. “You look like someone I want to give head to.”

Jake let out another deep chuckle and you both made your way toward the fancy restaurant.

He stopped you before you could put foot in it, spinning you around so you were facing him. You tilted your head in a puzzled way, “What?”

He let out a small sigh “Promise me you won’t take anything they say by heart.” You stayed still for a moment before bursting out, laughing “Are you actually worried?”

Jake clicked his tongue “I’m serious Y/N. Whatever they say, don’t mind it.”

You just shrugged “I don’t even care what they say,” You wrapped your arms around his neck, mumbling on his lips “I’m here to help you, you don’t worry about me.”

His grip on your waist tightened, just a little “I just feel like I dragged you here… You were drunk when I asked and—“ Before he could even finish his sentence, you shushed him with your lips on his, licking his bottom lip.

Despite the sudden action, Jake kissed you back, one hand holding your scalp so he could deepen it.

However, you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. You both pulled away and Jake widened his eyes “Father.”

You gulped down, noting the way his father didn’t even resemble him at all. Jake wasn't tall, but that man towered him by a lot. Jake’s features were soft, his eyes warm as a hot chocolate in winter— while his father’s were sharp, cold as ice.

He took hold of your hand, Mister Sim’s dark gaze falling onto your intertwined hands. “You’re late.” He just stated, monotone.

“Traffic.” Jake answered back in a voice you’ve never heard before— uncomfortable even.

“Seems like you were busy with something else.” His father’s gaze fell onto you, probably trying to intimidate you. You just raised a challenging brow in response.

“Your mother and I have been waiting for you. Hurry.” Mister Sim turned around and walked ahead of you. Before following him, you squeezed Jake’s hand and gave him a warm smile “Mission start.”

The whole restaurant screamed rich, with all those big chandeliers, candles and even a piano in the middle of the room, where a pianist was playing some classical music you had never even heard before.

As you arrived at the designed table, Mister Sim sat down beside his wife. Your eyes fell on the petite woman, looking like the copy-paste of her son.

“Mother.” Jake greeted, bowing slightly out of respect. You did the same, flashing a fake smile “Pleasure to meet you.” Miss Sim just nodded, beckoning you to sit down.

After ordering some food, Jake’s parents started questioning him while your gaze went to the table, noticing the amount of forks on it.

“Useless.” You commented a little too loud, because his father asked “Pardon?”

You raised your gaze to meet his “What do you need so many forks for? Just use one.” You raised one from the table, making him see

Jake chokes down a laugh, earning a warning stare from his mother “You’ve never been to a fancy restaurant, dear?”

You just shrugged, placing the fork down “Not my go to. I prefer some nice burgers, cheaper.”

Jake’s mother made a shocked, almost offended expression “You’ll get fat if you eat such rubbish.”

“So? Fat but happy.” You commented, patting at your stomach. Miss Sim eyed you as if you had just personally offended her.

Fortunately, the waiter interrupted you as he served the plates. In front of you there was a steak (something you couldn’t usually afford), but that same steak was the size of a nut. Literally, it was so tiny.

Jake noticed your expression and leaned down to whisper “We’ll buy a burger later.” You smiled and whispered back “I’d rather you eating me.”

“Whispering at the table is rude.” His mother commented, cutting a small piece of the already small steak.

“What was your name again, dear?” You mentally prepared yourself to be as rude as possible and answered “Y/N.”

“Right, Y/N.” Miss Sim nodded as if she had known your name before, which you knew she hadn’t “How old are you?”

“Just turned eighteen, Ma’am.” You said, placing down the fork “Oh, so you’re the same age as my son.” She flashed you a fake smile, looking like one of those dogs that seem so sweet but bite as soon as you try to pet them.

“I’ve always told Jake to date older girls, you know, they’re… wiser.” You raised a brow “So, you’re saying I’m dumb just because I ain’t older than him?”

Jake’s mother widened her eyes, “Not at all.” You gave her a fake smile “I was just joking.”

She laughed as well. “Of course, you have such a playful personality.”

“Too playful.” Mister Sim commented, clearing his throat “And where do you live? Your parents, what do they do for a living?”

You replied with your neighbourhood and your parents' jobs, earning some concerning stares from the two adults at the table, who were as mature as a two-year-old.

“We will have to start thinking about marriage, Jake will inherit our company.” Jake sighed, “Mother..” Miss Sim started, cleaning the corner of her mouth with the tissue “Do you want to get married? And kids?”

His father then added “Are you two sexually active?”

At such words, Jake fisted his hand under the table. You noticed and put one of your hands on his.

“Why—“ Before he could say something, you talked over “What does that even matter?” You asked, raising a brow.

“That’s my life, if I wanted to get married or have kids, that’s my choice to make. And that counts for Jake as well.” You frowned. Jake took your hand in his and squeezed it to give you support.

“You are two stereotyped jerks, and I’m being nice.” You earned a scoff from Mister Sim “How dare—“

“No, I’m the one talking now.” You snapped, “I’ve been sitting here for one hour, hearing all your bullshit. You rich people disgust me.”

You got up, receiving all the attention of the people in the restaurant, “You’re so stereotyped, you only care about money, get a fucking grip.”

Mister Sim’s eyes widened at your sudden outburst “Don’t you use such ugly words.”

“I do what I want, and I say this dinner is done.” You turned around, but Jake stayed put.

“You choose her?” Miss Sim asked with her best victim voice, ready to guilt trip her own son.

Jake had stayed silent the whole time, watching the scene unfold in front of his eyes. He gulped down, slowly raising his eyes to meet his parents’ “I don’t choose anyone, mother, because I am not ungrateful to turn my back to you.” He said, a sparkle of pride in your chest, “I agree with all she said, though.”

Jake smirked, “Yes, I’m a disgrace, but I don’t give a single shit about it.”

Said that, he took your hand again and dragged you outside.

As soon as you were out, you both stared at each other before bursting into a big and heartfelt laugh “Did I overdo it?” You asked and Jake shook his head “You did a great job.”

He drove you to your neighbourhood, the difference between the place you had just been and the restaurants in your side of the town was huge. It almost made you feel a shame, but then again why would you even need to be? That was your life and you loved it.

After having some burgers to your favourite street food place, making Jake taste your most treasured guilty pleasure, he parked the car in a nearby parking and helped you get out, holding your heels in his hand since you took them off, being too uncomfortable for your used-to-converse feet.

He walked you until your house, stopping as you reached its front. “I should go inside.”

Jake nodded and handed you the heels, “Seriously Y/N. Thank you so much.” He said sincerely, “I don’t even know why you agreed to this, but you said all the things I was too afraid to say.”

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, then caressing your cheek with his thumb “And you keep this dress. Maybe you’ll need it someday.”

“It costs more than my house.” You commented, making Jake chuckle “But it looks great on you.”

“So… no crazy sex in the car?” You asked and he shook his head “Isn’t that nasty?” He teased you.

“Hey,” You said, faking being offended. “Said the one who wears a blazer to school.”

“Oh.” He raised his hands in surrender. “You win.”

Jake took a hold of your waist and dragged you toward him, pressing his lips onto yours. The kiss was slow, much deeper than a normal goodbye one. It held so many emotions and care, you almost melted right there.

He then pulled away, licking his lips as if to take all the taste of you “Get inside, it’s getting cold.”

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling “I’ll see you again?”

“Of course, ma chérie.” He smiled, kissing the corner of your lip “I still have to show you my bed skills.”

You chuckled and pushed his chest playfully “I’m much better than you.”

“Can’t know until you show me.” He winked and watched as you headed inside, his smile never leaving his face.

And neither did yours leave, for once you felt the happiest girl in the world, kicking your feet under the blanket and dreaming of the sensation his kisses brought you.

However, you should’ve listened to Yunjin’s warning about you getting yourself hurt in the end, because the next Saturday, when your eyes met Jake’s again at Heeseung’s new party and you smiled ever so sweetly at him— his stare diverted, smiling at another pretty girl, too pretty for your own likings.

And that was where you realised your heart was the shattered one.

[docholligay]

You can't act like the game is lost before it is. This is, in fact, what they want you to do. They would love you to believe that nothing matters. Every time you roll over and do nothing, you are playing into what they would like you to do. They want you scared. They want you thinking it's already lost. You are giving them so much power.

If you want to live in your own doom slop, do. But scroll on past this and for the love of god shut the fuck up about it. Don't discourage people who are trying to do something.

And, know fucking what? I don't think that the ability to be won is the whole of the merit of the fight. The Warsaw Ghetto Uprising was unwinnable--was it stupid to fight? Did the guy in Tienanmen, standing in front of a row of tanks, fucking fix China? No! But I still think they were worth it, and that the people who did those things were better than those who didn't.

At the very least, you can give someone trying to ruin your fucking life a really bad day. Why would you not? I am happy to light up some intern on the phone every single day, and I hope they can't fucking sleep at night.

Screw your courage to the sticking place. It's been two fucking weeks. This is all a bunch of shock and awe bullshit, and we we CAN fight back, but we have to fucking do something. Internet activism, INCLUDING WHAT I AM DOING RIGHT NOW, is mostly useless. like 5% useful. Write a letter. Make a call. Go to a protest. Actually, you want to know what works really well? Learn what reps look like and if you see them in public, bully them. I just told a local government rep Tuesday I was 'real annoyed about this culture-war bullshit that i've never personally experienced, i gotta say, that you're wasting your time on while young people are fleeing the state. You grew up here. i grew up here. I do not think a net increase of Texans and East Coaster rhinestone cowboys are improving the place, do you? Focus on jobs and parks, jesus christ." And you know what? HE HATED IT. It was EMBARRASSING*. He just had to shrug and mutter that he did care about jobs but we go to the same gym! I didn't even yell! I said it with my usual flat "I'm unimpressed' affect.

Volunteer for the things you believe in! Run for fucking dogcatcher! Stop looking for an adult to do something. WE ARE THE ADULTS WHO HAVE TO DO SOMETHING, NOW.

*Some of this is you can't yell at a 5'3'' 125 pound women who's dressed like a tradwife. But you know how much YOU hate to be confronted in public? THEY DO TOO, GIRLIEPOP.

[facets-and-rainbows]

Blue Exorcist Character Guidebook 2: Mephisto

Info on Mephisto from the new guidebook! Each character has a profile followed by relevant questions from fans, and then there's an interview section later where Kazue Katoh gives commentary on each major character and each manga arc. I have more guidebook than time, so I'm skipping the parts that are just like...summarizing who he is and stuff. So this will mostly be fan questions and Katoh's commentary

Biographical info

Gender: Male Age: (°w°) Rank/Titles: Director of True Cross Academy and head of the exorcism cram school, Honorary Knight for the Knights of the True Cross, King of Time Anniversary [T/N Katoh gives demons these in lieu of a birthday]: August 28 Blood type: ( ʹ - ʼ ) Height: 195 cm (184 cm without the "horn") Weight: 74 kg Skills and interests: movies, manga, anime, games, music, toys, miscellaneous subcultures

Fan Q&A

How do members of the Knights of the True Cross usually find out that Mephisto is a demon king?

I think some people might find out from books, the internet, etc even before they become exorcists. They do publish demon field guides that you can find at regular libraries, and Mephisto seems like the type to mention it in online interviews. Rin was the only one who didn't know.

How long has he had his current body?

About 200 years.

Which media from Assiah has had the greatest impact on him?

I imagine he would have been shocked the first time he saw a cinematograph.

Mephisto really likes all sorts of entertainment; has he ever tried making something himself?

Demons in general (not just Mephisto) tend to be bad at creative pursuits, though there are exceptions. Mephisto has a certain respect for human creativity.

Why is he so fond of Beelzebub?

Beelzebub just kind of struck a chord with him. Meanwhile, Beelzebub also likes being spoiled by Mephisto.

Which other demon kings get along with Mephisto the best?

In order: 1. Beelzebub 2. Amaimon 3. Egyn 4. Astaroth 5. Iblis 6. Lucifer [T/N it took me like an entire minute to work out that Azazel is the one missing from this list. Presumably because he's a rock]

Has Mephisto ever altered the past?

He sure does say a lot of things that imply that! [T/N: Katoh. Katoh. Katoh.]

How rich is Mephisto exactly?

He's actually one of the world's top businessmen and investors. His total assets are probably over one trillion yen [T/N: Jesus f*ck][T/N: that's about US$6.7 billion]

Author interview

Mephisto is a character who can solve just about anything; does that make him hard to write? Honestly, he's super easy to deploy. Mephisto has the plot in the palm of his hand and can fix stuff behind the scenes; he's the one pulling the strings. For adaptations and spinoffs, I just say "if you need to fill in a plot hole, make it Mephisto's fault" (laughs). But I do think it's dangerous to overdo it.

