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uncouth-the-fifth · 2 years ago

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one of these nights - Dean Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3. masterlist.

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader (vaguely post-s3) with some Sam Winchester & Reader.

Tags/Warnings: friends-to-lovers, Fluff then Angst then Smut, Sex on/in the Impala, implied/technical cheating, drinking, Reader is a Hunter.

Words: 20k.

Notes: a lovely little commission for the lovely lacilou on tumblr. this was my first shot at writing a dean-insert (as a hardcore samgirl), which was an absolute blast!! hope u enjoy!!

Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

All your life, you’d never been keen on cliques. But there’s a certain magic in rolling up to a small-town Massachusett dive with yours.

It’s a little funny, calling Sam and Dean your clique. You know that, yet it’s true. You breeze inside the bar like the most popular kids in school, slow-mo strutting down the hall in the movies. Even with them behind you, you can picture it in your head on film: Dean’s jacket swinging with his saunter, Sam’s hair falling in his face, your jewelry swishing at your neckline. Tonight is already a movie. The thud of your boots together makes this pleasant rhythm, parting the Friday night crowd around the three of you, and you lead the boys to the counter with a sense that today has been perfect. The hunt you’d just spent three weeks on had been tied up with the prettiest, cleanest bow. No casualties. No scrapes that couldn’t be fixed with some whiskey and a bandage. Dean is snickering at his joke, and you and Sam are pretending it’s not as funny as it actually is. Things are perfect-perfect.

Even with your two gigantoids as buffers, the bar you’d picked to commemorate a hunt well done is packed to the brim. You gather around the only empty stool at the bar to get the bartender’s attention, and as you wait, you manage to worm your wallet free from your pockets with only a little elbowing. After so long the boys have zero mind for personal space. It’s kind of cute.

“I’ll cover the tab tonight, boys. Call it an early Halloween present,” you beam, and over your shoulder Dean whistles.

“Damn,” he says, “you really are in a good mood.”

You turn your grin on Dean, wiggling your wallet at him so the coins inside rattle like a tambourine. “We’re celebrating! And you wanna know how I know?”

Another group of people squeezes through the crowd behind you, bumping Dean even further into your personal bubble. He tries to be subtle about it, gliding in like an air-hockey puck, but you can tell that he lets the momentum carry him a little further than it needs to. If you brought it up he’d just explain it away as a product of how damn loud it is in here, _____, you can’t fault a guy for having shit hearing! But you know it’s on purpose. Tonight is good for so many reasons, but the first is Dean being relaxed enough to do that. To walk that line with you.

“How do you know?” He asks below the roaring bar chatter. Dean does have shit hearing, since he’s spent so many years behind a pistol, so he tips his face toward your cheek to make out your voice. A wave of gasoline and aftershave floods your senses.

You share a conspiratory look with him, side-eyeing Sam and hiding your smirk behind your hand. “‘Kid told me he plans to have two beers instead of one.”

Dean lights up, because while teasing Sam is fun, it’s ten times funnier when you both gang up on him. “Two? Break out the balloons,” he snickers, and drops a hand on your back to lean past you. There, he drawls at his brother, “You sure you can handle partying with the big kids, Sam? Me and _____ are kind of professional post-hunt drinkers…”

You pump your fist in solidarity because, hell yeah, what a healthy coping mechanism. Over a decade of training has made you a master of the Winchester sense of humor, so just this kills Sam a little—he’s in a ridiculously good mood too, and you can tell because he’s being even more of a tight-ass than usual.

“Cut that ‘kid’ shit out and maybe I’ll throw in some jäger,” Sam grumbles. Or, he tries to, but he’s still smiling to himself.

Again, you share a look with Dean that goes over Sam’s head (metaphorically, of course). Two beers and some jäger in him could end in only one way: you and Dean dragging over two hundred pounds of giggly man-boy the three blocks to your motel. Dean makes a face like that’s the last way he wants to end tonight, but you know from experience that being carried home piss-drunk is way more fun than it sounds. For you, at least.

Last time, you’d been laughing too hard for either brother to keep you on your feet. It was great. Whenever you complained about something, one of your best friends in the whole world appeared to magic the problem away. You were laughing too hard to walk? Dean scooped you up and carried you all the way to the Impala. Your heels were murdering your ankles? Sam wiggled them off you, trailing behind you and Dean with them slung over his shoulder. You fell asleep to the soft jostle of Dean’s walk and the low timbre of his voice humming Folsom Prison Blues. Sometimes you still caught yourself singing it when you got ready for bed.

“Hold on—that table’s opening up. I’m gonna steal it for us,” Sam notices. He slaps Dean on the shoulder as he goes, “Order for me.” Realizing the troublemaker he’d just handed that responsibility to, Sam wheels back, and asks you instead. “Actually, _____, can you—?”

You raise a hand before he can finish. “The cheapest pale ale they have, I know. Now, go, before we’re forced to sit on the pavement outside all night.”

Sam gives you this trusting nod that’s just golden, because the second he’s gone you twist to Dean, your partner in crime, and squint in thought. “...So. You think he’ll hate the peach daiquiris or the malibu cocktails more?”

The smile that hasn’t left Dean’s face once since you walked in only grows. You feel the hand on your back loop around to your waist, squeezing you against his warm side in appraisal. “God,” he sighs, wistful, “you’re my brand of evil genius, you know that?”

You sputter out a laugh instead of something clever, because, well. When Sam is in a good mood, he digs his heels in and sasses back to everything you say. When Dean is in a good mood, he squeezes the bare skin where your jeans meet your shirt, carries you home, and gazes at you with big glittery eyes and rumbles, I hear the train a-comin', it's rolling 'round the bend…

Apparently, you do about the same thing on your good days too. Gliding into him with that same air-hockey puck subtlety, you squeeze him around the back, asking in your sweetest voice, “Can you go see how many songs are in the jukebox’s play queue for me? I wanna dance to—”

“I know what song you want to dance to,” Dean smugly finishes your thought, so certain of your preferences that your heart does a little jig. “You know what d—?”

“—yeah, I know what drink you want,” you finish for him, just like he had for you.

Dean’s face glitters with open fondness for just an instant, then disappears into the constant flux of people, leaving you to suck down the gasoline-aftershave-leather fog that follows him. You can still feel the friendly pinch he’d given your waist by the time your drinks arrive, the ache of it fading into your skin. The leftover adrenaline from your accomplished hunt was still pounding through your system, so the haze of Dean's affection layered on top has you skipping back to your table.

You can taste it mingling with the cigar smoke in the air—something’s different with Dean tonight. Him and you. Sam had noticed, too, because after he accepts his peach daiquiri with an unphased huff, he waits to speak until he’s safely hidden behind his laptop’s screen.

“That was a lot of touching up there,” he says, as if he’s talking about the weather.

You take the same tone, shrugging like he’s pointed out it’s gonna rain later. “S’ been a good week, Sammy.”

Any attempt to come across as tame is useless. You’re an open book. A part of you wishes you were less obvious, but Dean’s pinch still tingles in your side and the left side of your body is alive with phantom leather jacket sensations. Shit.

“Your hands are shaking.” His brows bounce once at you over the article he’s reading.

You have nothing smart to say at this, and instead choose to scoop up your own daiquiri and clink it against his. Distraction tactic. Sam cheerses with you, but doesn’t drink from his glass, clunking it down next to him and simmering with you in your crush-pumped silence. He gets this particular look on his face when it comes to you and Dean. It’s squinty, knowing, and not an inch different from when he was a little kid. You remember the cool girlfriend that your own older brother had had in high school, and what your relationship with her had looked like. She was awesome, and every day you prayed she never left. Sam has always had that same quiet hope in his eyes—please stick around forever and take care of my dumbass brother. I’ll pay you.

Many, many times, too many times to count, the swirling threads of your feelings and Dean’s had crossed, but not once had they ever knotted together permanently. He would swing into your life and then swing out. You would live in his for a little while, threads looping and weaving, but nothing ever came of it. Putting it into terms more complicated than that usually made your chest ache like a rail spike had been driven through it. Tonight is one of those nights where the ache feels good, where loving Dean is a special secret you can whisper behind your hand to anyone you want.

Words swim in your head. There is no easy way to explain to Dean’s kid brother that Dean is the best man in this room and this world, that he bleeds goodness like other men bleed mud, that he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Sam would probably roll his eyes. You are rolling your eyes at yourself. But on the up-and-down rollercoaster of your relationship, these last few months have been the strongest climb to the top yet. Maybe that means you’re going to hit a big drop. You’re a hopeful person, though, so you can’t help but read Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror differently. This is it. He’s not looking at the lonely girls by the bar or the pretty ones on the dancefloor. His eyes are on you.

Blinking yourself out of your head, you putter out the lamest version of your buzzing thoughts.

“I get the feeling tonight’s different,” you say, talking into your glass and avoiding Sam’s laser-focused gaze. On instinct, you stare at the vague clump in the crowd where Dean should be. “All these months of…” you gesture broadly, “I think… something could happen.”

Sam pulls a face. “Ew.”

You kick him under the table. “Shut up,” you laugh, “I’m being serious, dude. Dean—”

…appears right beside you. In your mind’s eye, he emerges from the crowd bleeding with easy cheer, glistening gold at the edges in the bar light. “You rang?” he says. “Got your song going for you. Should be the next one.”

Dean slinks out of his jacket like a tomcat, all casual slyness, and hip-checks you when he slides into your half of the booth. It’s practical—he would have to squeeze, sitting by Sam. With you, Dean has all the room in the world to manspread his thigh against yours and toss his arm over the back of the seat behind you. The flesh of his arm never actually makes contact with the back of your neck, but it could. He survived off those little almosts.

Just as the three of you get settled into conversation, the last song dies out, swaying into the first bluesy chords of One of These Nights by the Eagles. The second that first brassy note plucks off the lead guitar, a match sparks in your chest. Dean spins to catch your eye, gleaming with excitement. The old urge to get up and conquer the dancefloor becomes irresistible. You can still feel your last case in your weary bones a bit, but there’s a certain grime to hunting that can only be scrubbed off by a good time. Dean knows this, too, so you’re led by the wrist out of the booth before the lyrics even start. He steals a sip of peach daiquiri and then you’re off for the open space between the tables. You’re laughing so hard your cheeks ache.

You’re chased by Sam’s playful shout. “Don’t have too much fun out there!”

