#y'all did not sign up for me being a self involved asshole like this

[kingdaddydaichi]

NSFW Alphabet || Katsuki Bakugou

I had so much fun with this! Vodka may or may not have been involved in the making of this little ditty. 🍸 I hope you shameless hussies enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. 😩

*Exhibit A:

(Source)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

I feel like he gets clingy asf, but plays it off like it's something he's doing for your sake. He'll probably never admit that he feels so vulnerable after sex, but he does. If it was a rough session - which it usually is with him - he'll ask if you're okay, if you're hurt anywhere, kiss any marks he left on you - he's such a protective hero boi.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His: he's not gonna lie, he's fully aware of how well-endowed he is. He really is proud of his cock, the way it makes you sing when he works it - and he knows how to work it okay? Favorite non-sexual body part - his arms. He works hard to keep them cut (as in lifting, not cutting). 😬

Yours: listen, Katsuki is an ass man through and through. Go ahead and tell me I'm wrong, I'm 👏🏼 not 👏🏼 listening 👏🏼. He loves to watch the subtle ripples he sends through your ass cheeks when he's driving into you from behind. Also, our big scary boomboom man appreciates a nice, thicc pair of thighs. Bonus points if they're muscular/toned - he loves the way it feels when your thighs have such a strong grip around him.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Let's just say our boy's orgasms are explosive. He cums hard and loud, shooting long ropes of his hot seed. Consistency is about average, not too thick, not to thin, but there's a lot of it. He doesn't taste too bad - salty, but not too bitter. You're more likely to gag from the sheer volume and force of his cum hitting the back of your throat than the flavor.

His precum gets honorable mention here. It's fucking delicious. That is all.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It took him no less than 2 years into your relationship to tell you this, and if you ever tell anyone he might actually kill you, or at the very least make your ass bleed. He hasn't gotten to the point that he's ready to try it yet, but he's not entirely opposed to the idea of you pegging him. Someday. It kinda does make his balls tingle a little just thinking about it tbh. He hasn't yet, but he thinks he might be ready to try working up to it and is really close to asking you to stick a finger in his ass and stroke his prostate. He's heard how good it feels and he's super curious to find out for himself.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Not very experienced, actually. He's only had 1 or 2 lovers before you, BUT he's determined to be #1 at everything. Couple that with how perceptive he is and you've got yourself a winner of a loverboy. He's going to make damn sure that, even if things don't work out between you two, he will always ALWAYS be the best you've ever had. No other man will outdo him, E-V-E-R.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Doggystyle all the way, baby. As stated before, he loves watching your booty jiggle every time he slams his hips against it. He gets off on spreading your ass cheeks to watch his slick-coated cock slide in and out of you. God he just loves hitting it from behind, makes his dick so fucking hard.

Bonus 2nd Favorite Position (couldn't help myself): you on your back with your ankles on his shoulders, your ass lifted off the bed, him on his knees and hugging those thick thighs of yours, keeping them closed as he reams into you. (Slight variation of this one: he leans over you, nearly folding you in half, putting you back on your shoulders with his hands pressing into the mattress beside you, angling you such that his prominent corona rubs over your g-spot as he drills down into you. 10/10 you're gonna scream his name when (not if) your liquid gushes all over him.)

Tell me the truth, am I a disgusting human being? Here are all the fucks I give:

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Bakugou is serious asf about his sex game. This is not the time to joke around or poke fun at him, understand me? If you do he will get pissed and either fuck the silly out of you, or if he's feeling particularly ruthless he'll just stop altogether and let you ache for him as punishment until you beg him for release.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He takes care of his body, paying a lot of attention to his hygiene, which includes manscaping to keep his pubic hair trimmed and kempt. The carpet's just a shade darker than the drapes, like a honey blond. If he lets it grow out, it sticks straight out just like his head hair. It's actually kind of funny and he hates it.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

*sigh* Let's be honest. Katsuki is not the super romantic type, at least not outwardly. However, if he realizes something he's doing is hurting you - physically or emotionally - he's going to stop dead in his tracks and hold you close, push his fingers through your hair, and tell you how much he loves you and how safe you are. He can be rough and he can be an asshole, but if he thinks he's genuinely hurt you at all, he's all over you, doing everything he can to make you understand that he will never let anyone hurt you, especially not himself. Got that?

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't jack off very often. You two share a very active sex life so he doesn't see the need to. If you have to be apart for more than a day or two, he'll rub one out. Or if the need hits him particularly hard and you're not available or in the mood, he's not above closing his eyes and reaching into his pants to wrap his thick fingers around his cock and start tugging.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Lord Baby Jesus, where do I even begin? Kinky, kinky Katsuki. This man should come with warning signs and disclaimers.

First of all, he dom asf okay? Even if he lets you play with his ass someday, he's gonna be bratty about it. He's going to top from the bottom, hashtag facts. And trust that he WILL own you afterwards to securely reestablish his dominance.

Giving and Receiving: Hair pulling. DIRTY TALK - you think he's got a potty mouth in the streets? His mouth is downright filthy between the sheets. Loves it when you dirty talk right back to him. "You love taking my fat cock, don't you princess?" "Mm yessss, fuck me, Katsuki! Your cock feels so fucking good babyyy!" He eats that shit up.