He even took on a sort of narrator role in chapter 44, didn't he? Around Volume 10, I was trying to treat each chapter like its own self-contained oneshot. Mephisto didn't even feel out of place as an omniscient narrator for one chapter, and for me that really drove home what a convenient character he is. Though I'm always wondering when and how to show Mephisto's own serious motives and inner thoughts, since he does fall into that eternal comic narrator role.

He can suddenly turn terrifying just when you were thinking he was comical. Hidden depths. Fundamentally he's on the humans' side, and he's often in charge of comic relief, but I do want to show his demonic side too. Same with the familiars; I want to portray the demons as something humans are afraid of.

[keeryhours]

new year’s magic - eddie munson

Eddie Munson x female! reader

Masterlist

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Summary:

You and Eddie meet up at Steve’s annual New Year’s party

Warnings:

Drinking, kissing

Word Count: 1.2k

A/N:

Happy New Year to all of you!! I hope 2025 is the best yet! This is just a short little oneshot I wrote to celebrate. I hope you like it! And thank you again @punkrockmlchael for my banner ily!

—

Steve Harrington’s New Year’s party was in full swing, living up to its reputation for another year. The music was loud, the alcohol was flowing, and it was nearing midnight.

You stood awkwardly to the side, a mixed drink in a red solo cup clutched tightly in your hand. This wasn’t really your scene, but Steve insisted on your presence. You had rolled your eyes when he first brought it up, but as you always did when it came to Steve, you eventually gave in.

Now he had effectively abandoned you, which you couldn’t really blame him for because it was his party after all. But you weren’t close with these people, you didn’t know how to talk to them. You were debating heading out early, before the countdown even happened - because who was going to kiss you at midnight? No one yet again, that’s who.

You were brought out of your thoughts by a hand on your lower back. You jumped, some of your drink splashing over the rim of your cup and onto your dress. “Shit!”

“Jesus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You looked up and immediately softened when you saw those brown doe eyes looking back down at you, wild curls framing his smiling face.

“It’s okay, it’s not that bad,” you said, face flushing red as you reached for some paper towels on the kitchen counter.

“Here, let me help you,” Eddie said, quickly taking the paper towels from your hands and dabbing at your dress with them. Thankfully not much had spilled - your outfit certainly wasn’t ruined. You stood there as Eddie wiped at the fabric over your boobs for an awkwardly long time. Once he was satisfied, he shoved the wet towels into the trash can. “Good as new!”

You looked down at your little black dress - you couldn’t tell anything had been spilled on it at all. You smiled back up at Eddie. “Thanks. My hero.”

Eddie chuckled, a hand on the back of his neck. “I don’t know if I can qualify as your hero when I was the one who scared you in the first place.”

“Oh, no,” you said, not wanting your friend to feel bad. “I just wasn’t expecting anyone to come talk to me.”

Eddie looked around at the crowd. “Not exactly your scene, eh?”

“Definitely not,” you admitted, taking a sip of your drink. “I didn’t think it was yours, either.”

Eddie shrugged, giving you a sheepish grin. “It’s not. But Harrington wouldn’t leave me alone about it, and I figured, could be fun?”

“Are you having fun?” You asked, eyebrows raised at him over the rim of your cup.

“I am now that I’m talking to you,” he smiled. Your cheeks heated even more, looking away from him and into the contents of your drink.

“I’m not exactly the most fun person at this party,” you mumbled. Honestly, you still weren’t even sure how you and Steve Harrington had become friends in the first place. He never even noticed you all through high school, but when you started working at Family Video with him and your best friend Robin (who insisted he was a changed man and wasn’t King Steve anymore), you just hit it off. You had been close friends ever since.

You met Eddie when your close friend insisted you meet her new boyfriend, Gareth, and his D&D buddies. You were shy and dreaded meeting new people, but you were also into fantasy and games, so you agreed.

Eddie became one of your best friends immediately. He invited you into Hellfire - something that was sacred and rare, as your friend and Gareth filled you in - and you became a regular in their campaigns. Eddie was even in the process of helping you come up with your own campaign to DM for the club, which again, was sacred and rare and shocked the rest of the group to their core.

But Eddie had a soft spot for you.

Maybe there was something else there, too.

You had had a crush on Eddie since you first met him. How could you not? He was just cool, liked fantasy, liked D&D, loved metal music and could play guitar (which was so, so hot). He even played guitar for you a few times, which had your heart melting.

Just like it was now with him standing so close to you.

“It’s time for the countdown!” Steve called loudly from wherever he was, and the whole party cheered. Everyone shuffled into the living room where the large TV was on. You and Eddie stayed back in the corner, away from most of the chaos.

The Times Square ball filled the screen. As it began its descent, the whole party cheered along with the countdown.

“10! 9!”

Eddie shuffled a little closer to you, but you were sure it was just because of the crowd.

“8! 7!”

You took the last sip of your drink, sitting it on the table to the side of you. You’d clean it up later.

“6! 5!”

You felt Eddie place a hand on your hip. It sent an electrical current through your body, making you shiver. His calloused fingertips were pressed against the bare skin peeking through your sheer dress. He smelled like beer and cheap cologne. It was nice.

“4! 3!”

Eddie turned you to face him with his hands on your hips. You looked up at him wide eyed. Your body was humming with excitement and nerves as you looked into his eyes, searching for what he was planning behind that smirk.

“2!”

He pulled your body flush against his. You gasped.

“1! Happy New Year!”

Eddie leaned down and pressed his lips against yours as cheers and noise makers went off around the room. You think your heart might have stopped for a moment. His lips captured yours with a confidence you didn’t fully expect from him. You wrapped your arms around his neck as your knees went weak and you shared the tender yet heated kiss. You tangled your fingers in the hair at the base of his neck as he pressed his body impossibly closer to yours. His tongue slipped into your mouth and you happily let him in.

“Get a room, you two!” Steve yelled jokingly, laughing from across the room. “But also, about time!”

Eddie pulled away and you knew you were red as a tomato with how hard you were blushing. Eddie pushed a strand of hair behind your ear as he grinned down at you. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that.”

“Me too,” you admitted, which made Eddie chuckle.

“You know, they say that whatever you’re doing when the clock strikes midnight, that’s what you’ll be doing all year.”

You raised your eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He leaned in, placing a kiss to your cheek before his lips reached your ear. “Be my girlfriend, maybe? So we can do this all year?”

You giggled, the biggest smile covering your whole face. “I would love that.”

Steve erupted into cheers and claps again, waving his noisemaker in the air. “That’s what I love to see! Magic always happens at the Harrington New Year’s party!”

[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

═ Monday you can fall apart ═

Chapter 1 - Blue

Chapter overview

CWs: POV Dean, loneliness, anxious Dean, John Winchester being a POS, pre-series. 7.5k words

Dean always seems to meet her on a Friday.

Actually, he’s not sure about that. Hunters don’t have weekends, so it’s a toss up if he even knows what day of the week it is. He’s sure he’s met her on other days, it’s not like he keeps a diary around, where he circles the days he saw her, draws little hearts next to them. But it always feels like a Friday when he sees her. Or what he imagines Fridays feel like to most people. He gets a little giddy, excited for what’s to come. There is so much promise and anything seems possible.

The first time is a few months after Sammy has left for Stanford. Dean feels lonely and John is in an even worse mood than he usually is, if such a thing is possible. The shock and the betrayal of Sam leaving them sits deep in them both, but of course they don’t talk about it, because that’s not what Winchesters do.

Instead they stew in it, Dean noticing he ducks his head whenever John walks into the room. He’s not a kid anymore, hasn’t been for a long, long time but he is sure he can feel the air get thicker whenever John is around. Like all abused children he knows what mood John is in by the sounds of his foot steps, and depending on how they sound he adjusts himself, his body and his face before his father has even walked through the door.

Quick steps, slightly staggered, means John has found a case or brought a drink. In case it is the first thing, Dean locates where his jacket is in the room, so he can grab it as quickly as possible, follow John out to the car. He never takes his boots off for this very reason, not even when he sleeps, and won’t for years even after John is dead. If it’s the second thing John will pull a bottle or two out of a brown paperback, and they will sit together, maybe turn on the TV, a game or some old action movie that Dean’s seen a million times. They won’t talk. John doesn’t seem to get drunk anymore, only quiet and tired. And Dean? Dean’s not even really there. He’s imagining things. Thinks about a different life, thinks about girls.

Once he knows her, he’ll think about her. The bar lights over her head, the gleam in her eyes.

It's bad when John’s steps are slow. It’s like he’s purposefully putting his entire foot on the ground before moving the other up, like he can’t bear to be away from the floor for too long. That’s when a lead hasn’t panned out, or he’s been thinking about Mary, or lately, Sam. Dean knows to make himself small then. He tries to relax his shoulders but often finds he can’t, his body out of his control. He’s as big as John now, or nearly, but he feels like he’s made of sticks.

They go to a bar, not to drink, but for a lead. It’s the early evening, but it’s already full. The clientele is interesting, old timers mostly but there is a group of younger people as well. Students maybe, or yuppies on their first job, who have found this place, run down as it is, maybe go here ironically, to say Jesus, look at this place, look at these people. We’ll never end up like them.

Dean hates those kinds of groups. He pretends it’s because of his contempt for anyone who thinks they’re better than others, but the truth is they make him feel insecure. They make references he doesn’t understand, ask him questions he has no answers to and it’s always only a matter of time until there is some dig towards his lack of education, his clothes, the way he talks, his car. So when he walks into the bar and sees them he scoffs in their direction, making it clear to anyone who cares to watch him that Dean Winchester couldn’t care less about his preppy peers.

No one is watching him that closely, of course, but he’d rather be safe than sorry.

He wonders if that’s the kind of people Sam hangs out with now, and then quickly forces that thought away.

John walks up to the bar, says “hey, Earl,” and the man standing behind the bar turns around. Earl’s big, and he looks a little like Bud Spencer, if Bud Spencer had been put through a meat grinder. He nods at John while polishing a glass with a less-than-clean looking rag. He looks like he’s posing for Barkeeper’s Quarterly.

“How you doin’, John?” he asks, and his voice sounds friendly. John doesn’t answer except to lean on the bar, look around. Earl asks: “This your kid?” He looks at Dean. Dean nods back. All his movements are meant to look effortless, but they are not. They require effort, so much effort, their minimalism hard earned.

John doesn’t stop looking around, but sort of thumb-points at his son. “That’s Dean,” he says, not wasting time or spit on any unnecessary information. Earl nods again, puts the glass he’s been cleaning down.

“So you got my message?” he asks.

John nods. “How many?”

Earl pulls down the corners of his mouth, leans his head to the right, then the left. “Four. Maybe five. Couldn’t rightly say.”

John nods again. “And they’re just hiding out in town? Under everyone’s nose? Under your nose?”

There’s a quick glimmer in Earl’s eyes. His pleasant expression never falters but the hair on Dean’s neck stands up. He gets the distinct impression that Earl is not someone to be fucked with.

“Come on, Winchester,” the big man says, grins a little. “I know how much you love to hack and slash. What, I was just gonna go in on my own? Leave you out of the fun?” John sort of breaths a small laugh out of his nose. The balance between them has been reestablished, both getting a dig in, but Dean can’t help but wonder at what history they have.

“You wanna go now?” John asks.

Earl looks up, scans the bar. “Yeah, should be good.” He looks to the side, and in a louder tone to be heard over the voices of his patrons, he says her name.

Her name.

It doesn’t mean anything yet to Dean, of course. He’s distracted looking at the bottles behind the bar, wondering if he can get a drink in before they leave to wherever they’re leaving to, so he doesn’t see her when she first walks up after being summoned by Earl. Then he looks down from the shelves and sees her.

She’s beautiful. Not in a Hustler type of way, not the way the co-eds he sometimes picks up are, or the waitresses in the cheap small town bars that look at him like they’re hoping he’ll take them with him and out of there, not in any type of way he’s ever seen.

He must be staring, because after Earl introduces them - “this is John Winchester, an old buddy of mine, and this is, sorry, kid… didn’t catch your name?” – he forgets to answer for a moment.

“Dean,” he says then, and repeats it, like an idiot. “I’m Dean.”