The race to the lyrics is literal. You know there’s only a few seconds of interlude before they start, and Dean, after decades of being your one and only dance partner, knows precisely when they kick in. One of you decides that you must be in the middle of the sparse crowd the second Don Henley starts singing, and the other accepts this without question. You end up laughing, scrambling, and shoving a couple of people to get there, but god—the supporting piano lands and the bass struts and the lead guitar just stings. Like always. You break through into a clearing at the heart of the bar’s dancefloor, and for a second all you can see is Dean. He skids to a stop in his boots and laughs his ass off the whole time, stumbling inwards and making a mad dash to get your hands in his. His grin shines and his eyes crinkle with glee. The fire and anguish from your earlier hunt is gone. Now it’s just him, as you’ve always remembered him.

“One of these nights…” you laugh to each other. With your hands scooped in his, Dean starts funnily salsaing you back and forth with him to the beat, which instantly splits your sides. You’re laughing too hard to sing with him, “One of these crazy old nights…”

Through giggles, you dryly comment, “Excellent starting move.”

“Why thank you,” Dean replies.

You shift his salsa dancing around in a circle, then follow the spin all the way out, wing-span wide and only one hand tethered to Dean’s. With the ease of practice, he whirls you back in. Each move is unrehearsed and mostly random, but you and Dean have listened to this song in particular at least a hundred times, and danced to it just as much. Some beats of it you can’t help repeating from other nights spent dancing in bars. For example:

You’re wrapped in one of his arms, hand still held, while Dean’s other seamlessly lands on your waist on time with the next line. “We’re gonna find out, pretty mama,” he drawls with purpose, leaning in close enough to make your neck tickle, “what turns onnn your lights…”

He does this every time. Every time, it makes your chest tight with this shivery warmth you just can’t shake.

Dean used to be pretty shit at dancing, but after a hundred bars with a hundred names you’ve forgotten, it’s the one piece of him that you’ve pried loose from John’s influence. Sam isn’t looking and nobody knows who the two of you are. For once, Dean lets loose. He slides his hands down your arms and hooks your fingers in his, calloused and thick, rocking you back and forth with the rhythm. You think to yourself that Dean would make a great musician. He keeps time with ease, falling into a relaxed four-step (you’re pretty sure that’s what it’s called) and losing himself in the words. The swinging openness of it makes him look just gorgeous. Dean’s cheeks are rosy with exertion, the hollow of his throat shines with sweat, and he never looks away from you even once.

Every other day of hunting season, Dean… compartmentalizes. He takes the fever the two of you feel now and packs it down where nobody can find it. You see those feelings shake loose from their reigns every once in a while, but there’s only one time he ever relinquishes his control over them out in the open: here, cupping your lower back and crooning lyrics.

“...been searchin’ for the daughter of the devil himself,” he murmurs, throwing you a playful eye-roll at the symbolism you’re both tired of living. “I’ve been searchin’ for an angel in white…”

You drop a wrist over Dean’s shoulder and he rocks in close, tilting back and forth on his feet. Together, you mumble along with Don Henley and sway in a cozy circle. You take the rare opportunity to relish how he feels pressed against you. Saying anything will spoil the magic, so you just let it wash over you, purposefully coasting away from the few rational thoughts your brain is producing.

It’s unfair that he feels the way he does—and you know Dean does, he’s told you and you’ve told him and it’s all been laid out before—and still strings you along like this. You know. You should be pissed at him every time you think about it. But it’s Dean, and having a piece of him you don’t see is better than having none of him at all.

“...One of these nightssss…”

The Eagles eventually seep into another band’s song, which you assume is your signal to quit. Your vision loses its luster and the glittering lights of the world dim back to normal. Dean will have his one lucky dance with you, then, since you’re a bunch of old people, you’ll retire to your table and shoot the breeze until someone calls it a night. That’s how this always goes.

You pull your cheek from where you’d laid it against his shirt. It takes you a bit to put your thoughts into words, so you’re slow to assume, “Wanna get back to our drinks?”

When you meet eyes, Dean’s are soft, and he smiles with this quiet pleasure roving all over his face. Dimly, you register that Burnin’ For You by Blue Oyster Cult is chiming through the bar now, but. He runs his hands down your arms—sort of planting you in place, like he wants to keep you here with him. Your whole body zings with millions of little electric pulses that pump into your head like a fog too thick to see through. More than anything, you want to stay too.

Around you, the dancefloor is alive with people. But Dean has a habit of making you feel cinematic, so you can almost see how the extras fizz into the background as the camera settles on you and him alone. The bar lights hang overhead, hazy and warm. Your soundtrack is lively and familiar. The moment hangs… neither of you wants to give it up.

“Yeah. Why don’t we, uh,” he clears his throat, “grab a few sips and then head back here, huh?”

Suspended in place by the pound of your own heart, you slide your palms off his chest and put on your slyest grin. “Dancing is way more fun when you’re tipsy.”

Dean slips on a smile of his own, then turns to lead the way out of the crowd. For just an instant you feel like you can’t get your feet off the floor, and you watch him go, head spinning. Deep down, you worried that you might’ve been pushing your enthusiasm to its limit thinking tonight was the night. For the last decade of your life, you’d been waiting on Dean. But something really is different now, because, true to his word, Dean snags a few sips of his drink with you and then you’re back out on the dance floor.

The next few songs fly by. Everything is Dean. The heavy thump of boots on the worn-smooth floor, the growing buzz of alcohol in your system. You’re at the center of his stage, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. If anybody but you came up and waved a hand in his face, you doubted Dean would even notice. You talk about your favorite albums and he laughs at every joke you make, giving you that big-eyed, pirate-smile Dean Winchester look that melts your insides. His eyes are on you.

You swim your way through Double Vision by Foreigner, you on lead air-guitar and Dean supporting with some seriously impressive air-drums. Neither of you consider yourselves professional singers or anything, but there’s a moment in the chorus underneath all the noise where you swear you and Dean harmonize. All the rowdy guitar and drum-playing smooths into The Police’s Roxanne. Your face is immediately sizzling hot the second you hear the starting chords, since every time, without fail, Dean pulls out all the stops to dramatically croon the song to you. The last time it’d come on the radio, he’d chased you all over Bobby’s house, serenading you with a beer bottle microphone. He does it this time too. When you laugh and squirm away, he finds your wrists and guides you back into him, palms everywhere, making kissy faces and everything.

You suppress the urge to seek revenge and huff, “You don’t even know what this song is about, do you?”

Dean snorts, but his eye contact with you is purposeful. “Course’ I do. S’ about a guy who’s so into his girl that he doesn’t want to share her with anybody else.”

Instead of having an apt response for that, you internally shrivel up into a ball and lose any fire left in you. Dean, satisfied he’s shut you up, noses your ear and sings, “...Wouldn’t talk down to ya… I have t’ tell ya just how I feel, I won’t share you with another boy…”

The mushy impression he’s doing of Sting fails pretty quickly, so Dean softens into his own voice. For the millionth time tonight, you’ve found yourself with your arms around his neck and his face hovering around yours. If you mention it, Dean will drop everything and run. You know that. So you don’t sing that particular song with him. Allowing him to sing it to you is much sweeter, anyway, and the slower the music gets the closer you’re allowed to be.

And boy, every guy in the room must be aiming to get a slow dance with his girl, because soon the steady flow of rock n’ roll on the jukebox drizzles into Elvis and The Temptations. You joke about this to Dean, giving him a small out. Just in case.

“You hate mushy music,” you tell him, even if you both know that’s not exactly true.

Dean’s warm palms coast over your waist and you draw your nails across the flannel on his back, soaking each other up. A memory pierces your train of thought in a hot flash. You’d seen Dean dance with other girls like this, hands all over, seeking. But tonight they rest on your hips or hook through your belt loops without intention. Dean’s just here, and he wants you here too. For now, you’re his first choice for who he’s spending his time with tonight.

He doesn’t take the out you gave him.

“S’ not all bad,” Dean shrugs under your hands. “...I like this song.”

It’s Elvis’s Love Me, which effectively scrubs the dancefloor of any non-couples. Besides you and Dean, that is. This fact hangs in the air, supercharged, but neither of you mentions it. Dean draws you into him and you slide eagerly into his hold, your head under his chin. A few other pairs skip out onto the floor and take up space beside you. Soon, the molecule of space left between you and Dean disappears. You’re pretty sure if a few atoms went missing from the universe something crazy would happen, like a nuclear explosion, and that’s exactly what occurs in your belly. Dean sways with you like he’s in love with you, like it’s a secret everyone can see. If anyone in the bar glanced over at the two of you now, you know exactly what they’d think.

The best part of this was that Dean doesn’t end it after two dances, three dances, or four. You go all night like that, shittily waltzing to love songs and grooving along to faster ones. He had an opportunity to escape every time you took a trip to throw back your drinks. But if it crosses Dean’s mind at all, he never, ever takes it. One of you starts talking then neither of you can stop. Almost three hours later, you’re halfway through Just What I Needed and a street racing story that never fails to blow Dean’s mind, when your hundredth round of drinks runs dry. Since you’re both past tipsy now, it’s unanimously decided that there’s more work to be done.

“S’ a good night,” Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?”

“Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby.”

You take his empty glass, too, and Dean tips back toward your table to bother his brother. Both times you glance back Dean is following you with his eyes. It’s like hearing scratching in your attic and walking through cold spots for months, then suddenly seeing a full apparition right in your living room. Bobby claimed Dean had perfected the art of admiring you from afar, but you’d always figured he was exaggerating. Instead of chasing the ghost of one of his big-eyed stares, you actually see it first-hand—the big-eyed stare. Dean blinks prettily at you over his shoulder, then sways back toward Sam, unembarrassed and flushed a happy drinker’s red. In the flesh. Wow.

You’re so distracted you almost skip into two patrons, so you start watching where you’re going and add a few more drinks to your tab. While you’re waiting on them, you rock on your heels, brimming with buzzing energy. Years and years of buildup and something might finally happen. The prospect is so sweet that you giddily dance in place, bobbing to your own content music. The bartender gives you a funny, amused look and so do the people you squeeze past to reach him, but you ignore them all, scooping up your drinks and floating back to the table. Your grin is so bright that it makes your cheeks ache.

“Alright, gentlemen, I crossed two deserts to get these drinks, so you better—”

It’s just Sam at your table, looking sheepish.