Giving Only: Degradation. Praise. Spanking. Cockwarming. Dom/sub/power play. Shibari/ropework (he tried it bc you wanted to and he fucking loved it). Creampies. Begging. Discipline. Ravishment.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Literally anywhere inside your home/homes - bed, bathroom/kitchen countertops, kitchen/dining table, office desk/chair, any piece furniture is fair game really, up against a wall, washer/dryer, the fucking floor, ugh just all the places to fuck. Not one square foot is sacred tbh.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Wear something that showcases the curve of your butt. Doesn't have to be revealing per se, matter of fact he'll get possessive as fuck if you're showing too much skin in public. At home/privately though? He can't help himself. Dat ass tho...he is going to smack it hard enough that it stings and that's final, understand?

Tease him. You can't be obvious about it though. If he senses that you're doing it on purpose, it'll just backfire. But if you just so happen to brush against his crotch when you squeeze past him, it'll drive him crazy. Go commando in short shorts/skirt and cross your legs just so, his dick will twitch. Even better if you do shit like this in public where you know he won't act on it. But when you get home you best believe he's going to dick you down so hard, won't even bother to take said shorts or skirt off.

His ears and neck are his most sensitive erogenous zones. Whisper in his ear or kiss his neck and he's going to grit his teeth in an effort to fight back the shudder that threatens to rattle his bones.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Let's get one thing straight. Katsuki Bakugou does not share. This is non-negotiable. He will not agree to anything involving additional people - cuckolding, threesomes, orgies, exhibitionism, voyeurism (unless it's him watching you pleasure yourself - that he will gladly do, and probably start palming himself in the process).

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves giving and receiving. Giving puts him in full control of your pleasure, receiving makes him feel like you're worshipping his cock, which you probably are. Have you seen this man's cock? Of course you have. Gatdamn.

Y'all, Katsuki's so good at eating pussy. Like how does one get that good at eating pussy? I don't even know, but god the way he flicks his hot tongue over your precious, tiny bud before wearing it down like a fucking feed bag? It's unnatural. Like it could be his backup quirk if blowing shit up doesn't work out. You've seen the way he licks his lips when he gets excited, everyone has.* He doesn't even bother swallowing while he's feeding on you so you just be dripping in slick and saliva and he's just slurping away. It's lewd.

*See Exhibit A above.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You already know this, but I'll say it anyway. His go-to fucking style is fast and rough, dominant and relentless, hard and dirty. But every once in a while he'll want to take you slow and deep and passionate. He'll hold you so tight in his arms and chest, you'll have to tap his shoulder sometimes to let you breathe. And he'll just roll his hips so fucking thoroughly both of you will feel every last inch, his pubic bone rubbing your clit so hard. You've told him so many times how much you love it when he makes love to you like this, but he maybe makes it a rare treat on purpose. 😈 Little shit.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Quickies are difficult for our boy. It's not that he's against them, it's just that he savors every drop of sensuality, he has a tendency to draw the pleasure out as long as possible. He can’t help it.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

The idea of having public sex turns him on, but he's only done it with you a couple of times when he was 10000% sure you wouldn't be caught. He can't risk doing anything that would tarnish his reputation and goal of becoming the #1 Hero. He might be freaky as hell, but he needs a sex scandal like an Alaskan needs a refrigerator.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He loves you long time. He's a Taurus for fuck's sake (well, Aries/Taurus cuspie, but that just sweetens the deal). Great stamina. Grinds you down like a whetstone. Can last as long as he needs to to ensure you cum for him as many times as it takes for you to beg him to stop. If he feels himself getting too close while you're blowing him, he'll stop you and go down on you instead. If he's inside of you, he'll pull out and start kissing all over your body, sucking, nipping, licking until his urge to cum passes, then he pushes it right back in and keeps going.

If on the off-chance he does cum before you, he'll be ready to go again in about 20-30 mins. Just give him some motivation, he deserves it.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He didn't own any toys when you first got together, but you did. He hated the idea of you using them though, especially when he's right there with you. You've since assured him that you don't want to use them to replace him, but to enhance the pleasure. So now you do use them from time to time.

The first time you managed to coax him into using a toy together, it was a small wireless bullet with a remote. When you brought it out and showed it to him, there was a wild glint in his eye. He carefully inserted the vibrator into you, his cock slowly following suit. He loved the fact that he had complete control over this thing, but later complained because the sensation of it against the head of his cock made him cum too fast. He still wants to use it sometimes though. 😏

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Oh he can be so unfair. He loves teasing you until you're begging him to put his cock inside you. He's not so much into orgasm denial per se; he just loves to hear you beg him for shit - to let you cum, to suck his dick, to stop fucking you when you're overstimmed, etc.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Lol he's fucking LOUD! And he's going to make you cum so hard that you're screaming his fucking name. There was a time when one or both of you lived in an apartment and the neighbors would bang on the wall behind your headboard.

Shit, what sounds does he NOT make? He growls, moans, grunts, groans, yells, swears, fucks you so hard you can hear the wet sound of slapping skin, hell even the bed protests. Another reason he doesn't fuck in public - he can't stay quiet enough to be discreet about it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Okay, as much of a wild sex beast as he is behind closed doors, he gets embarrassed so easily when your sex life is so much as hinted at around others. It's legit funny how flustered he gets about it.