She holds his gaze for a second and he can’t guess at what she’s thinking. It’s not the kind of look he usually gets, and has been getting for as long as he’s known the kind of effect he has on girls, and then later, on women. She’s just studying him for a moment and then she’s looking at Earl, and he’s telling her to take care of the bar, call in someone named Simon if things get too busy, and to not let someone else, someone called Tip, which Dean doesn’t think is a real name, take too many smoke breaks.

She nods at everything he is saying, then gives him a little smile. “Be careful, okay?” Earl nods at her, a kind look in his eyes.

“Don’t worry, honey. I got John Winchester with me. Worse comes to worse, I’ll just throw him at them.”

Chuckles all around and then John stands to his full height and Earl walks off, presumably to get his things. Dean takes another look at her but she’s already busying herself with something else, saying a few quick works to a scrawny guy with a ratty mustache and yellowed fingertips, maybe Tip. He takes a breath and is about to follow John out of the bar, but John stops him with a raised hand.

“No, Dean, I think you should sit this one out.”

Dean feels like he’s walked into a brick wall. “What, why?” he says, and he hopes he doesn’t sound too affected. Of course he couldn’t care less if John takes him or not, at least that’s what he wants him to think, the fact that the statement immediately feels like rejection not registering with him on any intellectual level. He is such a well-trained dog.

“Just think Earl and I can handle it,” John responds, “plus it’ll be nice to catch up with him without having to keep an eye on you.”

Boom, bang, John goes for the immediate knock-out, all following rounds be damned. Dean swallows down the insinuation of why anyone needs to keep an eye on him but it doesn’t leave his mouth, sits on the back of his tongue like sick from the night before.

“Sure, uh, whatever, do you want me to go back to the motel?”

John shrugs. “Or get a drink. Whatever you want.”

Whatever you want. Easier said than done. What does Dean want?

John and Earl leave, Earl looking even more hulking without the bar in front of him. Dean stands around for a second, unsure what to do. So, as he’s learned to do when in doubt, he gets a drink.

The place at the bar he and John occupied a minute ago has been taken over by three of the younger people, two guys and one girl, splitting off from the larger group that’s sitting by the window. They are loud and obnoxious and want everyone to know they are having a great time, so Dean looks for a seat farther down the bar, finds it. Who he assumes to be Tip takes his order, which is a little disappointing. He can see her a few feet down, filling a glass with seltzer and putting it in front of the three younger people, pushing it towards the girl who, Dean notices now, looks absolutely plastered. Her hair is falling out of the bun at the back of her head and her eyes aren’t focusing so well. She looks so goddamn happy though that Dean is actually a little jealous.

He gets his drink, borne to him on yellow-tinted fingers and he goes to pay, but Tip raises his hand, says in the most congested voice Dean has ever heard: “Earl told us he’d got you covered if you stayed.” Well, Dean’s not gonna argue with free drinks so he raises his glass a little in thanks to Tip, but he doesn’t really react, just slouches off to the next person waving him down at a speed so slow that in a joint this packed it’s actually offensive.

So Dean looks around, listens to the conversations around him. He’s an easy talker, can normally get some small talk going with pretty much anyone, so long as he can lie about every single thing he’s saying and never show his cards at all. So, normal conversation. He’s downed half his drink quickly and is looking around when the group sitting near the window break out into such loud, ear-shattering laughter that he has to turn around. It’s part his irritation at them, part the fear that they might actually be laughing at him that makes him stare at them for a few seconds. He notices one of the girls among them and she’s kind of cute, long hair that’s—

“You want another one?” He turns back around and it’s her. She’s leaning on the bar opposite him, both arms spread wide to lean in further. He thinks she’s flirting and then he realizes she’s doing it to hear him better, but maybe she’s still flirting. The group of three with the drunk girl down the bar are clapping now, well, the two guys are, yelling “chug chug chug”. Dean nods towards them.

“Maybe I should have what she’s having,” he says, grinning in a way that he’s seen work well. She just raises her eyebrows.

“Big seltzer guy, are you?”

“No,” he says, “I mean, because, no, cause she’s—”

He’s interrupted by a triumphant roar from the drunk girl’s two friends as she downs the glass, holds it over her head, swaying, looking like a cockeyed Statue of Liberty for a second. The noise distracts her from what he was saying, how he was stumbling over himself, but he feels a rush of embarrassment. Two for two, he thinks, what the hell is going on?

She turns back to him, a soft customer service-y smile on her face.

“Say,” she asks, “you don’t happen to have a gun on you, do you?”

“No, why?” Dean asks.

“So I can kill those assholes first and then shoot myself.”

It takes him a moment to understand that she’s making a joke. Her face and her tone give nothing away, at least he doesn’t think they do, so, hell, she might be being absolutely serious, but he’s so relieved that she doesn’t seem to think he’s a seltzer-drinking weirdo who can’t say his own name, that he laughs, and that makes her sort of grin at him, and it seems like a real one.

“So, another one?” she says, pointing at his now empty glass.

“Only if I can buy you one,” Dean responds. This time it comes out exactly the way he means for it to come out: voice just a tad deeper, the smile playing on his lips a little flirty and he even makes eye contact. Bingo, Dean Winchester is back, baby!

He can tell she is suppressing a smile, maybe he’s flattered her and he expects her to blush when she says: “Aren’t you drinking on Earl’s tab?”

How the hell does this keep happening?

“Well, yeah,” he says. “But I can pay for your drink if you want one.” She doesn’t really react, instead grabbing a nearby bottle of liquor, filling his glass first and then grabbing one for herself, which she fills, clinks against his before he has the chance to raise it, and shoots it down. She makes a bit of a face, then winks at Dean, and his lungs stop working for a moment.

“Always tastes better when somebody else is paying for it,” she says and Dean might just be a little bit in love.

Then she looks at him expectantly, at his glass, back at him. He picks it up quickly and downs it as well. The burn is pleasant but it’s not whiskey, as he was expecting. He makes a face.

“Step up from seltzer?” she observes.

“Eugh, is that tequila?” he says.

“Añejo,” she replies, like he’s supposed to know what that means. “Aged,” she adds at his confused look, and then: “And you’re supposed to sip it.”

“But you—“

She laughs then, really laughs, and it’s the sweetest sound Dean has ever heard. It’s not mean either. She’s not laughing at him, but at her own cleverness, proud of herself. Dean can’t help but grin, giving a little laugh. She grabs the bottle at his reaction, fills his glass again.

“Enjoy,” she says, and then someone’s waving her over to order something. Dean looks after her, rushing back and forth. She smiles sometimes, politely, or does a “ha” when someone says something that’s meant to make her laugh, but she doesn’t grin at anyone the way she grinned at him.

He takes a sip from his drink. It’s not so bad.

The bar becomes fuller and then it peters out. On the way to the restroom at some point Dean chats up the girl from the obnoxious, loud group. She’s sweet but his heart’s not in it. He wants to go back to his seat at the bar, and even though she’s kind of flirting with him he leaves after a while. A little later the group moves on, and then it’s just Dean and her behind the bar, and an old drunk whose name he finds out is Walter, who two hours ago was telling everyone who would listen a story about how he once got run over by a bus and walked away without a single broken bone (“Like a snake,” he says, and Dean doesn’t find it in himself to tell Walter that that’s how snakes work). Walter is around seventy and has the wettest eyes Dean has ever seen, so much so that it makes him want to wipe at his own. Walter’s mumbling now and every once in a while his voice will go louder and he’ll sort of yell, but it’s not really threatening, just kind of sad.

She walks up from the room behind the bar she went into a minute earlier to answer the bar's phone, stands across from where Dean and the old man are sitting.

“Walter, honey, you gotta go home, we need to close, okay?”

Walter mumbles something, belches. Charming. Just then Tip comes back in, bringing with him a rush of cold air and cigarette smoke. She looks at him, sighs.

“I’m gonna bounce,” Tip says in that painful sounding voice of his. “Want me to get Walter home?”

“Would you? I’m not sure he can walk,” she responds.

Tip nods, moves his scrawny frame in front of Walter and says in a loud voice most people reserve for children and the legally deaf: “Walter, I’m gonna get you home, okay, pal?” Then Tip starts sort of poking at Walter’s armpit and it takes Dean a second to understand that he’s trying to get him to stand up.

“Need a hand?” he asks. Tip nods, and Dean stands up, swings one of Walter’s arms around his shoulder. Walter is a head shorter than him and Tip’s not pulling any of his weight, so Dean pretty much carries the old man to the door all by himself. At that point Tip has figured out how to hold on to Walter and tells Dean he’s got it. Tip shoots a “Night!” over his shoulder at the bar and Walter mumbles something that sounds like “adopted monkeys”, and then they’re both gone.

Dean breathes out slowly, hoping to get the mixture of the combined smells of Tip and Walter out of his vicinity. He turns around to face the bar. She’s wiping down the top.

“That was Earl calling just now,” she says, scratching at a stain in front of her, then wiping over it. “Says everything’s fine but they’re gonna be a while.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, good.” He waits a second to see if she’ll say anything else, but she doesn’t. “Well, I guess I best—”

“Wanna keep me company until they come back?” she interrupts him. Dean thinks. There’s nothing suggestive in her tone at all, but he also doesn’t have anywhere better to be, only an empty motel room with greasy wallpaper and a depressing lack of all things younger brother. So he responds with a “yeah,” and walks back towards the bar.

Before he reaches it, she looks up at him. “Put some music on?” she says, nods at the Wurlitzer that stands against the wall perpendicular to the bar. It’s been played on and off throughout the evening.

Dean walks to it now, at the same time reaches his hand into his pocket to look for some coins. He drags some out, along with a week’s worth of lint and a piece of paper that he’s pretty sure has a bleach blonde’s number on it. He holds his findings in his open hand and picks out the correct coins with the other. He looks at the songs on offer, then grins. He deposits the coins in the machine, makes his choice and goes back to the bar.

He sits down where just as the first notes of Simple Man start playing. She’s wiping something off the counter behind the bar, and her shoulders go up and shake a little when she laughs. She drops the rag in her hand on the counter and puts two clean glasses and a bottle on the bar in front of Dean. He grins. Okay, maybe she is flirting with him.

“Does the simple man want another drink?” she asks, and adds: “It’s really whiskey this time, promise.” She moves one hand over where her heart is and does a little cross sign. Dean raises his eyebrows shortly, then grabs the bottle and pours for them both.

“So,” he says, not liking the silence that she seems totally comfortable with. “This doesn’t seem like a hunter spot.”

She shrugs, rearranges something he can’t see. “That’s cause it’s not. It’s just a bar. Earl’s bar.”

Dean nods. “But Earl’s a hunter?” She looks up, past him at nothing.

“Kind of,” she says. “He’s sworn to leave that life behind him a million times but he just can’t seem to stay out of it. He’s always scanning the news for cases, cutting out articles.” She picks up the glass he poured for her, clicks one of the rings on her fingers against it. “He did that stuff for thirty years. Guess it’s hard to quit.” Dean picks up his glass as well, they cheers. Both are lost in their thoughts for a second, and while Dean isn’t sure what she’s thinking he knows he’s thinking about her, the curve of her neck to be specific. He wants her to grin again the way she did earlier.

He takes a sip of his drink – it really is whiskey – then asks her: “You hunt?” She smiles at him, but it’s not the same.

“I’ve dabbled,” she answers.

“I didn’t know you could dabble in hunting,” Dean says, hoping she’ll say more. Her smile frays a little around the edges, and he wonders if he said something wrong.

“I guess you could say I’m trying to quit, too,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t know what to say, but luckily she fills the silence. “So your friend you came in with, you two hunt together?”

Friend.

“My father, actually,” Dean says, and to make it sound like he’s not some big loser who only hangs out with his daddy, he adds: “It’s the family business.”

She nods, taking that in, then she says: “Your dad’s handsome. Kinda young too, no?”

Dean feels bewildered at that and can’t stop himself before he says, deadpan: “He’s actually really old.”

And then she laughs, and it’s the one he’s been hoping for. It sort of consoles him for what she said about John.

“Must be nice,” she says then, “working with family, traveling with them.” That makes him think about Sam.

“’S a blast,” he says, hoping to talk about something else. “So how’d you wind up with Earl? You two dabble together?”

He doesn’t mean for it to sound dirty, but she catches his gaze before he can correct himself or change the topic. She laughs and then her elbows land on the bar, she’s leaning over. Dean’s pretty sure she’s doing it to stretch out her back from standing behind the bar all evening but he has to stop himself from leaning in. She’s closer to him that she’s been the whole night and he feels his fingers twitch. He wants to touch her.