You squint at him. Sheepish. Why is he sheepish? You set down your glass and Sam’s, then awkwardly release Dean’s beer from where it’d been trapped between your elbow and your ribs. The corner where Sam has shoved all your empty drinks has since expanded—there are at least five more new drinks there, completely outside the realm of anything you know Sam or Dean would order.

You stand. “Damn. Who ordered these?”

Sam stiffly brushed the hair from his face. “Um… a table in the corner sent em’ over. As a gift.”

“Free drinks? Really? That rocks,” you brighten.

Sam was avoiding the eyes of someone at said table, so you turn to intercept the stares and instantly feel the cloud nine you’re floating on drop out from under you.

“...Dean’s over there thanking them,” he clarified.

It’s a big group of women. Your reasonable-self could follow the logic: Dean and Sam were pretty, the women had noticed they were pretty, and then bought them drinks for being pretty. Your reasonable self would pull up a chair and toast to those women. The Winchester spell made everyone want to give them stuff for just being gorgeous and alive, and though you weren’t a Winchester, you reaped the rewards just as often. Sam’s puppy look paid the rent, and more than once Dean’s dazzling smile had won your way into concerts and r-rated movies. You should’ve been stoked.

If you were completely sober you’d probably put together that it was a bachelorette party, but all you see is your Dean, center stage among them and putting on a show. Even drunk he does a convincing performance of a “modeling agent” passing out his card. Cards. To all of them. The booth of girls giggle and lean closer, all swaying in the direction of Dean’s sly grin like snakes to a snake-charmer. A swath of mothy bitterness starts to eat holes into your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Sam mourns. He says it with so much genuine remorse that you realize how crushed you must look—and wow, isn’t that an embarrassing cherry to top this sundae off. They’re just girls. It’s just talking. Still, Sam tells you, “I tried to stop him.”

“So have I,” you answer, bitterly.

The hours of dancing suddenly burn in your legs. You steady a hand on the table to slide into your seat, but there are so many glasses that it feels too full to occupy, and Sam noisily scuffling them out of your way doesn’t help your raw ears. Resigned, you shove into your side of the booth and tell yourself that you’re overreacting. Thanking people (a group of women) for sending over free drinks (because Dean’s too pretty for his own good) is perfectly normal (to non-jealous people, at least). Because you’re not at all a resentful person, you slide over the closest glass and choke it down.

Sam raises both brows. “Maybe you should slow down a bit. Unless you want one of us to carry you home—?”

You pull your glare away from the other side of the bar and focus it on the table, answering Sam’s question for him.

“Right,” he realizes, “I can go and—”

You’re already shaking your head. “Don’t. Let’s see how long it takes ‘im.”

As it turns out, drunk Dean is an incredibly social butterfly. For the first ten minutes he’s engrossed in his conversation, you aimlessly stir your drink and dodge Sam’s glances. Fifteen and you’re glued to your seat. Twenty and Dean still isn’t back, a handful of songs you know he’d kill to dance to coming and going. Past that you’re spaced out too far to care, and have failed to not let your mood be killed. The neon electricity that’d been pumping through your system all night is cold and lifeless. On top of that, you’re furious with yourself for staking all your hopes and feelings on a premise so stupid, for trusting Dean. Again. You know you’re drunker than you want to admit, but this nasty swirling bitterness burning in your stomach isn’t alcohol. You sigh into your half-finished drink. This was exactly what happened last time.

Since you’re already feeling sorry for yourself, you punish your naivety by stealing glances at Dean’s table. In the half an hour he’s been gone, he’s taken a seat at their booth, cozied up to the woman closest to him, and captivated each of them with a story. You can tell which one from across the bar. With five sets of happy eyes feasting on him, he puts on his best smolder and gestures suavely with his hands—recounting the time he heroically pulled some civilians from a burning building last year. You know he doesn’t tell them it was for a hunt. You wonder if he mentions you being there at all, or leaves out the part about you hauling him from the fire in the end.

Against your better judgment, you lift your eyes from the hole you’d bored into the table and stare at Dean’s profile until your vision blurs. Please, please just look at me again, you pray with all the faith you have left.

…It looks like you’ve misplaced it. Dean stays at their table for another insufferable ten minutes. After all, pushing you away has always come easier to him than dancing.

Ready for Love by Bad Company plays next. Your mind apparently has a bone to pick with you too, because just hearing the song drops you back into the motel room you and Dean had shared in Tulsa years ago. Jim—your father—had passed that summer, speared by the same thing you’d been hunting. Sam was at school. It’d just been Dean and whatever feeble parts of you that’d survived losing your dad. For weeks, you tortured yourself chasing his killer and tortured Dean as stress relief. You were truly rotten to him then. He should’ve left you in Tulsa, but he’d kept you standing and fed til’ the hunt was long over. He endured every fight you picked and every apathetic apology. Nothing could kill his instinct to nurture, not even your grief, and you came out of the ordeal with Dean’s warm hand brushing your hair from your face. You loved Sam, but you missed the days when he was at school sometimes. Only then could Dean open his stitches and let his inner sweetness bleed out. The night you killed the thing that’d taken your dad from you, Dean had carried you home, washed the blood from your hair, and sang that song until you were safe and half-asleep in his arms.

You’re strong, he’d told you. Stronger than me. Stronger than your dad. You’ll get through this, easy.

Paul Rodgers starts to sing. The woman closest to Dean snuggles in to ask him a question, brushing her nails down the back of his neck. He tilts his head toward hers to listen, and whatever she says makes him turn the blatant flirtiness in his grin to 100%. Her shiny dark hair rolls down her back in perfect spirals, and the swish of it around her neck as she stands from her chair, blushing giddily, brands behind your eyes. Dean stands too.

Your stomach drops. She wiggles her fingers for him to take, and Dean, the lottery winner, follows her onto the dancefloor.

That’s about when you should force yourself to stop watching. But you’ve never had the keenest sense of self-preservation, so you keep stealing glances until your stomach is in knots—until this very lucky girl wraps her arms around Dean’s neck and summons enough liquid courage to kiss him.

Dean kisses back.

You sit there until your throat burns with stifled tears. It doesn’t take long for you to notice Sam looking at you, and when you do your whole body instantly flares with dark embarrassment that writhes up your legs like snakes. You barely have to guess what he’ll do next. He stews on the pitiful sight of you alone on the other side of the bench for another beat, then shoves himself to his feet and slams his laptop shut—and it’s nice, having somebody go through all these motions of defending you, but you don’t need it from Sam. You don’t need it from anybody.

“Don’t,” you warn him. “Don’t. ‘Only make it worse.”

“I know what he’s doing,” Sam starts, lip curled in disbelief. He’s disappointed in his brother. “Dean’s—testing you. Seeing if you’ll stick around. But you’ve more than proved you will, even when he pulls this shit, so I don’t see why you’ve gotta—”

“He’s drunk and stupid,” you cut him off. “We both are. I’m gonna let it go, n’ so are you.”

Sam stills, one unsatisfied hand on the tabletop. “...If I just talk to him—”

“Fucking don’t,” you tell him, and wow, you’re a mean drunk all of a sudden, huh? Pressing your fingertips against your eyelids does nothing to make the world stop tilting. Wilting, you pull your hands from your face and try not to burst into tears. “Sorry. Sorry. M’ not upset with you. M’ not upset with anybody.” Pathetically, you beg, “C’n we just go home?”

Sam gives you an uneasy nod. “Sure thing. I’ll grab Dean and pay our tab.”

Well, shit. Miserable as you are, you did promise to pay for drinks. A night of fun celebratory drinks, to be exact, which had gone completely sideways instead. Great. Sam hastily packs up his bag like he can escape before you remember, but you send him off with a wad of your own bills so he doesn’t go broke feeling bad for you.

Since waiting for him and Dean out on the curb sounds stupid, you choke out, “Bathroom,” and go hide there to dust off your pride.

God, does a thin, shitty motel mattress sound gorgeous right now. On shaking fawn legs, you bruise your way out of the booth and through the crowd, silently hoping that a loose elbow from a rowdy passerby knocks you out cold. Unfortunately, you barrel into the women’s restroom still conscious. It’s mostly empty too, so you’re free to meet your reflection without courage.

When Dean had given his yes for your second dance, you’d imagined this moment. After dancing the night away, you’d complain about your aching heels and Dean would scoop you up, all gentleman-like. He’d joke and hum all the way home—and what a funny word that was, since the only thing in your life permanent enough to call home was him. You’d kiss him goodnight and Dean’s gaze would follow you all the way to the bathroom. And there, once the door was shut and you were alone, the magic of the night would glow in your reflection. You’d sink into your happy, exhausted feet. The heat of his fingertips would be all over your waist and neck and chin. Best of all, when you’d slink into bed and pull the covers up to your face, Dean’s stomach would slot against your back and he’d spill it all to you in a whisper. I couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight, he’d say. I never could, sweetheart. Didn’t want to.

But the truth was that Dean could take his eyes off you so damn easily. These days it felt like you lost his attention the second you got it. Again and again you gave him these chances, and every time he wasted them. Tonight you had sworn something was going to be different, felt it ringing in your soul like a promise, and the second your back is turned he’s found a better dance partner. Was this a sign? Now, you glared at the mirror you’d chosen, feeling the familiar needles of self-loathing start to creep between your ribs. When was it going to happen? When were things going to change? Every time you’d hit this point in the past, Dean had cut those threads before they could tie. I’m not good for you, he’d say. He’d remind you of what had happened to Jess, which had always scared you straight—but that fear came with a finish line. Hunting wasn’t the end of the road for you. With you and Dean, there’d always been a vague idea of something “after,” something over the horizon too far away to see.

You’d held fast to that “after” for so long. Even on the third, fourth, or fiftieth round of Dean’s eyes landing on someone else, you took in a breath and reassured yourself of that “after.” After everything was over and there were no worlds left to save, Dean would look at you and never stop looking.

But this was the hundredth time you’d saved the world. The road to that horizon was endless, and you’d waited so, so fucking long.

Staring at your puffy eyes and spinning reflection in the low flickering light, a dull realization started to connect inside you. You couldn’t care anymore. You were so tired of waiting. One of these days, Dean was going to glance away and never look back. Maybe…

Maybe it would be better for you to pull away first.

The bathroom door banged inwards, startling you into a moment of sobriety. You were whirling around and palming the pistol handle in your waistband before you could think, only to relax. It was just Dean. In the women’s restroom. Fucking hell.

“Dean! What the hell are you—?”