If he goes into work real tired and Kirishima says, "Hey Bakubro, you look like shit this morning. You and (y/n) stay up too late?" while doing the finger in the hole gesture, Katsuki will just "Shut the fuck up, Shitty Hair, or I'll blast your ass right through that fucking wall!"

Or if you two go out together with friends and the girls are talking about sex-related stuff, Katsuki will just roll his eyes and try to ignore it. But if one of them is all "So, (y/n), does Bakugou ever like accidentally let off explosions while you're doing it?" and you wink and say, "Only when he's especially *cough* frustrated *cough*". Katsuki will go red from his neck up to his hairline and start stuttering, sparks flying from his palms. "H-hey, d-don't tell them sh-shit like that! I-it's none of their god-goddamn b-business, (y/n), what th-the f-fuck?!" Meanwhile, you and the girls are in stitches while he stomps away, just mortified, bless his heart. When you catch your breath from laughing you'll follow it up with, "Looks like tonight's gonna be one of those nights", and you all lose it again.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

As has been mentioned, Bakugou's well-endowed. I figure he's packing about 7.5-8" in length x just under 2" wide. He takes some getting used to, that's for damn sure. Oh, and he's more of a shower than a grower. Like around 6" long x 1.5" wide when flaccid. Katsuki + sweatpants/basketball shorts = swinging dick print, alright sis? Take notes, this motherfucker visibly jumps when he does, class dismissed.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Eh, he's surprisingly not ridiculously horny. Maybe a little above average sex drive? A lot of times hero work just takes it out of him and he comes home utterly exhausted and just needs a soft place to land, and you provide him with all the love and nurturing in your heart. ❤

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Depends, really, on the time of day and what type of day it's been. If it's late (like past 9pm lol) and he fought more villains than usual that day, he's probs gonna pass out pretty soon after. If it's earlier in the day - especially first thing in the morning - it gets him pumped and almost comically genki.

[mic-and-cheese]

Ok this is enough. I'm done being vauge and quiet. I have been hurting and in fear for so long and it's not ok that I've been made to believe that I shouldn't talk about it.

I've ignored nasty anons to pretend like it doesn't bother me because I knew that people from the fandom were watching my blog for a response. I was scared to show any sign of weakness because I wanted them to give up and for a while I was happy because nothing happened.

Then I learned that they have been lurking on my blog for who knows how long despite multiple warnings and posts and dnis saying I didn't want them here.

And that's honestly my final straw. I'm a person who wants to forgive no matter what awful things someone has done to me. I still have it in my heart to say I'm sorry to a disgusting person for something they did to me 3 years ago, and I don't even want to associate with them because they turned out to be a fucking p*do (which, in case anyone was worried, my particular conflict with them is unrelated to that) but my point is that even when I hate someone's guts I still can't hate them enough to not want to reconcile. I don't know why that is but the same is true here.

I was so, so willing to put this all behind me, to apologize and accept an apology and finally be fucking friends again even after I already tried and failed to do it once. But after learning that they can't even respect the fact that I'm gone and want nothing to do with them, I've become so conflicted again. I hate them and I'm not afraid to say it. I hate them and it takes me every ounce of self control I have not to call them out by name. I'm done giving them chances. And yet I still feel the need to forgive and now it's not useful for keeping myself calm in pursuit of someday ending the conflict. Now it's just fucking annoying because they've gone past what I can forgive. I don't care about being the bigger person anymore, they hurt me and they need to fucking know it.

I'm sorry I ever believed anything they said or looked down upon certain characters and ships because I thought they were right at the time.

And if any of you assholes are listening right now, you're sick fucking creeps for lurking on this blog despite me telling you not to. How dare you use my space that you were never allowed in to laugh at me. How dare you pretend like you never talked behind my back and made fun of my art.

You act exactly like middle school bullies and I want everyone to know everything you've done to everyone in the Incredibles fandom and how you transformed it into a toxic cesspool and THEN have the audacity to ask why there's so much drama like you're the victims.

You have hurt so many people and made them scared to leave your toxic clique. I want everyone to know how you've harassed creators with anon hate. You guys breathe exclusionist like it's nothing, and then want to pretend that you respected the fact that I'm asexual. You claim to support autistic people, but you talk behind people's backs if they talk "weird" or have a special interest you don't like when so many of you are also autistic or otherwise neurodivergent and know what it feels like to be hated for it. You're progressive up until it comes to someone you don't agree with. You cast out your own friends if they don't agree with you and talk behind their backs when they leave or get kicked out, and then lie about why you kicked them. You have at least three different channels for stalking, harassing, and talking shit. You hate anyone who dares to be in more than just your server. You are trying to isolate people so that you have them under your control and don't feel like they can leave or have anyone to turn to when they realize how toxic you are. And that's only what you've done before I left.

Update: Listen I'm too tired to be eloquent about this but in case anyone wants to say I'm lying:

Anyway, here's what I'm proposing. Stop checking my blog for a month. From now until the end of september, and in turn I'll stop talking about y'all. I will not make another single post about you until October and if I don't get a single check, I will not mention you again so long as you stay off this blog.