“Nah, none of that, although I hear he was quite the ladies’ man when he as younger,” she says. Good on you, Earl, Dean thinks.

“I was just kind of, you know,” and she’s looking for the right word, takes a long time to find it. Dean likes that she’s taking her time, wants the right word to describe exactly what she was. The correctness of it is more important to her than the flow of the conversation, or being quick and clever. He finds himself wishing he could do that. Just stop mid-sentence and take his time until he finds the right words.

“...forlorn, I guess,” she finally says. Dean nods his understanding, although he doesn’t think he’s ever felt forlorn in his life. He always knows exactly who he is, what to do. Yes, often because it’s the thing John says he should do, but he doesn’t think that’s what feeling forlorn is like. He would know if he’d ever felt forlorn, and then he thinks of Sam again, and the vacuum he’s left with, and maybe he does know a little.

“So what happened?” he asks, getting out of his head.

“I found Earl, or Earl found me, and I just kind of stuck with him ever since.” She doesn’t seem to enjoy the topic anymore, but then something goes over her face, like she’s remembering something. “Wait, did Earl call your dad John Winchester?”

Dean nods. Maybe being the son of a famous hunter will get him some points. It’s not the way he would prefer to get into her pants but he’ll take it. But the expression on her face doesn’t look like she’s just discovered she’s talking to the crown prince of hunting. Instead she looks sort of sad.

“Oh,” she says, and Dean understands a second later. She said Earl has been a hunter for about thirty years, so there’s a good chance that he and John have known each other for a long time. Meaning Earl knows about Mary. Meaning she knows about Mary.

He clears his throat, suddenly feeling awkward. He’s okay with taking John’s celebrity as an advantage, and he could probably spin Mary’s tragic death into something that would make women want to save him, possible by having lots and lots of sex with him. But this is the one thing that is holy to him, the one thing that’s only his. Revealing Mary feels like revealing the softest parts of himself, like he’s offering himself up to be scratched and devoured.

”Yeah,” is all he says, and then he looks at the bar in front of him, at his hands and the glass they’re holding.

“Earl told me that story once. About your mother. I’m sorry,” she says. And Dean can only say “yeah” again.

They don’t talk for a while. She resumes cleaning up behind the bar, glasses clinking, rustling. She speaks up again after a while.

“Walter, the guy from earlier, the old drunk guy? His mother died when he was a little kid, too. She, uh,” she scratches her forehead with a thumb, looking down at where she’s folding rags, piling them up. “She, uh, put her head in the oven and he found her when he got back from school.” She shakes her head. “He married, had kids, got a good job, but then his wife did the same thing. Not the oven thing but she, actually, I’m not sure how she did it.” She picks the pile of rags up, puts them somewhere else, and then she picks up her glass again. “And his kids don’t talk to him, because he’s an alcoholic but also because I think he was just a really shit father.” She’s looking at him and he has a hard time holding her gaze.

“What I’m trying to say,” she continues, “is that you don’t have to feel embarrassed about something bad happening to you. Bad things happen to everyone, it’s not necessarily anyone’s fault.” He’s about to say that in this specific case, in Mary’s case, it is someone’s fault, and how actually that’s the whole reason he’s here, in this bar, while his father is out there killing something, because it is someone’s fault, but then he’s not sure that’s what she meant.

He looks away, towards the door, and he wonders if he should just leave, call this night a bust. Then she speaks again:

“Bad things happen, Dean. They don’t need to define who you are.” And then she smiles, but the smile is so, so sad. “At least I really fucking hope they don’t,” she finishes.

Dean swallows. Takes another sip. His hands are clammy and he doesn’t know why.

“Put on another song” she says, finishes the rest of her drink and turns her back to him, starts cleaning something else. Dean stands up, and immediately he feels better, not so small, not so knotted. He goes back to the jukebox, looks at the collection again. He finds that he wants to select the right song, one that clears the air that feels so thin to him right now. Something upbeat, easy. He picks Spirit in the Sky and sits back down. He’s refilling both their glasses and although it wasn’t a conscious decision he guesses that means he’s staying.

She starts bobbing her head at the song choice, mutters a little “hell yeah”. He just watches her, and she lets him watch her. The lyrics go When I die and they lay me to rest, I’m gonna go to the place that’s the best, so, okay, maybe not the best pick considering what they were talking about, but she starts swaying her hips a little bit as well, and Dean can’t seem to regret his choice. She’s humming as well and while Dean notices he’s definitely attracted to her – very attracted to her – it’s not the urgent attraction he usually feels, the one that makes him rush towards sex, take it as quickly as he can get it, making him sometimes wonder, after, when his head is clearer, if he should feel disgusted with himself or if something is wrong with him.

She picks up her refilled drink, takes a sip, moves to the other end of the bar with it in her hand, does something or other, and Dean’s just watching her, not even looking at her breasts and her ass so much (a little, sure) but at all of her, and then at smaller parts, and if she's noticing she doesn’t seem to mind.

The song is over way too quickly, and she stops her little dance, making Dean curse whoever invented jukeboxes for not adding some sort of auto-play option.

“Okay, my turn,” she says. She puts down her drink, reaches somewhere he can’t see, pulls out a few coins, lays the handful on the bar and picks up one and walks past the bar to his side of the room. She needs to walk the length of the bar to get to the jukebox so Dean has plenty of time to watch her. All of her, for the first time, he notices. She doesn’t look at him as she walks past him, but he turns in his chair to keep watching her. She leans one hand on the jukebox, but she already knows what she’s picking, the coin goes in, the selection is made.

The first notes start and he immediately rolls his eyes and groans. She turns around just in time to see it.

“Oh, what,” she says, eyebrows raised, one hand going to her hip (holy shit, her hips), “you’re too good for The Cure? You can only listen to music that came out half a century before you were born?”

“It’s so…bouncy,” he says, making sure he looks as disgusted as possible when he says it.

“It’s fun,” she says, exasperated. And then suddenly she’s walking the few steps to him, and he takes a sharp breath when she’s putting both her hands on his thighs, above his knees and leaning towards him. He thinks she’s going to kiss him but she stops a few inches away from his face. “Have you ever heard of fun, Dean Winchester? Or do you just brood prettily all day?”

He doesn’t think he’s a brooder. Is he? In his family he’s always been the good-natured one, Sam and John seemingly in a constant battle of who can be the most glum. God, she confuses him. Also, she said prettily and she’s so close to him.

His hand goes to her neck and he pulls her in. Their lips meet, sort of, because while she’s not exactly pulling back she’s also not leaning in. He hears her laugh a little, feels it against his mouth, and then one of her hands leaves his leg and goes against his chest. To grab him, he thinks for a hopeful second, to bury her fingers in his shirt, but then she’s pushing him back, gently.

“Maybe that’s not a good idea,” she says, but she’s smiling. She’s still so close. Dean thinks he can smell her shampoo or her perfume or something. He has to swallow.

“I think it’s a great idea, actually,” he says, his face still almost touching hers. She laughs, making him feel a little light-headed.

It’s Friday, I’m in love, Robert Smith wails and Dean thinks maybe the song’s not so bad after all. She leans further away from him and his hand falls away from her face, but she catches it and then she’s pulling him up from his seat. She drags him two feet, then lays his hands around her waist, which he registers as good, and then realizes with horror that she wants to dance with him. It’s not like he doesn’t dance, but it’s always just an excuse for him to feel someone up, which he’s not sure is an option right now, or is it? Plus the song’s all wrong, the beat too fast, and actually, now that he thinks about it, he fucking hates The Cure, smug British bastards.

He does an embarrassed laugh, which she notices but it only makes her say: “You’ve been staring at my ass for hours now, this is the least you owe me.” Dean feels a rush of defensiveness well up in him. Yes, he was, but he was also looking at other parts of her, doesn’t she see how special that is? He knows there’s something very wrong with that train of thought, but he’s distracted from it when she puts her hands around his neck and sort of leans against him, swaying gently.

She looks up at him, their eyes meeting, and her lips are slightly parted. Dean feels a pull in his groin and he knows this is getting into dangerous territory. He’s not fifteen anymore, he shouldn’t be getting a boner slow-dancing so he quickly looks away from her, from her eyes and from those damn lips. She moves her head a little, like she’s getting some hair out of her face, and he wonders if she’s disappointed.

“You’re interesting,” she says then. Her tone is neutral, unassuming, so when he looks back at her, back at her face and asks: “I am?”, he’s not sure if he should be flattered. He’s not sure how to react to anything coming out of her mouth, and it terrifies and thrills him in equal parts.

“Yeah,” she says. “You walk in here like you own the place, you’re all sweet and helpful with Walter. Then you try to mack on me the minute you get the chance, and now you’re flustered from dancing.” He swallows again, hoping she doesn’t mean what he thinks she means, that she notices something about him, but what his brain latches on to instead is this:

"You saw me walk in?” he asks.

She grins a little, leans in like she's about to tell him a secret. “You’re pretty hard to miss.”

Ah ha, his brain goes triumphantly. She does think he’s attractive. The confirmation is enough to shove him a little bit back into himself, away from this nervous mess he’s being.

“Okay,” he says, “then what’s with the leaving room for the holy spirit?” She laughs again, the real one.

“Well, I have a lot of handsome guys walk into this bar, Dean. You think I’m just gonna throw myself at every single one of them?”

“No, only the really, really handsome, heroic ones,” he responds, tugs her a little closer. “The ones that are amazing lovers.”

He tries again. This time he’s going for her neck, nuzzling it gently. She lets it happen, leans her head carefully against his. The contact makes him a little crazy. She puts her hand on the back of his neck, and he pushes his lips against her skin harder, kissing her there now. He thinks he hears a little sounds come from her and then he realizes the reason he’s hearing it is because the song is over. Thank God, he thinks and then, oh no.

He knows she’ll push him away from her before she does it, so the pressure on his chest coming from her hands isn’t a surprise, but it is crushing.

“Put on something else,” she says, and he lets go of her, a Herculean task if there ever was one. He goes for his pocket again, fishes out another coin, turns to the machine.

“And do not pick something sexy, okay?” she says, and he grins at her over his shoulder.

“Try and stop me,” he says. He looks at the collection again. There are some pretty sexy songs on there, some AC/DC, ZZ Top, but then he sees it and he almost laughs to himself. As he’s putting in the coin and making the selection he realizes that this means he wants to make her laugh more than he wants try his act on her. He doesn’t think about it any longer, not sure what it means, not wanting to examine it. He just wants to go with the flow.

He turns around just as the piano starts and as he’s walking up to her she understands what the song is. Her shoulders pull up again like they did before and one hand goes to her face. She’s laughing hard and Dean feels so proud of himself he feels his cheeks flush. He takes her hand that is in front of her face and puts it on his shoulder, takes the other one and holds it in his own away from their bodies, just as Simon (or Garfunkel? He’s never sure) starts singing When you’re weary, feeling small. He puts his free hand on her waist, and then they’re close again.

“Bridge Over Troubled Water? Seriously?” she says, the laughter still in her voice.

“You said,” he responds clearly enunciating each word, like he’s trying to show her the error of her ways, “nothing sexy. So here I bring you the least sexy song of all times and it’s still not good enough for you?” He huffs, like he’s shocked and disgusted at her callous disregard for how well he fulfilled her request. She bobs again, chuckling.

“I guess,” she says. “I didn’t expect you to actually listen to what I said. I thought you’d just go ahead and pick something that compares women to food, or a car, you know, flattering stuff like that.” He scoffs, fully aware that a lot of the music he listens to does exactly that.

“I’m full of surprises, darlin’,” he says.

They’re slow-dancing now, but not really slow-dancing, their feet don’t leave the ground, they just sway. She looks up at him again, and she actually bites her lower lip to stop herself from grinning, and Dean thinks there should be some kind of law against that.

“I’ll say,” she responds, and he’s not sure to what anymore.

They lock eyes and then something weird happens where time sort of slows down, something Dean didn’t think actually could happen, something he thought was just a metaphor but it seems it’s completely real. He wants to try to kiss her again, but more than that he wants to keep looking at her face, feel the slow rise and fall of her chest against his, feel where their hands are touching, hers fitting perfectly into his.

“Wow,” she says then, and a smile plays on her lips.

“What?” he asks, keeping his voice low because everything else would feel sacrilegious.

“I guess this song is kinda sexy,” she continues.

Dean smiles. “I don’t think that’s the song, I think that’s you.” She raises her chin slightly.

“Not bad,” she answers and she’s close and Dean’s head is spinning and he sees her close her eyes, so he does the same. He feels her before they touch, the way the air is displaced because she is so close.