“M’ savin’ our party,” Dean clarifies, and woah, he cannot hold his liquor like he used to. Without a hint of shyness, he saunters into your bubble and dares—fucking dares—to power on his doe-eyes. “Why’d’ya wanna go?” He pouts. Sam must’ve told him. “S’ not even midnight yet.”

“Jesus, you’re lucky s’ just me in here. Could’ve scared the pants off some poor girl,” you curse.

Everything after that is a tightrope act to keep hold of your restraint. Taking his elbow, you pluck the beer out of his hand and toss it into the nearest bin. Dean, of course, squawks in protest, but doesn’t fight when you push him into the narrow hall outside.

“Why on earth did you just stroll in? Just wait for me next time!”

“Maybe you were the girl whose pants I scared off,” Dean chuckles, sounding dizzy. He’s not steady enough to stand in place for too long.

Any other night you’d happily let him lean on you, but just seeing him makes your chest feel split open. The second he’s propped against one wall of the little hall, you’re on the other side, twisting around him and making a beeline for the exit. But Dean is still the guy you were on the dancefloor with an hour ago, so you’re not a step away before two big arms catch you around the middle. Giggling, Dean lassos you back in, and all at once he’s draped across your back with his cheek smushed into yours from behind. The happy little snickers seeping out of him rumble warmly through your back. You’re cozily squeezed around the middle with all the love in the world, and the worst part is that you revel in it. Dean sways a bit with you in his arms, big warm hands folding across your belly, and every stupid cell in your body melts into the contact. He’s only ever like this when he’s drunk.

“If you even get scared,” he hums into your ear, amused. “You’re s’ tough I dunno if you even can. And y’know what? I think…” he turns his lips into your cheek, his stubble rubbing the skin there just right, “I think you’re tough enough to get back out there with me n’ show em’ how it’s done.”

You should resist. You honestly should. But you’re drunk and hollowed out and lonely, so you compromise with yourself and stand dead still. You don’t touch him or lean into it. Yet you don’t squirm away, either.

At your silence, Dean wuffs out a breath down your neck and pouts into your shoulder. “C’monnn,” he urges, “dance with me more. Party! We’re celebratin’. N’ you’re such a great dancer, I wanna take you out there n’ brag ‘bout you. Everybody was lookin’ at us before. You and me. Didja notice that?”

“I did,” you swallow. “But I think m’ all partied out. I just wanna go home, kay? Sam’s out there waiting for us…”

Dean hears this and shifts his face into your neck, pretending to search for a comfortable place to rest his cheek when really he’s just nuzzling. “Boring. What? Pretty princess too tuckered out?” Dean teases. “I’ll tell the kid t’ walk back without us, he’ll be fine. C’mon. I’ll even say please.”

You remain silent. Anxious, Dean fills it. “Just a lil’ while longer, _____. Y’know I can only flirt with you when m’ like this.”

The ache in your chest hits a searing point, and the breath you’re holding breaks. He always, always has to hide.

You squirm out of Dean’s bubble. He makes a gentle attempt at fishing you back in, whining in the back of his throat, but you rip your hand free and peel around the corner before he can react. The mental picture of Dean left hurt and confused in your wake is satisfying, but you know it’s not a faithful image. Instead, he and his words chase you all the way to the curb outside. C’mon! Don’t be lame, ______! The yelling is embarrassing, but what really stings is how he does this in front of everyone. Sam. The bachelorette party, who make your skin crawl with mixed stares of jealousy and sympathy. The woman he kissed. And worst of all, everyone else in the bar, who only recognize you from the hours of slow-dancing you’d done with Dean.

You burst out into the chilly amber night, scrambling for any sense of backbone. A hot flash of unwelcome tears locks your throat shut. Like the unshakable hunter you’re supposed to be, you grit your teeth despite them and ignore Dean’s shouts.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he calls. The hurt in his voice surprises you. Dean’s voice is thready with genuine, mounting panic, flooding your brainpan with oily pleasure. Good. “Didn’t want this t’ go this way. We wer’ havin’ fun, weren’t we? M’ sorry. Come back inside. Whatever I did—”

You feel your resolve snap next, splitting apart like a guitar string under scissors.

Then you’re whirling toward him at collision speed, a mangled mess of snarling teeth and tear-caked cheeks. Yelling feels fucking great. You bare your fists, flying at him in a rage.

“Come on come on come on—you know what you did! You know! You have to know!”

Dean skids to a stop. By the street lamp light, he’s still golden as ever, looking soft and beaten. His expression crumples. His visible pain feels good for one glorious breath, then it all shatters as you realize what taboo you’ve brushed up against—and why. Over a few girls. Over a little talking. Some dancing. A silly tipsy kiss. You know everything gets heavier when you’re drunk, but god, this burden weighs more than the fucking sky sometimes. You’re so tired of carrying it. You want an out.

He drags a calloused hand down his face. “...I was just messing around, talking to them… dancing with her. Needlin’ you.”

“Well,” your breath rattles unprettily between words. “I’m needled. Are you fucking happy? Are you? Does it—does it—” you have to talk through harsh, sudden sobs, “—do you like playing with my feelings? Hanging that bone over my head, over and over and over again, just to rip it away?”

You don’t get to see how your desperation lands on Dean, since it’s then that Sam comes between you. “It’s okay,” he soothes, “you’re okay—just—” and lays your jacket over your back.

Then, Sam gets his hands on your arms to steer you the opposite way. You thrash away from him and his brother, furious. But you’re coherent enough to know that this is a bad time to wield the contempt you’ve kept stored. Roiling with fresh horror, you stifle your sobs into your sleeve and dart fast out of the parking lot, toward your motel.

“That didn’t involve you, Sam,” Dean barks over your shoulder, but it comes out more feeble than he intends. Your words were so much so suddenly that it sounds like he’s been shocked sober. Hoarsely, Dean pleads, “_____, wait. Hold on a second. Think about this—!”

…And you’re thrown back in. Supercharged with all the ferocity of a whirlwind, you twist around again. Sam’s already intercepting you, hands up and calm, but after years and years of second chances, you’re sick of waiting for something that’s never going to happen. You love Dean. It aches in your chest and bleeds out your ears, chewing away at your survival instincts.

You’d been right. Something was going to change tonight.

“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve thought about it,” you snarl. “Every day I think about it! Every night! So, no, I’m done thinking and—an’ watching and—”

The tank of crazed energy you’re running on immediately saps. Your voice cuts off with it, so you’re forced to gasp for breath and broil in your bone-deep exhaustion. Though this isn’t the first time the boys have seen you this hurt, they stand frozen on coltish legs, wide-eyed. Your effect on them lands hard: Sam’s mouth is drawn into a firm guilty line, and Dean, who usually fills whole continents with his authority, shrinks miserably into his jacket until his hands are lost in the sleeves. Finally, he takes me seriously.

You give Sam a look. Shell-shocked and unsure, Sam shuffles aside to face his back to you both.

With no one between you, it’s clear in Dean’s eyes that there’s another element to this for him. He’d known this was coming. Having his brother as a barrier was just one more way Dean had softened the blow. Between the awful, sinking guilt seeping out of him at the seams, there was resignation too. On one of those slow nights in your motel in Tulsa, he’d told you himself.

Everyone leaves, Dean had shrugged. Sam. My dad. Some day, you’ll leave too. And I won’t even blame you.

Back then, you’d laid your cheek against Dean’s sweat-tacky arm, the two of you trying to stay cool on a boiling Oklahoma night. You’d wondered to yourself how anyone could do that to the man you loved. Dean’s instinct was to give, to point both fans in that boiling room at you instead of him. How could anyone look at all the things he’d sacrificed and not give the same in return?

Well, you’d smiled at him, I’m not moving an inch, cowboy. You’re stuck with me.

Now, after years and years of sacrificing to no end, you knew that Dean’s prediction had come true. He had been waiting for the other boot to drop for so long that he’d already decided what it would sound like. A part of you wanted to cling to him and the promise you’d made him until your nails bled. But that dead limb was the one that’d been killing you, and tonight was the final proof you needed to amputate it.

You had to leave.

“I love you so much, Dean,” you hiccuped. “But I can’t wait for you anymore.”

You knew you were breaking a promise, no matter how good your intentions were. For that, you weren’t going to allow yourself an easy exit. Instead of whipping around and running for it like you wanted to, you let the slow, ugly acceptance in Dean’s silhouette brand your memory.

Statue-still, all Dean could manage was a tight nod.

He just stared and stared at you, gutted and appalled. You waited for him to say something, to fight this even a little, to make any of this easier on you both. Hating him wouldn’t be so impossible if he screamed you off the street or started throwing your stuff in the gutter. Instead Dean just hung there, frozen in that heart-stopping moment where the blade sinks in to the hilt.

Wielding that knife, you turned on your heel and left.

By the time you’ve frozen your ass off getting to your motel room, you’ve lost much of your steam. All the anger has washed out of you in one surging flush of misery. You get to the door almost gagging on your own tears, and pathetically slump down on the curb when you realize Sam has your room key.

Sam, who’s two blocks back helping Dean get home.

The cement stings your legs through your jeans. Betrayal throbs through your whole body, and unable to go anywhere, its barbs turn inward. You try to scrape up any backbone leftover from your tantrum, which is about as easy as splitting atoms. Since that didn’t work, you try to fold in on yourself for some warmth instead, and shiver stupidly on the sidewalk. A pair of late-night road-trippers give you sad stares as they pass. The soft heat of their room as they shuffle inside gushes out onto the stoop, calling your name.

Suddenly, the seething need to be as far from here as possible disappears. You want Sam to get back with Dean. You wish this night could’ve gone any other way, so the three of you could fumble into your room and straight into warm, cozy beds, too lazy to change into pajamas or to kiss goodnight like usual. Sam would check the salt lines and Dean would shuck off his jacket. With the last of your strength, you’d stretch a hand out from under your comforter and Sam would do the same to squeeze yours over the beds’ gap. Goodnight, Sam. G’night. Dean, close enough to kiss in your bed, would tilt you toward him by a gentle hand on your shoulder. He’d smush a kiss into your temple. Night, he’d hum. Together you’d snuggle down into your blankets and crash, content. If this was any other night. Maybe it still could be. Maybe you’d been overthinking this.