I was never mad that we didn't have the same character preference. Annoyed, sure, but it wasn't a big deal. It became a big deal when I realized I didn't feel comfortable around all of the salt in the fandom and realized that I was mearly being tolerated. I don't even support some of the people you've harrassed, but I do not want to be associated with people like you, so I left, and frankly, its my damn right to be able to talk about how I felt. I never published a single name, and I will never, but it's not right of you guys expect me not to talk about how I felt regardless of if your actions were intentional or not. I do not care that I was not your worst target and I never have or will claim to be. But the environment that you have created is toxic, and talking about my experiences with it was never supposed to be a personal attack on you until you got involved.

Also, because I wrote this while I was angry, I will fully admit that I exaggerated some of my claims and they have been changed accordingly. I apologize for my immaturity and should not have said that, however I will not change anything I know to be true.

Another edit: I have deleted the portion about a particular artist and their work. That was an oversight by me as I did not remember that they are suspected of being legitimately predatory and I would not have included that if I had remembered it at the time of writing. That being said, my stance on the issue is that the type of harrassment that took place against that artist isn't right and that it is better to deplatform predatory people by warning others about them and refusing to interact with them, rather than giving the any sort of attention, negative, positive, or otherwise. I do not support that artist, but I also do not support their harassment and anyone saying otherwise is spreading lies about me.

[deansdirtylittlesecretsblog]

Hey Ya

Title: Hey Ya

Summary: Dean and Donna have a fight. The Trickster takes advantage of it.

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Characters: Dean Winchester x Donna Hanscum

Word Count:  4474 (includes song lyrics)

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of blood

Author’s Notes:  This was written for @melbelle45 Dirty Pop Challenge. My song was Hey Ya by Outkast. This is partially based on a question Richard Speight, Jr. was asked at the Phx Con 2016. Who would his character (Gabriel/Trickster) take to the Supernatural prom? His answer was Sheriff Donna. Also, Speight said at ATL Con 2016 that Gabriel kicked the Trickster out of that body - head canon accepted.

Donna came awake slowly, her eyelids fluttering, the bright light blinding her. She squeezed her eyes closed and shifted in her seat. She heard the rustle of fabric, fabric that didn’t feel or sound like her uniform. She forced her eyes open, moaning at the short, sharp stab of pain that pulsed in the center of her forehead. She could hear the loud thump of music pounding through the room, every downbeat making her head ache even more.

My baby don't mess around Because she loves me so And this I know for sure. Uh, but does she really wanna But can't stand to see me Walk out the door. Don't try to fight the feelin' 'Cause the thought alone is killing me right now.. Uh, thank god for mom and dad For sticking two together 'Cause we don't know how...

UH! Hey... ya. Hey ya. Hey... ya. Hey ya. Hey... ya. Hey ya. Hey... ya. Hey ya.

She pushed herself to her feet, nearly falling over as she stepped on the hem of her dress. Her brow furrowed in confusion. Dress?

“What the cuss?” she muttered as she looked down to see herself covered in a bubblegum pink, taffeta mess of shiny fabric. Her breasts were pushed up under her chin and she could feel the underwire of the push-up bra digging into her flesh. Donna yanked up the skirt of the dress, huffing in irritation at the sight of her feet shoved into three inch heels. She kicked them off, sighing in satisfaction at the sound of first one, than the other, hitting the wall.

She spun in a slow circle, trying to get her bearings. She was in a gymnasium, a decorated gymnasium, complete with mylar balloons, streamers, paper tablecloths, and flashing colored lights.

“What am I doing at a prom?” she muttered.

Eight Hours Earlier

“It’s a Trickster, Dean, I’m telling you,” Sam argued. “Every sign is there - candy wrappers at every crime scene, the murders occurred in some unbelievable, sickly comical way, all of the victims were self-important assholes. It’s a Trickster.”

“He’s dead,” Dean shook his head. “Lucifer killed him. It’s gotta be something else.”

“What’s a Trickster?” Donna asked, setting three beers on the table.

Dean wrapped his arm around her legs and pulled her into his lap. He hugged her to his chest, his lips finding hers, the kiss perfect and highly inappropriate considering their location less than five feet away from his brother.

“Get a room,” Sam chuckled.

Donna blushed, her cheeks and chest on fire. She giggled and pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hands lingering on her ass. She grabbed a chair and dragged it to the table beside him. He took her hand as he scrolled the open pages on his laptop.

“So, what’s a Trickster?” she repeated.

Sam peered at her over the top of his laptop. “A Trickster is like a demigod, an immortal creature that thrives on creating mischief and mayhem. They have the power to make objects materialize out of thin air, and they usually use unusual or humorous means to wreak havoc and destruction. They like to prove a point, to teach a lesson to people they think are self-important or full of themselves,” he explained.

“But it’s not a Trickster, because he’s dead,” Dean said again, adamant.

“But what if he’s not?” Sam said. “What if Gabriel is dead, but not the Trickster? We know that when angels are on Earth, they have to have a vessel. What if Gabriel booted the Trickster out of that vessel and took it? And when Lucifer killed his brother, somehow, the Trickster took it back?”