And then the door to the bar opens. Street noises and, when Dean drops her hand, a rush of cold air reaches him, makes him shiver. He turns.

John and Earl are standing right inside the bar. They look a little worse for wear, but mostly okay. She takes a step back, crosses her arms, clears her throat. Dean lowers his head, the way he often does around his father, unless he’s purposefully keeping it up.

“How’d everything go?” she asks. Earl, after being frozen in place for a second, begins to move, puts a bag on the bar, takes off his jacket.

“Yeah, everything went smoothly, some nasty sons of bitches though,” he says. “Everything okay here?”

She nods. “Yeah, yeah, everything was good.”

John hasn’t moved, hasn’t talked, until he says: “Well, I guess we better get out of your hair.”

“It’s no hassle,” Earl says, throws a look at her. “You guys gonna stay in town?”

“No,” John says, “no, I think we’ll be moving on.” Then he goes to the bar door, opens it up and holds it open. “Let’s go, Dean.” And Dean, good dog that he is, goes to collect his jacket, although he has to think about where he left it or a second. It’s at the bar, next to the stool he was sitting on. He grabs it, doesn’t look at her. Why does he feel like he’s in trouble?

Earl meanwhile has made it behind the bar, is puttering around close to where Dean is. It’s horribly quiet in the room, and getting colder while John holds open the door, rushing Dean. As Dean picks up his jacket, Earl turns his bulk to him, lays something small and white on the bar.

“Think you dropped this, kid,” he says, and Dean most certainly did not drop it, but he takes it, a little piece of carton paper that has some spillage of something on it. He nods his thanks at Earl, puts it in his jacket pocket.

Then he’s walking towards John but before he walks through the door he has to look back. She’s still standing with her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders pulled high, like she’s cold. Maybe Dean’s imagining it but she looks sad. Then she catches his look and she smiles a little. He does too.

Then he’s out the door. John puts them in the Impala and they leave right away. It’s late, they could have easily stayed in town, but John obviously wants to move. The air is thick and as John starts the ignition he says: “Great to see that you were having a good time.”

It’s dripping with venom, and Dean wants to protest, remind him that he wanted to go on the hunt, that John is the one who told him to stay back because he didn’t want to keep an eye on him, whatever that means, and that he wasn’t just picking up some chick in a bar, that it was something different, they didn’t even kiss, but it all dies in his throat. There’s no arguing with John, he knows that, and he’s better off just letting John’s anger dissipate or hope something distracts him from it.

They’re driving for a while already, the road dark, the sky void of stars, when Dean remembers the piece of paper Earl gave him. He takes it out of his pocket, knowing that John won’t ask about it even if he notices, since that would mean he’s interested in something of Dean’s. Dean flips the paper around.

It’s a business card. Well, business card is a strong word. It’s a piece of thick paper that has the name of Earl's bar printed on it, the logo adorned with little green and brown bottles, its address and then, at the bottom, a telephone number. It’s the number of the bar, of course, not hers. But Dean feels a rush of euphoria run through him anyway. She works there. He can call her. He can talk to her, if she wants to talk to him.

The car carries the two men through the night. It’s cold out and at some point John turns on the heating. It hums along, slightly crackles. Dean doesn’t hear it. He’s not really there. He’s somewhere else. He’s smiling to himself and he’s not cold.

[haveihitanerve]

The Book Game: Slugs and Chinese-

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE?!?!?!

(I am working on Toby’s Pocket commentary I swear) I saw this one yesterday and its too fucking funny and also shorter so here you all are :) hope you enjoy

Tom: did anyone come to a comedy show- Audience member: *my time has come* Tom: *wait I wasn’t done with my epic monologue, its really funny I swear :(*worried that it would be boring as hell- Sam: *laughing maniacally* AJ: jesus

Aj: *opens book, stares, shock, turns to audience*

I love how the second the audience starts laughing at AJ’s shock, Tom immediately knows its because of him and cuts off to look at him. They’re so fucking cute

Luke going to inspect the book, finding nothing amiss in the title, and then exploding when he sees the writing inside- I’m having flashbacks to Lonely Planet When Europe

Luke so delighted he has to cross the stage and almost falls into Tom 🫠😭

Tom having to inspect the book too because ok now Luke has been laughing for too long and he’s curious lol

“Yeah tom you bigot!” Sam needed an excuse to join the chaos and of course, insulting tom is the way to go XD

Tom’s resigned sigh and drop of the book as AJ and Luke lose it. They delight each other so much its absolutely wonderful to see

“So lukes gonna introduce this game now-” Tom wants to be a part of the chaos XD

“Make sure its not racist okay?” Tom had to shift the attention to someone else lmaoo

I just adore how they did not, in fact, think to return the book and get one they understand because, for the bit, they know this book is best, and that they specifically made AJ keep it, because he is the chaos king and would do best by it XD

“A little knowledge…” Luke: *waiting expectantly for him to finish the sentence, then finishes it for him because the sentence in the book is not that* i love them so much omg

“OH! BAD TEMPERED THOUGHT!” LMFAOOO WHAT???

“Ooh… ohhh malice!” Sam i adore you XD

Here comes aj XD

“What does that say?” YESS AJ!!! SNEAKY CLEVER BOI!!! YES!!!

“YOU MEAN YOU DON’T READ CHINESE??!??!” BETRAYED AJ HELPPPP- his life is flashing before his eyes dude is panicking

Audience member: *frantic* my dad does! AJ: *quickly scoots further* oh!

Aj having to break for a second and just lay still as a dying slug because what even is his life XD

“Play hateful, this.” His face helpppp-

Also love how that actually worked really well in the scene???

Tom: *introducing himself into the scene, literally* Sam: *reciprocating* AJ: [desperately] does anybody else speak chinese?!?!

“It goes with high heels.” AJ needing to fold his head into his arms to laugh, Tom pausing the scene because he heard that and what, Luke laughing at AJ’s pain, and Sam trying to keep them focused XD

AJ’s little leg kicks im crying

“MAKE NO MISTAKES!!!” Tom sounds genuinely distressed lmaoo

“OOOOHHHH!” *frantically trying to find a good line comeback*

“Variation in your tactics!” Confirmed that all that matters while speaking is proper tone because that sounds withering coming from Tom, but is actually a very mild sentence lol

Aj standing and Tom genuinely surprised while Luke and Sam fake surprise XD

“THAts not FAir!” Tom’s hands shooting up in surrender and his little grin at AJ that makes AJ smile back 🫠😭

Sam: “Troublemaker!” it is true 🤷‍♂️ AJ: *flipping open his book, forgetting he doesn't speak chinese* chapter four. Brilliant words, truly eloquent aj🤧

Aj and Sam doing “and scene” in unison, every time they do it it kills me for no reason

AND SCENE

Ahhhhh that was fucking glorious. Loved every single second of it, and this means that when I finally get to go to one of their shows, I’m bringing a German book, it has been decided lol. 

Anyway hope you guys found as much enjoyment in AJ’s distress and the other guy’s mutual delight as I did, and I shall return as quickly as possible with Toby’s Secret Pocket and Jingle Boys commentary :) 

BYEBYE!!!

@snek-of-eden @dawn-speckled

[hwayangyeon]

NSFW gamer jake x gamer reader // you and jake play league together and argue a lot but somehow you end up on his lap // teasing, a lot touching, public bathroom sex (again) // 1.2k words

it's a little goofy // you don't have to know anything about league // not much about penetraton just a lot of touching // viego is a league character

"jesus, it's you again," you saw a familiar nickname in the lobby, "try not to lose for once?"

it's pretty reasonable for you two to end up on the same team since not so many people play at this hour. you recognize some of the players from previous matches, but only seeing this one makes you want to quit. can he ever get on the enemy team? or better, can he stop coming to this pc room?

it might be late, but after you finish your night shift, it's the perfect time for you to play. it's usually just the two of you and some kids watching porn in the back, hiding from their mothers. it's nice and quiet, well, when you don't flame each other.

"and why would you ban my champion?" the guy sitting across from you looked at you, tired. he's gotten used to you being the worst teammate he's ever had to deal with.

"so you don't suck at it. play something better."

"bitch."

"asshole."

it did not start well for your team. the support forgot to buy items, mid was afk for four minutes and you are losing your own lane. it's going to be really hard to turn it around, the enemy team is too far ahead.

"can you ever come top? the enemy jungler has ganked me eight times already, what the fuck have you been doing?" you looked over your screen.

"fuck off. i stole two dragons if you haven't noticed," his eyes focused on the game.

"i don't care about the dragons, everyone is fed. what's a dragon going to change? do something."

"don't feed then. stop whining and learn how to play, bitch."

he's too concentrated for a match going this bad. his brows furrowed, bottom lip fighting for its life between his sharp teeth. they'd probably look nice if he ever smiled. no wonder he has nothing to smile about in his life if he always plays this badly. oh shit, you're back in the game.

after successfully destroying towers and going as far as the enemy inhibitors, the game eventually ends with a red, humiliating text appearing on your screen. DEFEAT.

the room gets filled with all sorts of insults.

"please, delete your account," you take off your headset and stand up. enough for today. you don't like ending with a loss but knowing your luck you'd get placed with him again.

"shut up. i only lose whenever i play with you," he points his finger at you, "come, see my match history," he then signals for you to look at his screen, his eye wide, shocked from you having the audacity to flame him.

you walk around the desk and move in his direction, "yeah because you're not used to the high e–"

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CAN YOU TWO FINALLY SHUT UP?" you hear the owner yell behind you, it scares the shit out of you making you trip over a chair and lose balance. jake grabs your hips and you end up on his lap. not that he cares if you fell on the ground, it was an instinct.

you want to stand up as soon as you sit, but the man continues and you're taken aback, "YOU KEEP YELLING AT EACH OTHER, EVEN THE GUYS WATCHING PORN AREN'T AS LOUD AS YOU. IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR MOUTHS I'M GONNA KICK YOU OUT."

you both stay silent because of the shock. you feel like two kids being scolded for making noise past curfew.

you want to stand up again but the man keeps going, "look, guys, i'm sorry for lashing out at you. it's just my wife, she's leaving me," his tone unexpectedly changes.

you're frozen, not fully acknowledging the position you're in. jake's left hand is still on your hip.

"like, i can't understand why would she do that to me," the man closes his eyes and sighs. jake's fingers slowly climb under the hem of your shirt. they're asking for permission and you're not denying it.

"we've been together for twenty years..." you feel his warm touch on your skin, it makes you straighten up a little.

"we were perfect together! do you guys get me?" he suddenly asks you and you both nod without thinking, jake's hand immediately stops as if you were caught cheating on a test.

"and she wants to take the kids too! ridiculous..." the man looks away from you as if he was looking for a solution to end his misery. jake resumes his movement. he squeezes your waist softly, his fingers sinking into your flesh.

"no, i can't allow her to do that... i'm their father," his thumb making its way lower, pressing on your back dimple, causing you to arch. shit, that's exactly where guys you hook up with put their hands when they're fucking you.

"they must live with me," his touch is so gentle, yet you're melting. it feels like he's sculpting your body as if you were made out of clay.

"have i signed a prenup? i can't have her take the house," his hand travels to your abdomen, pushing you back lightly so you lean back on his chest, relaxing your tensed-up body. he has so much control over you.

"i built it with my own hands!" you can feel him staring at your side profile, probably smirking seeing how worked up he got you. but you can't look at him, not with that red blush on your face.

"that bitch... i should've seen this coming. my mother was right about her," your head falls back to touch his, he gets a little carried away because of the sweet scent of your hair, it makes him lean against you. fuck, he smells good for a league player too.

"anyway," the man finally finishes his monologue, "YOU IN THE BACK, SHUT UP!" he completely ignores you and goes to yell at the kids for being noisy.

"you could've just said you were craving my attention," the guy behind you whispers into your ear.

———

"fuck," jake pins you onto the bathroom stall, your back is starting to hurt from you pushing each other at the walls, not being able to get enough of yourselves, "i'm close."

he grabs your ass and holds you up, his face buried in your neck, biting it because of how amazing his dick feels inside you. his release is almost there too.

your hands lost in his hair, trying to bring him even closer. some people say there is a fine line between love and hate, but it's even thinner between hate and lust.

"jake!" your moan announces your climax. oh it feels so good for him, having you scream his name after how you belittled his gaming skills.

he follows you right after and helps you stand on your own, but he doesn't pull out yet.