You’d had so much to drink. It was you who’d created these imaginary stakes for Dean to follow, and you who wigged out, blew up on him, snarling in his face and breaking a promise in the same breath. No matter how much you wanted it, you had no claim on him. If Dean wanted to dance with more than one person on a night meant to be fun for him… If he… wanted to kiss someone else…

Two tall shadows appear at the end of the parking lot. It’s too late to stand up and look put together, so you pull your knees to your chest and make an attempt at silencing your sobs. You press your lips together, watching Sam help a sniffling Dean across the lot and toward your room. Dean doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell you he’s sorry, he doesn’t pick you up off the pavement, and he doesn’t tell you that he loves you even though you both know it. It makes all of your lashing anger bubble up to the surface again, and you sit with it until long after the boys are inside.

These feelings feel petulant at first, then simmer into righteous ones. The hunt had robbed you of so much—your parents, your normalcy, your childhood, and more than once, the love of your life. There was no reason it had to take Dean from you this way, too. Those sticky-sweet nights in boiling Tulsa could be every night for you and him.

You could still taste him, and the syrup of old blues songs on his lip. You’d told him back then, you’re stuck with me, cowboy, and Dean had believed you, really believed you, because he’d rolled sideways in your bed and touched his fingers to your chin. Just the rough tips of them, burning hot. There’d been this irresistible magic in his eyes, like he was learning it was possible to break his own rules as long as he kept them later. His breath was sweet with ice cream when he kissed you. Just one kiss had him shakily sighing through his nose, and with his same trembling hand, he’d cupped your face—in the weird sort of way Dean did affection, the slope of his palm around your jaw and his thumb turning up your chin. It’d felt so special, like a promise to hold out. You’d savored each one with your nails tickling the nape of his neck, your dose of love potion refilled. The two of you had passed out curled nose to nose, Dean’s grin hidden in your pillow.

You could be living every night like you’d lived that one. But there was one barrier in the middle of that road: Dean. I’m not good for you, he’d say, even if you’d never had enough of him to tell.

After years and years of holding out and dosing on your love potion, it occurred to you, pathetically curled up outside a random motel room, that Dean would never be with you. Even if the monsters had been hunted and the world had been saved, he just didn’t have it in him to believe in something so good. Deep down, you’d known this. You were a naive optimist hoping for a different future, but the truth was that Dean hated himself too much to see that future too.

Slowly, you unfurled your hands on your knees, staring at them without taking anything in. All you could feel was the uncomfortable, surging ache in your chest, which choked your throat shut and burned stinging tears around the curves of your nose. The last few hours felt weirdly layered in your memory, like film cells from different strips laid over each other. This had been going on for so long that it’d officially crossed into deja vu. Years and years of moments just like these pressed upon you in the ringing silence of the parking lot. But you could only hold up the sky for so long, and tonight your grip had finally slipped. You were sure of it: if these circular, pathetic dives for an answer were the only thing in your future, it’d kill you. It had been killing you.

What else could you do but leave?

The question itself felt rash, but you were struggling to breathe past your tears and you wanted out—away from the constant want, away from Dean. He could bang whatever girls he stumbled upon, so why couldn’t you do whatever the hell you wanted, too? What the fuck was stopping you? Freedom—from years and years and years of that ugly stirring weight you’d once loved—was only a bus ride and one boosted car away. It’d be easy.

The door creaked open behind you. You held your breath at the sound of footsteps, praying it wasn’t who you wanted to see.

“Come on inside. Don’t like you being out here by yourself,” Sam called.

The breath you let go of didn’t make you any more relieved. It hadn’t felt good to yell at him, either. You opened your mouth to respond, but a thought slammed on top of you with all the malice of a blow to the head. The next words out of your mouth could be some of the last you ever speak to him for a long time. Instead, you scuffed your running tears on your sleeve one last time, then hauled yourself onto your feet.

The plan was to dart past him fast enough to avoid the look you were sure Sam was giving you, but it fell on the whole lot bright as stadium lights. You made the stupid mistake of catching eyes with him, and the intensity there was enough to root you to the spot. You froze. Sam’s face was solemn, but when he finally got a good look at you it shifted into calm, haunted understanding, since you weren’t the only one who’d cried on a curb like this. He knew exactly what leaving looked like.

After a pregnant pause, Sam stole a glance into the safe darkness of your motel room. Whatever he saw inside bolstered his nerve, and before you could argue he’d swiped his coat and stepped out into the cold with you. Here we go, you braced yourself.

“...I need to punch something,” you confessed, just to have something to say.

Sam stopped awkwardly hovering around the sidewalk to spread his arms wide, and how he had the energy to smile, you had no clue. “I’m open,” he offered, only half-joking.

You sputtered out a laugh. It trailed off where you couldn’t follow it, and unfortunately, neither could he, leaving you both shivering side-by-side in silence. You started to stutter out something intelligent, but the open sympathy in his eyes took all the nuance out of you. Renewed tears squeezed down your face. Instantly, he was there, a big warm hand coming down to rub your shivering back.

“I know you already know this, but it’s worth saying,” Sam murmured. “Everybody leaves him. It’s all he’s used to.” (...I know, you breathed between sobs). “Dean doesn’t… hang these other girls in front of you because he’s, y’know. Trying to play with your feelings. He’s scared. It’s wrong, but it’s his messed-up way of testing if you’ll stick around.”

You want to listen. Sam’s tone makes this all sound reasonable and easy, but that bitter crawling thing eating away at your conscience reminds you, Of course it’s his brother out here trying to fix this. Of course he can’t pick up his own mess.

“It sucks. Trust me, I’ve taken a good chunk of it myself,” Sam chuckled, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I dunno what it is that makes em’ think he deserves it, but… he’s so used to everyone leaving that he rushes to push em’ away first.”

Swallowing around the bitter taste in your mouth, you tell him, “Well. I think it worked.”

That weighs on Sam for longer than you expect, strangling the lot with a heavy silence. Compelled to fill it, you wrap your arms around yourself and spit out your confession.

“I-I think I,” you managed. “I think I gotta go, Sammy.”

As soon as you say it, the reality of your decision hits you. This isn’t a light move to make. Leaving wouldn’t just shred things between you and Dean, but your friendship with Sam, too—it would mean turning all of your memories with them into kindling. In all your time on the Winchester family road trip, you’d seen all sorts of people take up the space in the back of the Impala. Psychics. Some angels and some demons. Good, good friends. Alive or dead, they all got off at their own stop eventually. You’d been riding in the backseat for so long, not once had you thought there’d be a stop for you, too. But here it was; Dean had hit the breaks himself, and Sam was readying himself to open the door for you.

You thought of the girl you’d been when you’d first met them. She’d still had room in her for friendship bracelets and brown sugar, for mystery novels that never ended, always chasing the next adventure. At the end of all this, that’s what Dean was: your next grand adventure.

Being hunter-born had put you in the strange middle-ground between sheltered and grotesquely exposed; you’d seen how purple and putrid a corpse could get before you were fifteen, but were more than acquaintances with a sum total of five people at the same age. Dean was your worldly opposite. He’d find the towns you landed in like you were his homing beacon, fresh out of the thick of it with a fantastical story to match. He’d hang half-out of your bedroom window, fierce-eyed, and singing, and you’d roll right out of the monotony of your life and into the magic of his. You’d mention him to friends in high school like a made-up boyfriend—Dean lives out of town, but he swears he’s gonna visit next month—because even you weren’t sure he was real. He was this untethered cowboy you’d somehow lassoed in, swinging into your life with all the colors and life of the wild west. Not so much a knight in shining armor, but. Dean, your Dean.

You would miss that. You would always miss him.

Sam tamped down his panic. “Are—are you sure?” He turned you by your shoulder to look at him, and Jesus, those kicked-puppy eyes should be considered a weapon of war. “You don’t wanna talk to Dean about this…?”

You were already shaking your head. “For the hundredth time?”

Sam pressed his lips together. You knew he thought this was a cowardly, drunken decision, but in the middle of it all, you felt like you’d earned the right to be cowardly and stupid. The last decade of your life had been wasted being reasonable. When Dean kicked you out of your motel room to share it with a stranger, you found another place to crash without complaint. When he’d told you he loved you, you gave him the space he asked for, neither of you sure how to handle something so big so young. You waited. When you sat him down and spilled your guts about the future you wanted him in, you’d respected his answer. I’m not good for you had translated to I’m not ready yet. You waited. When Dean was ready for other girls, though, Julie, Ava, Cassie—you started to press back. Since then, your feelings had become the ugly “it” that lingered in every room you shared with Dean. Every argument you’d ever had orbited around it somehow, along with every relationship. Spats turned into arguments, and arguments became second chances and third chances. It really had been the hundredth time Dean had played with you like this.

And even if he’d had nothing to do with it, it was killing you anyway. Being around him, good or bad, had sapped your adventurer’s spirit.

Sam goes still, conflicted. “This is your life. You know that I of all people understand that. But… but just… please. Please just give it one more shot. A month. Or a few weeks, if you need it. Please.”

“You think I’m overreacting,” you assumed, swallowing against the drying film of alcohol on your teeth.

“No, no, I think you’re drunk,” Sam answered, instead, and as blunt as it was it still came out soft. “And tired. But you’re not overreacting, ______. Dean’s done this and worse a dozen times before,” he sighed. Realizing that wasn’t exactly convincing, Sam scrambled for a foothold. “...He really does love you. Just needs to see reason.”

Reason, he says, like that had anything to do with this. Sam starts to clam up, desperate to glue the situation back together.

You feel the need to explain, “...Me leavin’ would have nothing to do with you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Sam said, thickly. “But I’m pretty sure it’d break my heart if you did, so I can’t imagine what it’d do to him.”

At that, you couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of the door to your motel room. It waited over your shoulder with all the gravity of a neutron star, dragging you to face it and wonder at the man on the other side. Knowing Dean, he might’ve managed to kick off his shoes before crashing into bed. Knowing the love of your life, he’d probably roll onto his back and sink like a rock, the hard lines of his face softened by sleep. His was probably puffy from crying. After long nights out, there’d be times when he’d accidentally wake you up by slipping under the covers. Dean would curse and hush apologies, clumsily pawing in next to you, but the intrusion was always welcome. You remembered him always having to pat around for your face in the dark, just so he knew where to place his goodnight kiss. Sometimes he’d miss on purpose and playfully pinch your cheek or lay a gross, sloppy kiss on your eye, which never failed to make you squirm away giggling. Good night, pretty girl. What would it do to him, to watch you go?

Your chest flared with ugly guilt. You weren’t sure. But you knew what would happen if you stayed, and Dean, in the long run, would be proud of you for looking out for yourself for once. He’d always said you put yourself last too often.