“Hmm,” Dean shrugged. “Okay, so let’s say it was the Trickster. We need to lure him out somehow. But he knows us.”

“He doesn’t know me,” Donna piped up.

“No, he doesn’t,” Dean said. “And he’s not going to.”

“Dean, I can help,” she protested.

“Absolutely not,” he shook his head. “If this is one of those candy addicted assholes, I don't want you anywhere near it. Sam and I will figure something out.”

“Or, you let me help,” she snapped, irritated. “I’m perfectly capable of -”

Dean pushed himself to his feet, towering over her. “I know what you’re capable of, Donna, but this time you’re not helping. The Trickster is unpredictable, crazy. I said I don’t want you anywhere near him. Period.” He stalked across the tiny motel room and out the door, slamming it behind him.

You think you've got it Oh, you think you've got it But got it just don't get it 'Til there's nothing at all We get together Oh, we get together But separate's always better when there's feelings involved If what they say is "Nothing is forever" Then what makes, then what makes, then what makes Then what makes, what makes, what makes love the exception So why you, why you Why you, why you, why you are we so in denial When we know we're not happy here... Y'all don't wanna hear me, you just wanna dance

Hey... ya. (oh oh) Hey ya. (oh oh) Hey... ya. (Don't want to meet your daddy, oh oh) Hey ya. (Just want you in my Caddy oh oh) Hey... ya. (oh oh, don't want to meet yo' mama oh oh) Hey ya. (Just want to make you cumma oh oh) Hey... ya. (I'm, oh oh I'm, oh oh) Hey ya. (I'm just being honest oh oh, I'm just being honest)

“Let’s dance!”

Donna swung around when she heard the voice yelling from behind her.

“Gabe?” Confusion and apprehension made her stomach churn uneasily. “Wh-What is going on?”

Gabe put his hand on his stomach and held the other above his head, swaying and sashaying. He was wearing a powder blue tux with a ruffled shirt and shiny bow tie. His hair was slicked back away from his face and he was grinning as he danced across the room toward her.

“I always wanted to go to a prom, Donna,” he said. “And you’re the girl I’d want to go with. So here we are!” He laughed, the sound ricocheting off of the walls.

Donna rubbed her forehead, flinching. Gabe’s laughter was like a shot of pain to the middle of her pounding head. She tried to remember what had happened between meeting Gabe and ending up here. And where was Dean?

Seven Hours Earlier

Donna sipped the coffee, cussing under her breath when it burned her tongue. She ran a hand through her long blonde tresses, catching her fingers in the tangles at the ends, and pushed it out of her face.

She’d escaped the motel room an hour earlier, her anxiety level so high after Dean’s pronouncement that she felt like she was suffocating. They rarely argued, but when they did, she always felt miserable and responsible, even when it hadn't been her who started the argument. She’d muttered something to Sam about needing fresh air and bolted. She ducked into the diner a block from the motel, sat by the window and ordered a pot of coffee.

“You don't look too happy.”

Donna smiled weakly at the man sitting a couple seats down from her. He had introduced himself as soon as she'd sat down - Gabriel, but you can call me Gabe - and he’d been trying to engage her in conversation since she’d arrived, which until this point, she’d managed to avoid. She’d thought he’d given up until he spoke up again.

“I got in an argument with my...uh, my boyfriend.” She hated calling Dean that, he was so much more than a boyfriend, it was almost an insult to refer to him as just her boyfriend. “I needed some air.” She shrugged. “Ended up here.”

“Was he being a dick?”

Donna opened her mouth to say no, but instead a slightly modified version of the truth came out, one in which the Winchesters (not her, not if Dean had his way) weren't hunting monsters, but notorious bad guys. She must have been holding it all in, because it seemed to flow out of her like a dam had broken somewhere inside. Once the words finally flowed to a stop, she actually felt better. She thought she might even be able to go back and talk to Dean. She’d just risen to her feet when Gabriel spoke up.

“Sounds like your self-important jerk of a boyfriend needs to be taught a lesson.”

Hey, alright now Alright now fellas yeah! Now what's cooler than bein' cool? (Ice cold!) I can't hear ya' I say what's, what's cooler than bein' cool? (Ice cold!) Woo...

Alright, alright, alright, alright Alright, alright, alright, alright Alright, alright, alright, alright Alright, alright,

“The restaurant. You...you knew who I was, didn't you?” Donna stammered as Gabe danced closer and closer. “You're the Trickster, aren't you?”

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he chuckled. “And what do you say you just call me Gabe?”

“What do you want, Gabe?” Donna asked, unable to keep the exasperation she was feeling out of her voice.

“You, of course,” he replied.

“Shut the front door,” Donna laughed. “Why would you want me?”

“Because you belong to Dean.” Gabriel’s voice dropped to a low whisper, his jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed. “And Dean doesn't deserve someone like you.”

Six Hours Earlier

Donna balked, shocked at Gabe’s words. “Um, no, it was...we just...we just had an argument. He's not a self-important jerk.”

Gabriel shrugged. “I don't think he appreciates you. Sounds to me like you are perfectly capable of contributing to the job, but he's treating you like a helpless female. Doesn't seem fair to me.”