"i can go another round," his voice breathy, lips glistening with saliva he produced while kissing your neck. his hair completely messy, thanks to you.

"how can you be this good at fucking but suck so bad at viego, jake 123?"

after hotel.

[thenightshadowqueen]

Death for a Dollar watchthrough thoughts

Holy shit, this was unhinged. I loved it so much. (That’s too many italics, but I don’t care.) I’m kind of speechless; the number of times I actually covered my mouth in shock (usually because of Sam, but Tom was insane in this one, too) was staggering. I adore this play.

Anyway, I’m going to get into my actual thoughts instead of just rambling.

Just to start, ‘Death for a Dollar’ is a great title, so kudos to whoever came up with that

Oh my god, Hank and Gareth 2.0!!!!

“You don’t know what he did for this place.” “That—Tell me!” This is off to a strong start

“Where was your showmanship?” I love it when they work mini games of Change into the plays

Mr. Twilliger is an incredible name

“This is me being the bartender, getting the stories out of the customers, so they reveal things, and then they want to drink more because they’re reliving their trauma.” I mean, it’s a valid tactic to get more money; yay, capitalism! (sarcasm)

AJ forcing Tom to be musical… Caesar and Juliet, anyone?

I love that Luke knows off the top of his head how many keys a piano has (I’m honestly not surprised)

Is Sam’s hair a little longer than normal? Because it looks really good

“I got three keys, three teeth, three toes. I’ve been through a lot.” I love Tony the piano player (who was also referred to as Bill once)

“My mind can take an awful lot; there’s not a lot in there” I love him, actually

“You ain’t trying to seduce him!” “But I get bigger tips when I do!” Sam

Can I just thank whoever edited this for giving us that little shot of Tom laughing? Because I love it when we get to see him actually laugh.

I love Mrs. Prostitute (and I love Tom for including positive representation of sex work)

“This is what feminism looks like” West End Big Boys flashbacks

“My mum is crazy” SAM

Also I think my favourite thing about the microphones is that we can hear them laughing so much more clearly (brought to you by Luke, on this occasion)

I adore Sam’s weird little harmonica thing he does in western-genre pieces

Ooh, younger versions of characters being played by different actors; I don’t think we’ve seen that before

I love Sam being confused and Tom’s response being to start clapping

I love Sam being annoyed and retaliating at AJ with a bald joke

“I told my daddy that I was real fast with a pistol, and that maybe I could go and work in law enforcement, but he wouldn’t have it.” “No! No son is going to go work for the government!” AJ trying to paint his father as the villain and Sam trying his very best to make the audience like him… This is gorgeous

“Telling a man if he’s allowed to own people or not” okay, never mind, I take that back

I don’t know why Sam picked the Watson-clown voice, but I’m glad he did (also I love that the voice made Luke break)

“Many Fingers Pussy” Jesus Christ, Tom

“They thought I had the devil in me” god damn it, now I feel bad for Bill

Sam is so good at playing wide-eyed innocent characters

“God, I wish they had that law in America in the modern day” I wish I had enough faith in people’s judgement to wish that

“I didn’t know you could do magic” I love it when Sam causes trouble

I can never see a reference to a one-man band like that and not think of Mary Poppins

“I can’t wait to hear those four white boys do those accents” oh dear

Luke speaking Spanish!!!

You know what, that vaguely Mexican accent could have been a hell of a lot worse, so well done, Sam

“So you can work on a farm, or you can jerk people off” oh my god, Sam

“He offered me a job” and then AJ realising what it sounded like and walking it way back

Tom entering the scene and waiting for a moment to join in and then Sam just throwing him in without warning is amazing

“I work here jerking people off” Tom

“She said she helps people el secrete-o” SAM

“Hand stuff Jesus is okay with” Sam

I don’t know why the fact that Tom knows little bits of Spanish brings me so much joy, but it does

Holy shit, Luke speaking Spanish with an American accent might be my new favourite thing

I love Maria, the bank robber/prostitute

You know what, I get Bill; the little, slightly mosquitoy “yeah”s are alluring

Half-kiss!!!

“A beautiful flower turns to a crooked leaf” I fucking adore AJ’s weird little sayings

“It’s a well-known expression” and then the advert with the merch saying ‘more well-known expressions’

“Something went worse than wrong. It went really wrong.” Gorgeous.

Sam’s slip oh my god

I know I already said Sam’s hair looks good, but Sam’s hair looks really good

I already said it but I will never be over Luke’s Spanish-in-an-American-accent. Never.

“I’ll keep my hands moist for you” it seems like Tom like using the word moist (the moisturiser fairy comes to mind)

I love audience participation

I’m sorry, as someone who struggles with mental math, that quick multiplication from Luke was impressive

“Got a lot of spunk in you, have you?” I love Tom using his English degree to make dirty jokes (obviously this doesn’t require an English degree; I just mean that it’s a wordplay joke)

I love Sam making sure to bring the story full-circle, with Tony losing his teeth and toes

Jesus, Tom

“Have we invented the electric chair yet?” I looked it up, and it looks like it was invented in the 1880’s, so not quite, but it wasn’t nearly so far off as I thought it might be

“I’ma travelling electric chair salesman” … honestly, I’m not even surprised at this point

Tom is right; this is really dark

I don’t think Sam knows how electric chairs work (affectionate)

Okay who the fuck let Sam wink like that

“Well, I guess that’s the end of the Shoot from the Hip show” I love when they get meta

“What could go wrong with giving a southern American teenager a pair of guns? I’ve got school tomorrow!” Holy fucking shit; may I present Sam Russell, the king of risky jokes

“…when we faked my death…” I love Tom so much

“I think this is the first time we’ve used the principle of the unreliable narrator” I actually love this so much; this is such a cool concept, especially for an improv show

Tom is unhinged in this one and I love it

I love this so much

I already made as post saying this, but it bears repeating: this is BUS levels of insane

[middstape]

You Deserve to be Here

will smith x mediamanager!reader

(making this lil blurb bc i'm overthinking the game tn HARD)

barely edited (it's super late this could be rlly bad)

word count: 1,176 JESUS CHRIST I DIDN"T KNOW IT WAS THIS LONG

———————————————

The time was a little after 9:45 when the game ended in a shootout loss. You could tell that the guys were bummed out being so close just to lose, not that you could blame them. 

You were supposed to do a bit of media with the team after the game but thought against it not wanting to pester them after what happened. Instead, you headed down the tunnel with your computer a few minutes after the team. Being a media intern you were in charge of most of the editing and interviews regarding the Sharks. With that being said you head to the staff room to finish up some editing before leaving for the night. 

Around a quarter past ten, you were broke out of concentration when one of the media staff members came in. "Hey kid it's getting pretty late you should probably check in for the night." As you start to nod she speaks again "Oh there's a stack of papers for you in the locker room to take home, the players should all be out by now." You smile at her before giving a nod and a quick thanks.

Packing your stuff up you head down the tunnel a bit more pushing the door to the locker room open. 

The light was still on but you didn't notice anyone heading over to the papers before grabbing them. Turning around you pause seeing Will Smith sitting in his stall, head on the wall and eyes closed.

You break out into a smile "Oh hey Will." He opens his eyes before giving out a small "Hey." 

You walk towards the door slowly "You did great tonight, had some really good plays on goal." you tell him not noticing his down demeanor. He gives you a tight-lipped smile but doesn't say anything. Your smile slowly starts to fade from your face "Hey you okay?" you ask him in concern. He looks up at you "Yeah I'm alright." he offers no other response. You stop walking all together knowing he's definitely lying. Instead of asking if he's sure you give a simple "Do you want to talk about it?"

He looks at you like he's shocked you're actually trying to keep the conversation going. "There's nothing to talk about really Y/N I'm fine." he sighs.

You press your lips together. "Okay well, mind if I sit?" before he could even get a response out you made your way over to him plopping down on the floor next to his stall. 

He goes to speak but you cut him off "Look I understand if you don't want to talk about it, especially with me since we don't know each other very well but there is obviously something going on and I refuse to let you or anyone sit and think about it alone." Will looks like he's trying to find something to say but doesn't find the right words.

Instead, you both sit in silence, a bit awkward at first but become more comfortable in time. 

About ten minutes after you sat down you have your eyes closed when you hear him finally speak. "I don't know why I can't get it."

You furrow your brows before looking at him "What do you mean?" He looks down at you "I choke every time I have a chance on net. I know I'm holding back and I don't know why." 

He looks heartbroken and your heart clenches at the sight. You take in his words trying to find the right words. "You're under a lot of pressure Will, no one expects you to get it every time you have the chance. This is nothing like college hockey." He shakes his head at you "No my team expects me to get it every time.. I-I expect me to get it every time." he chokes up.

You cut him off "Hey no no, your team expects you to try every time and you do. No one is perfect and you're playing amazing out there." He just looks at me and scoffs "I have one point this preseason." he shakes his head in astonishment "I can't even get a goal in the preseason how the hell am I supposed to perform well when it really matters."

You turn your body towards his "Exactly Will it's preseason these games don't count on your record and it's your first few pro games there's nothing wrong with getting comfortable and working your way up" He stares at the wall "Celebrini got his first goal his first game." 

"Will you can't compare your success to someone else's. Mack just had a really great opportunity then, along with linemates who could help him out. Remember it's not just you on the ice your teammates need to help you too."

Will lets out a shaky breath "I don't know, these last few games have been making me think I made the wrong decision about signing. Maybe I wasn't ready and should've stayed at BC."

You immediately shook your head "No, don't say that. You signed because you wanted to right? You decided all on your own right?" he looked at you hesitantly before nodding.

You smile at him "Then you were ready. Because if you weren't you would have never thought to do this on your own."

When he doesn't say anything and only looks at you, you continue "Look Will, you're an amazing hockey player. You weren't drafted in the first five for nothing. You deserve to be here, just like the rest of these guys. Just because things are starting off a bit slower for you doesn't mean you don't deserve all of this."

He looks at you giving out a small smile before just above a whisper he says "Thank you."

You smile "Anytime, anywhere." you start getting up "And look if you ever need to rant, my door is always open. I've got some flavorless protein biscuits with your name on them... I'll eat the ice cream for you." He smirks "Oh will you now?" You grin "Sure will, someone's gotta take one for the team." you joke. He lets out a small laugh "Might have to take you up on that offer sometime.. maybe not just to rant though." he trails off.

With red cheeks you look at him "Ha I'm sure I could work that into my schedule." He puts a hand on his heart "Just for me? I'm honored." You roll your eyes "Yeah whatever. Come on you have a game tomorrow and I refuse to be the reason you fall asleep on the bench."

He slowly gets up with a groan "Mm fine but only since you ordered so nicely."

Rolling your eyes with a smile hearing the sarcasm in his voice you head to the door "Good night Will." Walking out, you pause hearing him speak "Hey Y/N?" you look back "Yeah?" He stands and looks right at you "Thank you."

You give him a small smile "Like I said- anytime, anywhere." turning around you walk out the door.

--------------------------------

Bah okay this could be trash but I'm sleepy and emotional. It's so late so apologies if this made NO sense.

byeee

[danielmolloystits]

a study in collectivist post-dissolutive reconciliation tactics (armand/lestat/daniel/louis, 1/1)

Summary:

The Polycule Break-Up Sex Fic

Rating: M Pairing: M/M/M/M (Armand/Lestat/Daniel/Louis) WC: ~1300

It is harder than one might expect to divide the property of four vampires after a break-up. They’ve been at it for hours and are still only halfway through their wardrobe.

“Lestat, I’m assuming this ‘Baby Slut’ crop top belongs to you?” Louis asks with a raised eyebrow, holding the offending garment up for inspection.

“Mmm, non,” Lestat replies. “Though I would look fantastic in it, I’m sure.”

Daniel snorts. “Well, it isn’t mine.”

They all look to Armand.

“It was on sale,” he sniffs haughtily. “And the shopgirl said it made me look ‘cunty.’”

“I think I’m gonna miss you most of all, Scarecrow,” Daniel says, and he means it. Armand was always his favorite. Too bad their relationship was functionally a crash course in medieval torture techniques. They really could’ve been something, if not for that.

Armand’s eyes are wide and sincere, like fiery dinner plates. “I’m going to miss you too, Daniel.”

“Nope, nope, no,” Louis interrupts, shaking his head. “We’re not doing this again. Remember how it ended last time? You caused a regime change. We’re ending this for a reason.”

“It was only a small one.” The eldest vampire’s pout is deadly, Daniel thinks. Armand Trembling Lip Incident, No Survivors. He can’t help himself; he reaches out and squeezes Armand’s hand. Armand smiles softly at him in return.