You imagined him asleep on the other side of that door, muffling his tears into his pillow, and the last of your hope and optimism just shatters. Swallowing your own cowardice, you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you tell Sam.

Sam laid a hand on your back. “Look at me a minute.”

Somehow, you did. Seeing Sam’s devastation hurts even more than you thought it would, but nothing compares to knowing that you’ll be leaving him behind. “C’mon,” he steps off the curb and toward the street, trying and failing to smile. “Let’s walk to the gas station or somethin’.”

You shook your head, heaving for breath, and confessed: “I really gotta go, Sammy. At least for a little while.”

Sam set his jaw. He teetered back toward you, thinking fast, and padded down his pockets for his wallet. “Okay. Okay. I know. But, but make a deal with me—let’s take a walk, get you sober. Then when you have some food in your system, you’ll tell me if—i-if this is still what you want. Kay?”

“Sam,” you grimaced.

“Please,” he begged, full-voiced, then snapped his mouth shut. When Sam was sure he could keep his feelings in check, he held up his wallet. “My treat. C’mon.”

Without hesitating, Sam started walking backward to the nearest corner store. Just the thought of eating made you nauseous, but not only did Sam have the keys to your room, but he’d also taken his stubbornness with him on this walk too. Thawing yourself off the stoop, you took one last look at your door and started after Sam. You knew that he was going to use this time to rally, to convince you, and that it would definitely work—so you steeled yourself. Sam couldn’t win. You had to leave.

It was just one dance. One kiss. You knew that. But you were stupid, drunk, in love, and weighed down by years of Dean’s reminder: I’m not good for you.

You hate that he’d been right.

Dean woke up sometime after dawn, but his body was so thoroughly glued to the mattress that he didn’t physically move for at least another hour. Even his routine where am I panic set in later than usual, and Dean was sluggish to answer it:

He was in a motel. That rarely changed. This time it was in… Springfield? Right? Yeah—they’d had fun little town postcards at the front desk, Dean remembered. _____ had studied them while Sam had got them the room, making that funny little hum sound she did when she thought something was quaint. It’d taken Sam only a minute to get their key, and Dean managed to fill that whole minute with nothing but spiraling. She loves kitschy crap like that. Maybe I should swipe one for her. Start a collection or something, make all this back-and-forth driving fun for her. She’s been so patient with us lately, deserves somethin’ to perk her up. Would she like it? Or was that too weird?

Dean groaned at himself—not only was he dealing with a hangover for the record books, but a heavy dose of embarrassment too. God. That woman. Nobody twisted him up like she could.

He kicked at the blankets, wiggling backward onto her side of the bed where the sheets were nice and cold. Usually the two of them cooked under the covers together, but she must’ve been hanging off the other end of the bed to leave so much cool space between them. He reached around with a foot. Nothing.

Huh. He hoped the gut rush of shittiness seeing her side empty was from whatever he’d been drinking last night, not something serious he was forgetting. Since getting up was so, so much uglier than being smushed comfortably in bed, Dean closed his eyes and thought. Counted back. The three of you had just wrapped up for a hunt… gone out for drinks to celebrate… and past that things start to fuzz. There might’a been a screaming match. Dean really wants to lean toward no, but he distinctly remembers being inside while Sam comforted you outside and sort of hating that. It was definitely Dean’s fault. But still, he remembered bitterly stuffing his face in his pillow hearing the soft lilt of your voice through the door—he should’ve been the one to fix things.

He would. Today. Dean laid in bed for a little while longer, but the guilt clawing around in his gut was making it impossible to do anything but overthink. How’d he fuck things over this time, huh? As sucky as it was, his best shot was to get the story from Sam, then figure out where to go from there. With how patient you’d been with him when he’d snapped his collarbone in Illinois, Dean was willing to grovel for forgiveness. This wasn’t the first time he’d hurt your feelings being coarse, but… c’mon. This was you. The only person who knew Dean better was Sam, and his forgiveness was the price of family. Yours was untethered, free, and lovingly given, so Dean tried to cool his mounting panic. You’d talk it out. You’d forgive him, because Dean was stupid lucky to have such a fucking saint in his life.

You loved him, Dean reminded himself, and forced himself to sit up.

The second he’s up and looking at everything, he’s pinched by this sense of wrongness. His duffle’s where he left it at the foot of the bed, the salt lines are clean and uninterrupted, but it’s like everything’s been moved an inch to the left. The pinch turns into a pang. Dean trudges out of bed, suspended in the limbo between his bedside and the open bathroom door. Something is wrong.

Some of your things have been moved, Dean rationalizes. You must be out grabbing breakfast. On stiff legs, Dean moves into the bathroom because, obviously, that’s where your shit would be if he’s not seeing it. Ignoring the bile that rises in him the second he’s moving, Dean purposefully avoids the mirror and hangs in the doorway. All three of you occupied the motels you lived in like you were ready to bolt any second, so there isn’t exactly any toiletries to take note of or clothes to notice… Until Dean circles back to his duffle at the foot of the bed. There’s a set of clothes thrown on top that he hasn’t seen since high school—some ratty sweats, holey winter socks, and two or three tees and shirts lost to time. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that they used to belong to him, and just as long to connect them back to you.

These, Dean realized, were your most prized war trophies. Over the years you’d borrowed so many clothes from them that you’d probably modeled the entire Winchester closet. At first just the sleep shirts, but that graduated into tees for casual days and layers to add in wintertime.

By junior year, the half you’d pilfered from Sam was all too big to wear practically. That left Dean’s half, which you essentially lived in. A few of his shirts in particular had become main stays, so Dean had neglected to ask for them back and you’d comfortably forgotten to return them. You had a thing about wearing them around his flings, too, which Dean figured was your cute girl-way of reminding them who’d still be there when they were gone. True to form, they’d always left and you’d always stayed. Dean liked things that way, too.

A real pang of panic rang in his chest. Were you so pissed at him that you’d returned everything you’d borrowed? Or was this something worse?

His panic finds its legs. Not only had your pilfered clothes been returned, but Dean couldn’t find your travel bag. If his duffle is thrown at the end of the bed, and Sam’s is zipped up on the table, then yours had to be in the Impala. It had to be. He picks through the backseat and then graduates to tearing apart the trunk, both of which are void of your things. Your phone isn’t plugged into the wall. Your shoes aren’t by the door. Even the pistol you’d duck-taped under the coffee table was gone, along with the knife behind the headboard. Dean still can’t find your bag. Maybe it’s out in the open and I missed it, he tells himself, but the bathroom and the dressers and under the beds and the front lobby carry no sign of your stuff. Of you ever being there.

His last resort is that you have to be with Sam, who usually goes for a run this early—Sam, who walks in alone, twenty minutes into Dean’s full-body meltdown.

He should assume that you left. Logically, that is what missing keys, phones, toothbrushes and wallets mean, but this is Dean Winchester.

Instead, he assumes: “______’s been taken.”

Right away, Sam deflates. Which is impressive, since he walked in looking pretty wilted already. There are dark smears of purple under his eyes, which are puffy from crying. But that’s not exactly the reaction you want from your brother when you share this kind of thing with him, so the lack of response just spurs Dean into tearing their room apart even more, stone-faced.

“...Dean,” Sam manages.

Dean starts ripping the drawers out of the dresser, like finding one of your socks will be proof that you’re still here.

“She was fucking taken, Sam,” his throat feels tight. “I woke up and all of her shit was packed up and gone—somebody good had to do this, s’mbody who knows what the hell they’re doing, cause’ they knew to make it look like she’d left on her own. May—maybe she went out by herself after we went to sleep? N’ that’s how they took er’?”

His hands are shaking, fighting to get the next drawer off its track. Looking at Sam will just make him fucking implode, so he ignores him, shredding through the room inch by inch. The wheel on the dresser’s track snaps so hard that Sam flinches where Dean can’t see. Somehow, the urge to find expands into something an inch more logical, and he rolls seamlessly into escape mode, tossing his duffle on his bed and shoving the returned clothes inside. In a never-slowing storm, Dean flies around the room and hunts down what isn’t already ready to go in their bags. The adrenaline was starting to cut into his nausea, and the two mixed uncomfortably inside him, each knowing in their own way that something was terribly wrong.

After a long silence, Sam collapses onto the end of his bed and confesses in a small voice, “She left a couple’a hours ago, Dean. On her own.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Dean snorted.

Something patted Dean’s shoulder, and it was a miracle that anything in his bubble didn’t immediately dissolve into molten lava; reining himself in, he turned. Sam was holding a letter.

He shrugged, swallowing thickly. “She said she, uh, needed some time. Not forever, just… time. Wrote you this.”

Dean hung in place. Too quickly, he recovered, and managed the gentleness to take the letter from Sam instead of yanking it away. There was no envelope. Just your tri-fold notebook paper and the bubbly curve of your handwriting on both sides. In the clean white space at the top of the page, you’d written Dean’s name. If he flipped it over and opened it, there would be more bubbly letters strung together in words. Words Dean didn’t have the strength for, right now.

It was easier, much easier, to succumb to the sudden slosh of sickness in him and follow his hangover into the bathroom.

After he empties his stomach and Sam gets some water into him, the crazed packing continues. Your letter goes straight into Dean’s duffle, unread, because Sam asks him what he’s doing, and Dean curtly interrupts him, “What else? We’re gonna go find her.”

Sam avoids his eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Reasonably, Dean knew that Sam had helped you. He’d felt it, seeing him walk in late, seeing him pass off the letter. But it only starts to press on him now, with the alcohol sickness becoming a different kind of sickness within him, the full weight of what exactly Sam has done.

“You fucking didn’t,” Dean snarls. “Tell me you didn’t.”

There’s a flicker of rebellion on Sam’s face, but he subdues it for Dean’s sake. He shrugs, “...She wanted to leave.”

The nearest lamp on the bedside table shatters against the wall with a fierce pop. Dean’s close to tears, he’s so upset, sucking down anguished breaths. This is his worst nightmare. It roars off him all at once, and Sam, the nearest target, takes the brunt of it.

“How could you do this to me? How could you do that to her? She—she can’t survive on her own—!” he lies to himself, “—she needs us—and-and I need her! Why would you just let her walk away? What the fuck, Sam?”

“What was I supposed to do? Handcuff her to the radiator?!” Sam snaps, spreading his arms wide, “It’s her life!”