She was regretting her decision to open her mouth and talk to a perfect stranger. She pushed her chair back and grabbed her things. Always polite - to a fault - she tried to smile at the man seated at the end of the long table. “Thank you for the company, Gabe, it was nice to meet you. But, I really need to go.”

Gabriel leapt to his feet and followed her, out of the diner door and down the street, hurrying to keep up with her. Donna stopped at the corner and turned to face him, ready to tell him to bug off. She opened her mouth to speak, but everything went black.

OK now ladies (yeah!) Now we gon' break this thing down in just a few seconds Now don't have me to break this thing down for nothing Now I wanna see y'all on your baddest behavior Lend me some sugar, I am your neighbor Uh! Here we go...

Shake it, shake, shake it, shake it (oh oh) Shake it, shake it, shake, shake it, shake it, shake it (oh oh) Shake it, shake it like a Polaroid picture, shake it, shake it Shh you got to, shake it, shh shake it, shake it, got to shake it (Shake it sugar) shake it like a Polaroid picture

Donna took about ten seconds to make her decision. She hiked up her skirt, bunching it in both hands, and sprinted for the double set of doors on the other side of the gym. She hit them hard, prepared to burst through them and run for her life, but she came up short, slamming her entire body against it. She bounced backwards and fell to the ground, a loud, almost comical “oof” coming out of her. She tried to get up, but she got wrapped up in the stupid dress, tangling it around her feet and legs, falling back on her ass. She screamed in frustration.

Gabriel appeared in front of her, his hand out. She took it, tentatively, and let him help her to her feet. She tried her best to straighten the skirt, pushing Gabriel’s hands away when he tried to help. She stepped back, pushing herself against the wall.

“Where is Dean?” she asked. “Tell me where he is right now.”

“Well, hopefully he’s looking for you,” the Trickster shrugged. “Otherwise my plan won’t work.”

“Plan? What plan?” Donna snapped. “What are you going to do?”

“Finish what I started so long ago,” he replied. “Finish both Winchesters once and for all.”

Three Hours Earlier

“This is bullshit,” Dean mumbled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Where the fuck did she go?”

“Dean, calm down,” Sam said. “She’s a grown woman, a cop for God’s sake. She can take care of herself.”

But Dean wasn’t about to calm down and Sam knew it. He’d been pacing and muttering under his breath ever since he’d gotten back to the motel room and found out Donna had gone out to get some air. His worry had only increased with every hour that passed.

“She’s been gone for hours and she’s not answering her cell,” Dean snapped, glaring at his brother. “I’m going out to look for her.”

Sam flinched as the door slammed behind Dean for the second time that day. He told himself that Donna was fine; just because she’d been gone for more than five hours didn’t mean something had happened to her. Maybe she’d just lost track of the time. Besides, he was confident that she could take care of herself. Dean was only worried because of how he felt about Donna, his perspective on things was a little different because of his feelings for her.

Except he was worried, too. He grabbed his laptop, the stake, and his jacket, and followed his brother out the door.

Now all Beyoncé's and Lucy Liu's And baby dolls, get on the floor (Get on the floor) You know what to do. You know what to do. You know what to do!

Hey... ya. (oh oh) Hey ya. (oh oh) Hey... ya. (oh oh) Hey ya. (uh oh, hey ya) Hey... ya. (oh oh) Hey ya. (uh, uh, oh oh) Hey... ya. (oh oh) Hey ya. (oh oh)

Donna contemplated running again, but she was pretty sure it would be useless. She scanned the room, looking for an alternative exit to the double doors, but the only thing she saw were doors marked “Girls Locker Room” and “Boys Locker Room.” She had a feeling those wouldn’t take her anywhere.

Gabe took hold of her elbow and led her across the floor to a huge, gaudily decorated chair sitting in the middle of the gym floor on a raised platform.

“Your throne, your majesty,” he ordered. “Sit.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but Gabe snapped his fingers and she was silenced. Her mouth was open, her lips were moving, but nothing was coming out. She glared at the Trickster.

“The incessant talking and questions are getting to me,” he said by way of explanation. “It’s like you’re trying to stall until your boyfriend gets here. Now sit!” He snapped his fingers again and she dropped into the chair. When she tried to stand up, she couldn’t move.

Gabriel grabbed a crown and a sash from a nearby table and put them on her. She grimaced, which only made the Trickster laugh.

“Suck it up, buttercup,” he laughed. “You’re my prom queen. And when Dean gets here, I’ll prove once and for all that he’s not worthy to be your king.”

Five Minutes Before Donna’s Crowning

“This is a high school, Sam,” Dean muttered as he pulled into the empty parking lot behind a large, sprawling building. “How the hell did she end up at a high school more than an hour away from the motel?”

“Let’s go in and find out.” Sam pushed open the car door and stepped out. He pulled his gun out of his waistband and checked the load while he waited for Dean.

“Do you hear music?” Dean asked.

Sam listened carefully. He could hear music, faintly, coming from the back of the campus. “Is that - is that Outkast?”

Dean turned to stare at him. “I can not believe you know that.”

“What?” Sam shrugged. “It’s a catchy song.”