Louis groans. “I’m going to kill you two if you don’t cut it out.”

“You mean like you tried to kill me?” Lestat asks, hands on hips. “Tell me, Louis, how did that go for you the last time?”

“When are you going to let that go, it was over a century ago—”

“Maybe I could ‘let it go,’ as you say, if you were not so determined to break my heart at every possible turn, Louis—”

“Oh, I’m breaking your heart, am I?” Louis asks. “At least I’m not breaking your spine!”

“That was one time!” Lestat throws his hands up, exasperated. “And I apologized for it!”

“Guys,” Daniel interrupts, pulling away from where he had been making out with Armand. Armand whines and tries to pull him back in by his jacket. “This might not be productive.”

Louis stares at them, dumbfounded. “Have you looked at yourself lately? You think you’re in any position to tell me what is or isn’t productive?”

Daniel blinks at Louis. “Sorry, what did you say?” Armand is kissing his neck, now. It’s very distracting.

“Oh my God.” Louis rubs an exasperated hand over his face. “I cannot with you people.”

“Wait, no, Louis,” Lestat says, his expression that of a man having an epiphany. “I think they have the right idea.”

Louis looks like he wants to tear his hair out. “Jesus Christ, not you too!”

“No, lover, hear me out,” Lestat protests, an excited glint in his eye. “We have many unresolved feelings, no? That is the source of our amorous woes.”

“What’s your point?”

“What if we,” he gestures obscenely with one hand, “resolved them?”

Armand lifts his head from where he’s been busying himself with trying to give Daniel a hickey. “I agree with Lestat.”

“You agree with Lestat?” Daniel asks, shocked. “You never agree with Lestat.”

“Yes, I’m making an exception in this case.” For what it’s worth, he doesn’t seem all that pleased about it. “Because I would like to have sex with you.” He gazes up at Louis with his big owl eyes, then, and adds, “All of you.”

“Finally, someone here sees sense!” Lestat crows. “Louis, take your top off.”

While Louis sputters indignantly, Daniel shrugs. “Fuck it, I’m game.”

Louis seems very close to screaming. “What is wrong with you idiots ?” Then Lestat leans over to whisper something in his ear; Daniel can make out the words If you participate, I’ll do that thing where I... before he decides to tune it out. Whatever it is, it makes a dark flush rise to Louis’s cheeks. He pauses. Coughs. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea after all.”

“Excellent,” Armand says, once more making himself comfortable Daniel’s lap. “Beloved, please do me the kindness of removing your clothing.”

“How am I supposed to do that with you on top of me?” Daniel asks, bemused.

“You’re sufficiently enterprising to figure it out.”

Lestat, meanwhile, is already naked and working on removing Louis’s clothing for him. Louis is swatting his hands away. “I can do it myself, Lestat.”

Lestat pouts, and it isn’t quite as devastating as Armand’s, but it’s still potent enough that it could risk causing an international incident. “But that’s so much less romantic.”

“May I remind you,” Louis begins calmly, “that we are breaking up? Am I the only one here who remembers that?” But then Lestat is on his knees, working on undoing Louis’s pants, and Louis is burying his hands in Lestat’s hair, and whatever other protests he may have had die on his tongue.

Armand is, evidently, growing impatient with Daniel’s lack of nudity. “How attached are you to this shirt?” He doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s shredding it off of Daniel with his claws like a cat on a scratching post.

Regrettably, Daniel finds it really hot. Still, he can see the way Armand is eyeing his jeans and reckons he probably needs to put a stop to it before those get destroyed, too. He lifts his ex-boyfriend off of his lap and stands, and Armand makes this noise like he’s been mortally wounded, but then Daniel kisses him and the fucking gremlin just melts into it like he’s forgotten about his aspirations of disrobing Daniel entirely.

While Daniel is busy juggling the tasks of unbuckling his belt and subduing this wet-eyed creature with affection, like he’s hiding an animal’s medication in peanut butter, he can hear the telltale slurping sounds of Lestat going down on Louis with great enthusiasm.

“Mmmanhel, Mahman, mmph mff,” Lestat says.

Louis seems like he’s attempting not to laugh and moan simultaneously. “It’s impolite to talk with your mouth full, Lestat.”

There’s the slick pop of Lestat pulling off of him, and a pointed silence that Daniel assumes is punctuated with a tremendously bitchy look. “I was trying to tell our former paramours to get over here and join us.”

And, well, Daniel isn’t about to argue with that.

“Uh-uh,” Daniel argues, looking at the whiteboard Lestat has gotten to diagram his proposed configuration of bodies. It looks a bit like a Gordian knot of limbs. “I’m too old for that. You’re gonna make me throw my back out.”

“You can fly,” Louis says flatly.

“Yes, beloved.” Armand kisses him on the cheek. “I do believe you lost that excuse when I turned you.”

“Fine, but if my legs get tired, me and Lestat are switching places,” Daniel mutters.

Lestat grins. “Magnifique!” He gestures with his marker. “Now, I think it will be easiest if we start with Louis…”

When they’re lying in the afterglow, looking at one another with the softness that tends to accompany a truly earth-shattering orgasm, Daniel’s gaze drops to Lestat, who is sleeping nestled under the crook of his arm.

“Do you think…” he starts slowly, testing the waters.

Louis finishes the thought for him: “That maybe we shouldn’t break up after all?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d been considering that as well,” Armand says, from where he’s curled at the foot of their bed.

Louis shrugs the shoulder that isn’t wrapped around Daniel. “Might be worth a shot.”

Lestat, eyes still closed, smiles, and Daniel grins in return. Theirs might not be a perfect relationship, but it is theirs.

(And besides, it’ll probably be at least another month before they break up again.

There are worse things, anyway—the make-up sex is always spectacular.)

[katatonicimpression]

⚔️⚔️⚔️!!! (For the sambucky ask game 😃)

Sambucky Prompt Game

This is also for @sammysdewysensitiveeyes Thank you both for the asks! This is inspired by Sam on the bridge in TWS... if you couldn't tell

“What about Captain America? We still have him restrained.”

The question was barely audible through the crackling walkie talkie, and Bucky could only just hear it from this far away. The reply was clear as day though, even from a distance.

“Kill him.”

No. Bucky sprang into action.

He leapt over the railing and dropped down onto the platform below, directly in front of the man who had given the order.

“Wh-”

Bucky grabbed him with his left arm, and threw him off the edge of the platform. He didn’t bother to see how he landed, but he heard the impact and it didn’t sound good.

He flung his right arm out behind him, sending the knife from up his sleeve flying at a henchman.

Someone was shooting at him, so he ran, left hand covering the back of his head. He charged up the stairs, sliding another blade out from his boot. 

It ended up in some guy’s kidney. Not that bad, you can live with one kidney.

He pulled the semi-automatic from his hip, and shot the two goons flanking the door to the rest of the building. Really, he was trying to be a different guy now, a less violent guy. But these freaks had kidnapped his boyfriend so if they ended up a little gutshot, that was on them.

He'd got a chance to look at the blueprints of this building before he'd arrived, and he knew that Sam was being held in a room right at the back. It was another two hundred metres of running, mostly stairs. Shouldn't take him more than half a minute, forty-five seconds if he was slow. But then there would be more guards.

He turned the corner, and there was Sam.

Sam, in the jeans and t-shirt that he'd been wearing when he'd been captured. He was at the other end of the corridor, and heading towards him. He had a knife in his hand, presumably used to free himself and fight his way out.

"Duck!" He shouted, and Bucky obeyed, instinct taking over. He dropped low and turned, firing down the corridor to deter them, as Sam's knife flew over his head and hit the goon behind him.

He misjudged something though, because suddenly the door next to them burst open, and another guy sprang out towards them.

Before Bucky even had time to panic, Sam had dealt with it. He had pulled another knife out from somewhere near his ankle and ran it into the guy's side, and he crumpled to the floor.

Bucky checked the door. Just a supply closet, no one else inside.

However many of these goons were left, they seemed to have fallen back for now. Bucky stopped to reload, and to look at Sam. To gawk, maybe.

He knew Sam was good at this. Obviously he knew that, but it was something else seeing it in action.

“Oh, hey,” Sam said casually. “You came to get me, that’s so sweet.”

“I… Uh-”

The henchman on the floor struggled to turn over, hand pressed onto his side.

“You just stabbed me!” He yelled in shock.

Sam faced him where he fell and cocked his head.

“Uh huh.”

“That’s not a very Captain America thing for you to do, geez!” 

“Oh, shut up. You’ll be fine,” Sam retorted. “Just keep pressure on it.”

He turned back to Bucky and gestured at the gun he was holding.

“You got another one of those?” 

He didn’t wait for a reply, he just reached into Bucky’s holster and took the second gun from where it had been resting against Bucky’s ribcage. 

And there was definitely something wrong with Bucky because for some reason even that tiny second of contact made his breath catch.

“You alright?”

“Ungh,” Bucky managed.

“What? What is it?”

The look on his face made it clear that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing to Bucky. He was just standing there, brown eyes wide, breathing a little heavy, a slight shimmer of sweat on his face… his arms. Oh, Jesus his arms. 

Get yourself together Barnes.

“Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you home.”

“Not that I don’t appreciate it, but I was managing fine.”

“No.” Bucky reached for Sam’s hand and pulled him towards him, ignoring the henchman who was still writhing on the floor next to them. “I’m taking you home, sweetheart.”

“Hnngh.”

[intothepast9]

queen of the playground

written for @pandalilymicrofics April 10 prompt "transparent"--wc 908

Pandora finally had her in person, and they had been chatting easily over boba for an hour. But she really had to do what she had been dreading ever since she matched with Lily online. Dorcas told her it was cute and she had nothing to be afraid of, but Regulus said he would have taken any such secret he had with him to the grave rather than admit it to a date.

“So you’ve been in Chicago since you were 10?” she asked.

“Yeah, went to college on the other side of the city, so I’ve been here for fifteen years at this point! I barely remember Hogsmeade. How are you finding the city? You said you’ve been here for two years?”

Lily had said she was shocked to learn they were both originally from the same small town in southern Indiana. Pandora had gone into her closet to bury her head into a shirt and scream when that that had come up in their conversation.

“Er, yeah, I moved here after college, and it’s nice to be in a bigger city.” Pandora swallowed. “To be fully transparent I think I remember you from Hogsmeade.”

Lily looked at her like she was trying to place her. At least she wasn’t running away, thinking Pandora had been stalking her for fifteen years. Not that nine-year-old Pandora wouldn’t have loved to do that… “When did we meet?”

“This is embarrassing,” Pandora said. “But that playground outside the elementary school?”

“God, I used to go there almost every day.”

“You were like the queen of the jungle gym, best friends with everyone. You would say hi to me sometimes, but I didn’t join in the games. I… er, I didn’t talk much then. But, god, it made my day when you’d talk to me.” Little Dora, the shy kid with no friends. And Lily, this bright force of intrigue and boldness, would sometimes talk to her. It made Pandora cringe just to think of it, and to realize that the same girl, fifteen years later, still seemed just as enchanting and beautiful to her. Really, late in her teens, when she thought of crushes she had had throughout her life, Lily on the playground had stood out to her, Pandora’s head having gone woozy every time she spoke to her, the clarity of the emotions of her childhood stark compared to the confused void of the emotions one expected to have on crushes during puberty.

Lily’s eyes lit up. “I thought your face seemed familiar! Your hair was lighter then, right?”

Pandora nodded. Her hair had been almost white until puberty, when it had gradually darkened to its current dirty blonde.

“I was so excited the couple times you spoke to me,” Lily admitted, and Pandora's hear leapt. “You were like this ethereal thing, almost a fairy, in my mind. But god, I hadn’t thought about that in years.”

“I thought about you every day until probably high school.” Why was Pandora admitting this? This was actually insane. “And then again when I started college and learned I was queer, I kept coming back to that playground.”

Lily looked at her for a moment. “I hope I don’t ruin anything in person,” she said. And Pandora’s head throbbed. Of course she shouldn’t have put that type of pressure on Lily. What kind of insanity was it to tell her something like that? Regulus was right; of course he had been right; she would always listen to him from here on out—

“I’m so sorry—I don’t think you could ruin anything. I mean, Jesus, I’d assumed you were married and had kids by now.”

“Who’s married by now?” Lily asked, incredulous.

“Like 70% of my graduating class? 75% of what would have been yours?”