“With us!” Dean roars. His throat grates with acid and tears.

“With whoever the hell she wants! You should’ve—” Sam argues. He realizes how fruitless all the yelling is, especially with tears smeared in the creases of Dean’s face. “...I can’t speak for her. Read the damn letter.”

“No,” Dean grates. He gets his duffle over his shoulder, his whole body coiling with betrayal. “Get your shit and get in the fucking car. We’re finding her. Where’d you drop her off?”

Of course, Sam refuses to answer. He gives Dean this quiet, desperate look neither of them is good at processing. Dean’s not exactly in the mood to process much of anything, nevermind this, nevermind the mountain of shit he’s messed up between last night and today.

He snarls. “Where, Sam?”

Sam still doesn’t answer. His stubbornness forces an old ugliness out of Dean that he’ll regret later, but, what’s one more thing for the pile, right?

“What?” Dean whips on his brother. “You give that little of a shit about her? You pick up brunch and a smoothie after you left her to fuckin’ rot?” Baring his teeth, he spits, “She’s not running off to Stanford, kid. This is different and you know it.”

The blow lands so hard that Sam bristles, but if you left a couple of hours ago, then he’s had plenty of time to brace himself for the grave Dean had planned to dig himself. After a long, treacherous silence, Sam finds an answer:

“Train station,” Sam’s lip curls. “But she made sure I drove off before I could see if she even walked in. She’s just like you n’ me, so she’s probably two states over by now—”

Dean slams the front door before he can finish.

It takes Dean four miserable hours to chase the specific bus you’d taken over the border to Connecticut, two days to pinpoint the lousy 83’ Mercury Capri you’d bought, in cash, from a dentist in New Hartford, and another to find it trunk-first in the Connecticut river, stripped entirely of your things. Sam fights him all the way to Brooklyn, which turns out to be a last-ditch distraction tactic. Dean had figured you’d head somewhere busy to shake them, but instead, you’d turned West, to Tulsa.

At the end of the week he finds you waitressing in a little dive just outside town. It’s a long chase, by their standards. As anguished as Dean felt, he couldn’t help nursing a warped sense of pride: his girl was good. Lesser hunters would’ve never caught up with you.

The Impala coasted along the buckling sidewalk framing the lot and stilled, idling on anxious wheels. Dean left sometime after Sam fell asleep. A whole week of non-stop pursuit had almost burned the spirit out of him. Sam’s moral needling never stopped, not until the silence burning up between them was as light as a slab of concrete. Twice now Dean was tempted to cut and leave without him, but the dark swimming part of Dean’s mind knew he deserved the constant backlash. She doesn’t want to see you, Sam had spit once, she needs time.

But the thing was that you’d never needed time before. The only time you’d needed in the past was the minutes it took for you to say, you’ve hurt my feelings, Dean, and the time it took for him to drop into your lap and bemoan his apologies until you were in stitches. He’d clutch your pantleg in his fists and fake-sob, Oh, baby, I’ll never forgive myself fer hurtin’ you! There was a familiar dance to it. At first, you’d stifle your smile and shove at him, all tough n’ girly-like. Dean would hunt down your nearest ticklish spot until your anger was a funny thing you’d both forgotten about, then sink into an apology he really meant. It worked every time and you knew it worked every time, but. Dean would drop his head into your lap and the first thing he’d feel was your hand on his back, keeping him there.

You’d never needed time before. You’d never needed space, because Dean was your space, with no room for anyone else to squirm in between.

It’s been days, man, Sam had said, endlessly. Just read her letter. Just read it.

He’d tried. More than once, he’d steeled himself enough to find it at the bottom of his bag and open it up, but beyond those steps was a whole new hell. He gets three words in and is immediately split open like a deer carcass in the sun. I’m sorry, Dean. Just that is enough to make him carefully re-fold the letter back on its seams.

There, in the parking lot of your bar in Tulsa, Dean finally finds the endurance to shovel past that first line. Originally, his plan isn’t really a plan at all—he’ll swing inside, convince you to come home, get some dinner in you and give “making things right” his best shot. But those are just ideas with no ground to stand on beyond what Sam has told him. And what Sam has told him sounds like, l-like horseshit, something Dean would hunt one of your shitty ex-boyfriends down for. To him, it sounds like something irreparable. That feeling is starting to find its roots.

By the flaxen street light, he spreads the thin notebook paper out on his thigh, careful not to smudge the hurried pen with his fingers. He reads it once and only once, unable to stomach any more.

The Impala pulls out of the lot and slinks back to their motel.

The next day, Dean loads his brother into the Impala, picks a direction, and drives.

His instincts settle back onto their monotonous track, and within a week he and Sam are cutting down vamps in Montana. Only once does Sam ask about what happened, and Dean only shuts him down once for the two of them to return to the Winchester default: not talking about it. Sam clearly wants to, squirming with unspoken questions when they find your spare boots kicked under Baby’s front seat or dodge hunters who’d ask around for you. Dean feels like ripping out his own entrails every time Sam itches to bring you up, but draws blood from his lip instead. When Sam’s out of resolve and Dean’s alone, he presses his face into the shirts you’d borrowed, soaked all the way through with your perfume, choking down tears that don’t do nothin’ for nobody. Especially Dean, who hasn’t cried in front of anyone but you since he was nine.

It’s like he’s lost a limb, left only with the phantom grasping feel of it. Dean definitely copes like a man who’s lost a leg. Sam leaves the issue alone, for the most part, trying to trick himself into being content with you being where you want to be. Meanwhile, Dean’s flask graduates from his duffle to his jacket. Hunting stops being a distraction and gradually opens up into a dangerous sinkhole.

The following weeks reek with deja vu. Silences stretched, gaps in their routine yawned wider, every inch of their never-ending road trip scrubbed raw with impressions of you. Dean must’ve checked the rear-view a thousand times, running on that same old instinct to steal looks at you in the backseat. The whole universe had been kicked off its axis by the aftermath, causing a run of bad luck worthy of a horror movie. Dean’s gun started jamming inexplicably; they’re caught by cops in Indiana and have to circle back two weeks later for the car, which is stripped of everything they’ve got; he almost loses Sam getting their arsenal back from an evidence lockup in Fort Wayne. Scrubbing his brother’s caked blood out of the steering wheel one afternoon, Dean knows that it’s more than luck he’s lost.

When you were stressed or feeling stuck, you’d lay out all their weapons on the bedspread—reminding Dean not to plop his ass down without looking first—and clean them each meticulously. The way you did it sort of reminded him of sewing. You’d count under your breath, so versed in the steps you’d created that you didn’t even have to watch your hands. Sometimes this ritual collided with the nights you polished up your poker skills together, and if Dean listened between hands, there was your counting. Four. Take off the slide. Five. Scrub the frame. If Dean’s pistol landed in the pile, you’d forget you were winning altogether and sink into deeper focus, pretty brows furrowed and your lips in a soft line. Dean’s gun never jammed if you’d been the one to clean it.

You were stealthier, more unassuming, with the kind of easy smile that policemen looking for fugitives glossed over. The cops in Indiana would’ve glossed over you, too. You were the third support beam that kept them sturdy—with you at Dean’s six, he and Sam would’ve smuggled back the arsenal with no problem. And even if there’d been trouble… well. This was you. Lose-a-car-in-the-river-on-purpose you, who Dean could always rely on to back his play.

When Sam has to drive him home from the bar one night, Dean slurs, Everythin’. Everythin’ goes to shit without ‘er.

Those thoughts crept up on him again and again, preying on him in low moments. He buried them under everything close enough to grab, keep the salt lines clean, call Jody, fix the car, but everything thrown on top of his memories of you swayed and shuddered, demanding to be dug up. Dean knew that he’d betrayed you. Already that was unforgivable, but by hurting you he’d broken a blood oath as old as your friendship. At fifteen Dean had sworn to protect you, only to turn around now and wound you so viciously that you couldn’t even bring yourself to say goodbye to him. Not in person. Not in the letter.

It was the one detail his heart couldn’t stop fixating on, no matter how deep Dean buried you. He knew you better than anyone, and you never said goodbye unless things were truly over.

He’d heard you sob it into Sam’s shoulder before he left for school. When the hellhounds came for him in New Harmony, you’d resisted, clutching Dean’s jacket in both hands and weeping instead, “I’ll see you.”

You’d never said goodbye to him.

This turns into a notion, then a stupid idea, then a plan that Dean rolls around in the bottom of his glass, considering. He could get that goodbye from you. He could knock on your window like he’d done when you were kids, say his piece, and then let the grass eat his boots as he waits for you to truly finish this.

He could get that goodbye from you. It’d kill him, but Dean wasn’t sure he could go on without it.

Five minutes into his drive to DeLancey’s Pub and Bar, the slimy dive you waitressed in around the dicier ends of Tulsa, Dean realizes that he’s not even sure if you’re working tonight.

The drive was long—long enough to swerve Dean’s confidence in every single direction possible, until the revving toughness he’d gathered had swan-dived into gut-clenching fear. Two hours ago he’d been combing through articles for a case. Something had compelled him into the car, something bone-deep and inescapable, and if Dean was being truthful with himself it had everything to do with the strange adrenaline he got just being in the same state as you. Twice, he swore he’d seen your face among the officers at the station and blending into the diner crowd at breakfast. He knew that you were a whole town away and intent on not seeing him, but. Dean could sense the divide between you like the childhood home he’d never known. It was a distance he could close and map in his sleep, and after another night jolting out of a nightmare and into a bed empty of you, Dean was exhausted. He missed you so much he was sick, choking back mouthfuls of guilt just thinking of you. He missed you so much that the drive to you could’ve been measured in inches, and the walk to the Impala was even smaller, calling to him.

Waking up, he’d sensed it. Tonight was gonna be different.

Things had started off strong. The second Dean had turned the key and pointed the Impala toward Tulsa, his hands on the wheel were sure as all hell. I’m gonna tell her all my cruddy fuckin’ feelings and get all this cruddy fuckin’ honesty out of the way, then either we make up or she gives me the boot. Simple as that. Nothin’ to it. That was as far as his planning went, since that’s as far as Dean could handle thinking into your future. By the time Dean was off the highway his plan had started eating itself, circling constantly back to your letter to him. But he was already halfway there, then over halfway, and giving up became an increasingly spineless option.

Along the way, I’m gonna give it to her straight, slowly, bloodily evolved into, I’m bringing her the fuck home.