Dean rolled his eyes, gestured to his brother with his gun hand, and hurried across a well kept courtyard and up a set of stairs, following the music. They ended up outside a set of double doors that led to into a gym, as evidenced by the sign over the doors - Father Tannenbaum Memorial Gymnasium. Swirling colored lights were visible through the opaque glass in the heavy doors and the music was at its loudest, the song now some Black-Eyed Peas number Sam couldn’t remember the name of at the moment.

Sam plastered himself against the wall beside the door, Dean mirroring him on the other side. Sam grabbed the handle and yanked it open. Dean raised his gun and stepped inside.

The last thing Sam heard before the door slammed closed in his face was his brother calling Donna’s name.

As soon as Sam opened the door, Dean stepped into the cavernous gym. His heart was pounding and he was having a hard time catching his breath. He felt out of control, outside of himself, like he wasn’t thinking clearly. And for fuck’s sake, he wasn’t thinking clearly, hadn’t been since he’d come to the realization that Donna was missing. He felt like he was rushing headlong and completely blind into whatever the hell this was.

“Donna!” he shouted.

The second he was through the door, it slammed closed behind him, trapping Sam on the other side. He could hear his brother pounding on the door, but the sound seemed to be coming from a million miles away. Dean’s focus was drawn to the chair on the raised platform in the center of the room, a horribly decorated chair covered in streamers, and material in obnoxious colors. Donna was sitting on the chair, in what looked like a dress Miss America would wear, complete with crown and sash. She was watching him, shaking her head.

“What the fuck?” he muttered under his breath. He started to cross the room, taking roughly half a dozen steps before he couldn’t move any further, as if his feet were glued to the floor.

“That’s far enough, bucko!” Dean watched as Gabriel, the archangel, stepped out from behind the obnoxious chair Donna was seated in.

“Gabe?” Dean was taken aback. “What the hell? You’re dead. Lucifer killed you.”

“No, Lucifer killed that vessel-stealing douchebag of an angel that “borrowed” my vessel,” Gabriel snapped, making air quotes with his fingers, a disgusted look on his face. “I took it back.”

“Fuck me,” Dean shook his head. “Sam was right. You’re the Trickster. Well, unless you want me to kill you in that vessel, I suggest you let Donna go. Now.” He raised his gun and pointed it at Gabe.

“Please,” the Trickster laughed. “You know you can’t hurt me with that.”

Dean looked at the gun in his hand. “You’re right.” He tossed it on a nearby table. “What do you want?”

“You and me, Dean. Mano y mano. Fight to the death,” the Trickster explained.

“Let Donna go and you’ve got a deal,” Dean replied.

The Trickster snapped his fingers. Donna’s entire body seemed to relax and then she pushed herself off the gaudy throne so violently she stumbled forward and almost fell. She managed to gather herself, hiked up her skirt, and ran off the stage, past the Trickster and into Dean’s arms, throwing her arms around his neck, hugging him.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple and hugging her with one arm. “You okay?”

“Oh, yeah, except for this fudging dress Gabe put me in,” she replied. “And that damn song he was playing. Nearly drove me off my rocker.” She glared at the Trickster as she pushed her hair off of her face. “You sure about this?”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Go on, get out of here.” He tried to push her toward the door. “Tell Sammy to get you as far away as possible.”

Donna shook her head. “I’m not leaving you. I’m staying right here.” She kept her arms around his neck.  

“Donna -” He pressed another kiss to her head, his nose buried in her hair. “Tell Sam it’s the Trickster. He’ll know what to do,” he murmured. “Now go.”

“Let her stay, Dean,” Gabriel said. “She’ll get a chance to see which one of us is the real man.” He slipped his suit jacket off, folding it carefully and laying it over the back of a chair. “Enough stalling. Let’s go.”

Donna suddenly disappeared from his arms, reappearing twenty or so feet away. He barely had time to process it though, because the Trickster was rushing toward him, fist raised, a deadly look on his face.

Sam yelled in frustration when the door closed on him. He pounded on it, screaming his brother’s name, to no avail. He even tried yanking it open, but it was futile. It was sealed tight.

He stepped back and took a deep breath, looking up and down the hallway. Several yards away from the door, he spotted a large vent, large enough that he thought he might be able to use it to get into the gym. He jogged down the hall, crouching in front of it, examining it. It would work. It took a few seconds to unscrew the vent cover and drop it to the ground, before pushing himself to his feet and hurrying back to the double doors. He peered through the window.

Donna was standing next to Dean, her arms around his neck, his lips against her temple. As he watched, she suddenly disappeared and reappeared on the other side of the huge gymnasium, just a few feet away from a vent cover. Right where he was hoping to enter the room. He pounded on the door, screaming Donna’s name.

She finally looked his way, a horrified look on her face. Her eyes widened when she saw him. She shot a quick glance over her shoulder at Dean wrapped in an impossible, brutal dance of destruction with someone who looked an awful lot like Gabriel the Archangel. She hesitated just a second, then turned and sprinted to the door. She pressed her mouth to the thin crack between the doors.

“It’s the Trickster, Sam,” she yelled.

Sam nodded. He knocked on the glass, then pointed at the vent near where she’d been standing. She looked at it, then nodded in understanding.

“Two minutes,” he mouthed, holding up two fingers.