“Oh gosh, I guess I’ve been out of rural middle America long enough to have forgotten what it's like there. It must have been hard to grow up queer...”

“It could have been better, certainly,” Pandora admitted, grateful that Lily wasn’t fixating on her confession. “I wasn’t out, to myself least of all, so it wasn’t that bad for me; people assumed I just didn’t have a boyfriend because I was unpopular. Things were harder for Regulus—he wasn’t out, but more people could tell, you know?”

“Oh my god! You know Regulus too? Sirius told me he’d moved here!”

“Yeah, we’ve close since high school and have been living together, and with our friend Dorcas who we met in college, for two years!” It wasn’t what Pandora had expected from this date at all—apparently Lily still knew Sirius, who had run away to Chicago in high school and who Regulus had reconnected with after moving away as well.

“What a small world! I guess we’re not that far from Indiana; it’s the place to move to.” Pandora hoped that all these old connections didn’t categorize her solely as a friend in Lily’s mind. But Lily looked up at her, and Pandora could have sworn it wasn’t just friendly. “I’m really glad to see you again.”

“Me too,” Pandora smiled.

“I’m actually starving if you’d want to get dinner,” Lily asked. Pandora’s heart sang. Anything to drag this out, anything to give her more time with Lily.

“There’s a Chinese place I love just around the corner,” she suggested. “Sure,” Lily said shyly. “Want to get it as takeout and go back to my place?”

[a-mel0n]

This stupid "Your Name" Bucktommy AU won't leave my brain, and while I don't have enough faith in my writing skills to actually write the damn thing (and it would be my first fanfic... ever?? and that's a project that seems a bit too big for me lmao), I DID write down what I'm picturing some of the "rules" Buck and Tommy have for each other while in the other's body. Mostly just for fun. (Because Tommy would be switching in 2006, the iPhone does not exist yet, so all of his notes are written in an actual physical journal. All of Buck's notes would be on the Notes app of his phone)

TOMMY: 1) Evan, stop running into burning buildings when you don’t have to while in my body. If I wake up in a hospital bed for the fifth time this month, I might actually lose it.

its part of the job to save as many ppl as possible. also u don’t even feel the pain when i get injured in ur body.

You’re right, I don’t. Unfortunately, the pain from having a wooden beam fall on you doesn't just magically go away when we swap. Just... be more careful? Please?

fine. i’ll try and keep ur hospital visits to a minimum.

2) Can you stop flirting with people on calls? Or at the very least give them your number and not mine? In the last week alone my contact list has nearly doubled because you keep giving people my number. 

dude its not my fault you’re more popular while i’m you. just think of it as me being ur wingman! how u dont have a girlfriend is beyond me btw. hot chicks love firefighters and ur a good looking dude

Jesus Christ, Evan. For the last time, I’m single by choice.

3) Don’t shower while in my body

already dont

4) Don’t go to the bathroom while in my body 

done

5) In fact, unless you’re at work, don’t change any of my clothes while in my body. 

fair

6) Do you really need to spend so much of my paychecks on cooking supplies? I have enough pots and pans already. 

whats the point of a pantry if its half empty. be thankful ur getting actual food now via my leftovers instead of the utter tragedy that was the state of ur fridge when we first started swapping places.

7) Don’t make a scene while at work. 

your boss sucks ass and his stupid orders are going to get people killed. im not gonna listen to him if hes making bad calls while lives are on the line

Evan.

8) Don’t pick up the phone when my dad calls.

got it

BUCK: 1) quit going to eddie’s basketball pickup games. he keeps inviting me while i’m in my own body and its getting harder and harder to come up with excuses as to why i can’t go. it's kinda awkward.

I thought you’d be more grateful, Evan. You’re the coolest guy on the court when I’m you. 

2) are you making movie references when ur me? bc chim keeps asking when i got so “cultured” and the other day maddie asked when i watched the princess bride. 

You haven’t seen the Princess Bride? I’m leaving you a surprise for tomorrow. Check your couch when you wake up. 

did you spend my OWN money on a dvd??? i don’t even own a dvd player. i own every streaming service imaginable.

3) keep the finger guns to a minimum?? idk why you do them so much but both hen and chim have said smth abt it

4) if u get a call from someone called connor or kameron on my phone just let it go to voicemail its personal stuff and i'll deal with it

Evan, you could have told me you agreed to be a sperm donor yourself. Finding out because Connor and Kameron showed up at the fire house was more of a shock than finding out over these memos would have been. 

they did what?????

5) don’t talk to my parents

Done.

6) No rule about undressing? 

dude idc. i’m not gonna stop you from taking a piss in my body if u need to. as long as you like. don’t have sex with someone while you’re me? oh wait hang on i DO have a rule about undressing

7) DON’T HAVE ANY RANDOM HOOK UPS IN MY BODY. 

Wasn’t planning on it, but good to know. 

[fierceawakening]

So I was poking around YouTube and I came across a vid from someone I used to watch periodically entitled "How I Stopped Being Anti-Woke" (or something to that effect).

It was fascinating.

Those of you who've known me for a long time know I used to be an outspoken atheist who never missed an episode of The Thinking Atheist and watched presentations from cons with envy.

(Influenced in part by some things I read by Jews on Tumblr about how you can find meaning in religious practice without believing God exists, I ultimately went back to the church I grew up in. I still think God is a story, but I always liked the way they used that story to tell you to be kind and patient, and only left because I thought they didn't want people around who didn't think God was real. Since I went back I've mentioned I'm not sure and I tend to just get shrugs, so I figure I'm welcome until someone gets mad at me.)

I had a bit of a... I won't say front row seat, as by that time I wasn't as intense about consuming everything anyone put out, I was mostly just a fan of Seth and sometimes watching things he recommended because I thought he had good judgment, but I did kind of observe the shift rightward from the sidelines and not like it.

The video I watched the other day brought up the whole brouhaha about Anita Sarkeesian, and how a LOT of the people who were offended by her very existence happened to be content creators in the YouTube atheist community.

I don't have my dates exact here, but around the time Anita was big, I'd been part of and left a feminist online community that I now feel was leaning pretty culty. I'd been in a community that was very aware of Messages in Media, and there was still a bit of me that thought they had a point, but I was also very aware of how people could use what fandoms you were in or what you said about them to get you shunned and purged. (People may or may not believe me on this, but there was one LiveJournal communiy, feminist_rage, where when someone got banned an announcement went out to the whole community, and people would frequently make fun of that person in the comments to the ban announcement. When you think you're saving the world, you do terrible stuff very routinely.)

So I didn't like Sarkeesian much. I loved video games and nerd shit, and as a (probably?) girl I'd been sad at the lack of playable women all my life so I couldn't despise her utterly, but I did sometimes just feel tired and like "sure it's not ideal, but please stop telling people I can't abide playing as a grizzled taciturn white man whose wife was killed. It's not THAT bad."

But I noticed something in my YouTube recs that was... distressing and confusing.

It used to be I'd watch the Thinking Atheist episode for the week or catch up on some I'd missed and get recommended videos I really liked about critical thinking or logical fallacies or how you could spot when someone trying to Help You Find Jesus was saying something that sounded convincing but wasn't rational. I'd watch these with great interest. I liked thinking about thinking, and I'd been taken in by religion when I was too young to feel comfortable asking the adults when THEY'D seen Jesus, but also taken in by high control feminism when I SHOULD have been old enough to feel comfortable asking how we'd be able to tell when the patriarchy started ceding ground. I wanted to be as rational as I could make myself.

But I started seeing recs for people... talking about Sarkeesian.

They started out using that magic word rational and rationality, arguing that Sarkeesian wasn't demonstrating it. And I'd kind of agree. Some of her vids annoyed me too!

But then a funny thing would happen. The guy in the video would lose his temper. He'd start screaming, and he would not stop.

And I'd sit there thinking, "Toto, I don't think we're in Rationality anymore. "

I was shocked and horrified. We were supposed to know betetr! We were the ones constantly making, reviewing, and putting into practice guides to critical thinking! We were the ones who didn't want comforting stories about gods "as a crutch!"

(Nota Bene: I now absolutely think telling yourself comforting stories is fine, and am baffled by my former belief that there was something wrong with them. I came closer to suicide in 2016 than I ever have before or since, and I ABSOLUTELY went to church EXPLICITLY BECAUSE I knew I needed someone to tell me a comforting story and needed it too much to let my pride get in the way--and I don't believe I'm any weaker today than I was then.)

And yet here we were screaming for 45 minutes at a go because some lady wanted more playable women in video games.

At first I thought it was just this one guy, Thunderfoot. Erotically obsessed with someone he couldn't have, I figured, as he'd have to admit feminism had a point or two to have a chance and his pride wouldn't let him do that, so the next best thing was letting his rageboner overflow on camera.

But there started to be more and more of them.

To the point where, by the time I bothered to look back... they were MAGA. The most irrational, social herd, emotion driven, movement I had ever seen in my lifespan.

I dunno. I feel like I should have a lesson here. I don't have one.

Years ago I would've called it "don't lose your empathy." Or "don't forget that if you try to turn off your emotions, they start messing with your reason and making what they like look rational."

But people pushed back so hard on those things and mistreated me so much I'm just tired now.

I guess the thing is: look out for the angry people. If you keep them around, make sure they're the catalysts, never the brains of your operation.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

From Domestic Bickering: "I love you. I've just got a funny way of showing it, that's all."

For our beloved Special Agent Eppes

From the domestic bickering prompt list

Sorry this took so long! I went with someone other than our dear journalist, surprisingly.

Warnings: Angst, light fluff

"This seat taken?"

Don didn't even wait for you to answer before he was pulling out the bar stool beside you. You didn't look at him—you didn't need to. Hell, he knew how pissed you were.

"What are you having?" He went on without waiting for you to answer, just reached out and picked your beer up. Knocking it out of his hand would be a bad waste of good beer and would probably get you kicked out of the bar, so you just kept your eyes on the set playing the Dodgers game.

"Megan call you?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"Good."

A sinker—swing and a miss. Count 0-1.

"Colby alright?" You asked.

"Yeah, he's fine."

"Good."

Curve way on the outside. Count 1-1.

"Concussion," Don added.

"Figures."

"He'll be on desk duty."

"Makes two of us."

Another curve ball—big swing, big miss. 1-2.

Don sighed, twisting in his seat as he tried, "Alright, look."

"I'm not talking about this."

"You disobeyed a direct order—"

"And I was right to—Disobeyed, what are you, my dad?"

"Right or not, you can't do that on the field. You could've been hurt."

"Could've been, but I wasn't."

Straight down the middle, swung on—and missed.

"This kid can't hit for shit," You muttered, snagging your beer back from Don for a sip.

"...It's just a slump."

"Sure."

"He made a mistake, you know. A couple of bad swings."

"Right."

"Getting benched doesn't mean a player can't get back in the game."

"Are we still talking about baseball?"

"Look at me for a minute."

"No thanks."

"I get that you're pissed—"

"You never would've benched Megan for a call like that."

"Megan's been with the team a helluva lot longer than you, alright? I trust her to make those calls."

"Oh, so the problem is that you don't trust me! No, good."

"That's not what I—"

"No, it's nice. That's what every girl wants to hear from her boyfriend."

"Guts will get you far, but they'll get you killed."

"Really? You're trying to come-to-Jesus me with a quote from Speed? You know Jeff Daniels died in that movie. I mean, not Jeff Daniels the actor, the guy he played who said that died—"

"You almost died." It wasn't even the reminder that made your heart drop into your stomach—it was the desperate, low, hissed way that he said it. "You think I could've handled seeing that? And for what? To prove that you're the biggest badass in the office?"

"I didn't do it because I thought it was badass. I did it because I felt like it was the right call," You insisted. "And it was."

"You were right this time, but you won't be right every time. Neither will I." Don sighed, leaning back a little. "I trust you as my girlfriend. I'm not used to trusting you as an agent. It's different. I'm adjusting—trying to."

"...Guess I'm adjusting a bit, too," You admitted softly.

"Are we okay?"

"We're fine."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure," You nodded. "'m just...I'll get over it."

"So you're still mad."

"As an agent, yes. As your girlfriend, no."

Don huffed a soft laugh, nodding. "I think I can handle that...I know you hated being out of the action, but it was a shock to the system—for both of us. I love you. I've just got a funny way of showing it, that's all."

You bit the inside of your cheek, desperately trying to tamp down a lovesick smile.

"You sure do."

"You drive me nuts, you know?"

"I know." You toyed with the label on your beer, shaking your head. "Don?"

"Yeah."

"I love you, too."