He waited for her to acknowledge him, then he turned and sprinted back down the hall and outside, praying they had what he needed in the Impala.

Donna raced across the room, skirted hiked up around her mid-thighs, bare feet slapping on the hardwood floor. She dropped to her knees in front of the vent cover, her fingers slipping on the screws holding it in place, one nail breaking down to the quick before she was able to loosen it enough to pull it free. She leaned it against the wall, hoping Gabriel wouldn’t notice it, turning just as Dean flew through the air and crashed into a table of food.

“Dean!” she screamed, jumping to her feet.

He waved her off and struggled to his feet, wiping a mixture of blood and cake off of his face. He hunched over and shot off his feet, wrapping his arms around Gabe’s knees and knocking him to the floor. He landed several good blows before the Trickster shoved him way, scrambled to his feet, and backed away.

“Whoo-hoo, Dean, your moves have improved,” he laughed. “Too bad they won’t do you any good.” He smiled widely at Donna and winked at her. He shook himself from head to toe, laughing maniacally. “Alright, bucko, let’s get this over with. I’m getting bored.”

Gabriel charged, tackling Dean, knocking over a stack of chairs, a loud grunt coming from him. Donna cringed, following them as they moved, keeping one eye on the vent, the other on the fight.

“Come on, Sam,” she mumbled.

Just as the words left her mouth, she heard the vent cover clatter to the floor and saw Sam struggling to climb out. Donna rushed over and grabbed his hand, yanking him free. In his right hand, he held a long stake, the end a bright red color. Blood.

Sam pushed past her, racing across the room, the stake raised. Donna followed after him, screaming and hitting the floor as he suddenly flew backwards through the air, the stake falling to the floor. He crashed into the throne, knocking it over and getting tangled in the streamers and material covering it.

Gabriel stalked to the center of the room, stopping a couple of feet from Donna, both arms raised, both Winchesters frozen in place. His chest was rapidly rising and falling, his eyes flashing in anger.

“Alright, enough fun and games,” he howled. “I’m done with this. Time to go, Donna.”

“Don’t touch her,” Dean growled. “I swear if you touch her, I will end you.”

Gabriel swung around to glare at the hunter. He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t think so, bucko. She’s going with me. Trust me, it won’t take long for her to grow to love me.”

Gabe’s laugh cut off with a deep gurgling sound, his eyes widening in astonishment as he stared down at the gaping wound and protruding stake in his chest. Blood dripped from his mouth, running down his chin. He turned around slowly, staring at Donna, his hands wrapped around the stake, trying to pull it free as he fell to his knees.

“I don’t think so, bucko,” Donna snarled.

Donna wiped at the congealed mess of cake and blood on Dean’s face, trying in vain to clean it off. He held her tight against his side, obviously not wanting to let her go. He was squeezing her so tight she couldn’t breath, but she didn’t care.

“You okay?” he breathed.

“For Pete’s sake, I’m peachy,” she sighed. “Stop worryin’ about me.”

“Not possible,” Dean chuckled. He pushed a lock of hair away from her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. “Sorry I was an ass. I should have listened to you.”

“Damn right you shoulda listened to me,” she grinned. “I can take care of myself. And you guys, too, apparently.”

The brothers laughed in unison and the sound was like music to her ears, the best sound she’d heard in just about forever. She grinned, resting her head against Dean’s shoulder. What she really wanted to do was cry. It had been a long day.

“How about we get out of here?” Dean laughed.

“Heck, yeah,” Donna nodded. “I wanna get out of this darn dress.”

“Mmm, can I help you with that?” Dean murmured.

“Oh, yeah, you betcha,” she giggled.

“Oh my God, you two,” Sam chuckled. “Get a room.”

Dean and Donna Tags:  @mamapeterson @aprofoundbondwithdean @sweetmisseddreams2002 @katnharper @ultimatecin73 @thebunkerismyhome @deathswaywardson @chrisatplay @geekylibrarian24 @jessica-bones-winchester @winchesterswoonathon @for-the-love-of-dean @tonifish @nichelle-my-belle @torn-and-frayed @ksgeekgirl @missandmrsgalxy @prettyboydean @tia58 @nerdyplantbasednurse @madamelibrarian @icantthinkofaname-oops @bringmesomepie56 @waywardjoy @iwriteshortstuff @piratedaydreams @that1seniorchick @starswirlblitz @pizzarollpatrol @lazairahel @hidingfrommychildren @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @district12-erudite @castiel-angelofthelord @misswhizzy @deansdirtywhore @wonderless-screwup @downworlder--impala @superbluhoo2 @deanwinchestermybae @deandoesthingstome @jencharlan @feelmyroarrrr @okay-okay18 @spnbrennafae @rattyretro-blog-blog @ladyroche @climbthatmooselikeatree @rizlow1 @smoothdogsgirl @mischief-maker1 @winchesterprincessbride @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @sckslife @sis-tafics @youwerelikeadream @i-dream-of-dean @oriona75 @writingbeautifulmen @meeshw777 @mrswhozeewhatsis @gemini75eeyore @vote-for-pedro @tom-is-in-my-tardis @percywinchester27 @atc74 @chelseafartnoise @missbeccamay @findingfitnessforme @tas898