Dean’s propelled himself forward so hard just to get here, so the Impala’s still rolling into park when he clambers out and onto the gravel. His heart is pounding like thunder in his ears but it’s nothing compares to the screaming silence that stands between where the Impala’s sitting and where you must be. DeLancey’s is the only kind of place Dean could picture you working; somewhere low and unglamorous, like any other bar you and Dean had skulked around in your twenties. You lived for skeevy places like this, the shabbier the better, and privately Dean had always thought you were too pretty to exist in places like those. But he’d seen you under neon beer lights so often that you’d sort of claimed it for yourself, this strange brand of cigar-smoke beauty that made Dean’s ears warm.

He thinks of that image and can’t help but need himself to be there, to be with you like he always has, and that’s what gets him across the gravel and through the door.

Either this is a hunter’s bar or the place is packed full of demons, because the second Dean bangs inside, making a few heads jerk up with the noise of it, those heads immediately swivel to whisper to each other. What’s that Winchester boy doing here? Anyone who knows you knows there’s only one answer. The bartender looks up from the drink he was making. The host awkwardly shrinks behind her podium, freezing like everyone else in the room. For just an instant he has the whole saloon itching toward their pistols, and Dean lives off the warped satisfaction he gets from that until the kitchen door swings open for a huge tray of drinks.

Hefting it over one shoulder, you slip easily out from behind the bar and pass the drinks over to a table of hunters. There’s a resonating shock that sizzles through Dean’s system, seeing you. It’s the strange pleasure of confirmation, of knowing that you’re real, that you’re someone he can lay eyes on instead of a slow-fading memory. In your element, you’re… Dean swallows. You’re still you. One of the hunters says something to you, and you snap back in a way that has them all roaring with laughter. All doubt left Dean’s body, and standing there, he’s winded by the single-minded purpose that got him there in the first place. He’s getting you home.

At full tilt, Dean bee-lines for you.

The harsh sound of boot steps makes you glance up, and with it the chatter of the hunters dies away. Your expression doesn’t shift from your usual calm, arrow-eyed look, empty of anger or loneliness or happiness. Just calm, like you knew he’d find you, you’re just surprised it took him this long. You take a cool step away from the table to stand at your full height, and an old shivery warmth flutters down his spine. Yeah. There was his girl, tough as a fuckin’ tank.

“Dean,” you murmured, a greeting.

He wants to murmur your name with the same sweetness. He wants to scoop his arm around your waist like he used to and shove his face in your neck like he used to, spilling his guts in ways he’d only spilled to you. He wants to do this the easy way, but that’s not exactly his default.

Dean swings in, snapping, “Get outside. I’m telling you something whether you like it or not, n’ don’t think I won’t drag you if I have to.”

Your brows fly up your forehead. “Wow.”

Right along with you, the hunters with the front-row seats to the scene Dean’s making bristle in tandem. Some of the guys at the bar twist around on their stools to throw Dean barbed looks, and really, he shouldn’t have underestimated your ability to assemble so many minions like this, since he and Sam had been your minions from day one. The guy closest to Dean makes a big show of scraping his chair back and growling, which Dean pities him for. Get in line, pal.

“That’s my friend you’re talkin’ to, chisel chest. If you know what’s good for you, I’d get the fuck outta’ here,” says Asshole #1 of 4, and the threat hasn’t even landed before you’re neatly cutting through him, “—mind your damn business, Tommy, he has just as much a right to be here as anyone else.”

At your request the other hunters simmer down, and, ignoring Dean, you scoop up your empty tray and deliver it to the bar. All the energy he’d rationed in the car starts to seep out of him, since. Well. Still, after all this time, you didn’t hesitate to bare your teeth for him. With the wind successfully taken out of Dean’s sails, he tries not to twitch in place as you round’ the bar, brush past him and gesture for him to follow you out a side exit.

Your silence terrifies the hell out of him, so adding the hanging quiet of the parking lot to the equation makes Dean’s nerves crawl. He hadn’t realized how loud it’d been in there until you were isolated outside, the rowdy Friday night chatter softened behind the door. Swaying next to you on legs he’s forgotten how to use, a dart of something mean and cold hits Dean in the chest. On the other side of the door, where the lights are dim but warm and the air sings with the tang of alcohol, Don Henley floats into the first lyrics of One of These Nights.

Even now, your magic sways over him. Across from him on the gravel, you stuff your hands under your arms and huff a strand of hair out of your face, glowing gold by the creamy moonlight. If this was any other night of the year that the two of you had fallen out of a bar together, Dean would ask you to dance with him right here by the dumpsters. You’d say yes. He knew you would’ve said yes, then.

“You worried me sick,” is the first thing Dean manages to say. “Wakin’ up, finding you gone—I thought someone had fuckin’ took you, y’know that?”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because the coolness in your expression coasts straight into bitterness. Regardless, Dean rolls right past it and right into nervous, emotional ranting.

“I know what I did. I know I don’t deserve shit for it,” he chokes out, “but you could’ve at least said goodbye t’ me! I deserved to know you’d be safe! If you couldn’t… If I was hurtin’ you too much, and if I wasn’t listenin’, you had every right to get the fuck out of there and make your own life somewhere else. But after—after bein’ with me for so, so damn long, so long I don’t even remember how we met, you couldn’t even say goodbye? Nothing? I just have to live with the fact that I don’t even ‘member the last time we fuckin’ talked to each other? Don’t even get to see my best fuckin’ friend one last time?”

“No,” you scowled. “No, you fuckin’ don’t. Because we’ve never been just friends, Dean, and even if you knew that you still played with my feelings. Why the hell would I even want to look at you again? Why do you deserve that?”

Dean flinched. He sputtered on his answer, of course, because he’d never been able to keep his head straight around you. Not now, not ever. “...I guess I don’t. But, um… I know this doesn’t mean much anymore, but…” He closed his hand into a fist, like it was possible to draw in raw courage from the air. “You’re right. We’ve never really been… just plain friends, and—”

“We’ve said I love you,” you scoffed, “We’ve kissed! We’ve spent four whole years on the road together, with nobody but each other, and even years after that you still can’t even admit it to my face! Can’t even say it!”

Dean’s hands are shaking, and in a rush he says, “Yeah? And you wanna know why? Cause’ the second I do, the second it’s out of my mouth, you’re dead. You hear me? A target drops on your back so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Honest to God, you start laughing, the scary hunter’s laugh that only bled out of you in the thick of a chase. “I’m already dead!” You budge him with your fists, almost pushing him back a foot, “We’re both already dead! None of that bullshit matters! Wouldn’t you rather we use the fucking time we’ve got instead of sitting around with our thumbs up our asses? Dean, come on!”

“Of course I do!” He roars. You’re close enough to grab, so he does, ripping you toward him by the wrists, “That’s all I’ve wanted!” He sucks down the cool night air and the little breaths puffing out of you, panting, “You’re all I’ve fucking wanted. Since the last time we were here. Since way before then. But the minute—the second they know that, Hell or—o-or whoever’s after us now, they’re gonna take advantage of that.”

The look on your face is frozen still with mute shock. Choking down another dose of guilt, Dean drops your wrists and suppresses the urge to pull you back in, to squeeze you against him, to kiss you stupid like he’d done years ago.

“Don’t think for one second that I don’t want you,” Dean rasped. “But I’d rather have you livin’ than be with you dead, you get me?”

You closed your eyes. Tears squeezed down your face, rolling around the curve of your cheeks. You grit, “I’m sick of having this argument, Dean.”

Then, the pull to reach out for you grew too great, and Dean couldn’t help but cup one side of your neck. He swallowed, thickly. “I know, baby girl.”

Starved for contact, you dug your nails into the material of his sleeve and did your best to speak. “If I go back with you,” you rattled out. “If I go back w’ you, sittin’ with this is gonna kill me. Can’t wait anymore. Can’t sit in the damn car while you run off with other people. I have t’ go. I love you, but I gotta go.”

Dean was sick of having this argument too. After years and years of it weighing on the two of you like a black hole, of this same old story returning every so often to throw a fresh gap between you both, Dean had hit his limit. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep you living and happy. But this pressure on his heart was heavier than the damn sky, and now more than ever he wanted to let it go. Find another way. Choose you.

He overspills.

“I love you too,” Dean gushed, and from there, poured the rest of his heart out onto the wet asphalt. “Love you so much it makes me damn sick. Makes me all stupid and mushy on the inside, which is probably half the reason I’ve made it this far. Having you gone has just made it worse—the road’s too quiet and the backseat’s always cold, like everything else’s sick too. S’ made me realize that I—I-I can’t do this without you. Everythin’. Livin’ like this. I tried for your sake, I honestly did, but god, baby, I need you home. I need you to come home.”

“Dean—”

“Let me finish!” Dean barked, and the sloping misery on your face paused. “I know why you left. Shit, I’d leave too if the one person I… if that one person kept treating me the way I was treatin’ you. Fuck, _____, if this was some other guy? Doing this to you? I’d kill him. Acid bath, hit him with my car, something. I’d kill him. And I’d—”

Dean stops himself, realizing the spiral he’s throwing himself down. “You’re everything t’ me,” he gasped. “So get in the damn car and just come home.”

In the thousand-foot-drop-silence that follows, the only sound capable of puncturing the space between the two of you is, as always, One of These Nights. Inside DeLancey’s, there are a few couples swinging along to the beat, but all of the real fever is out here, thundering in Dean’s chest. There’s only one time he ever relinquishes his control over his feelings out in the open: here, as the Eagles sing your signature song. Dean’s eyes are only on you.

“C’mon, _____,” he pleads, one last time. Again, he’s compelled by something beyond himself, and with nothing left to lose he starts to sing, smiling without feeling. “Oooh,” Dean croons, “loneliness will blind you, in between th’ wrong and th’ right…”

Here it is. You drag in a breath with all the weight of the world on it, and Dean knows what will follow. The goodbye.

Despite yourself, an amused little smile presses through the seams of your composure. You sober yourself. “... Things are gonna have to change, Dean.”

He’s not sure what that means. But it sounds good, and there’s still an optimist swirling around in him somewhere. “Yeah. Of-of course, anything. We can talk about it more, but… I’m willing to put you before anything. I should’ve put you before anything, before.”

You nod. “...Okay. Lemme go tell the other girls on shift.”

That’s good. That’s good, Dean realizes, and without meaning to he beams, blinking hard. You’re coming back with him. That’s what that means, right? Relief rushes through him so fast that he almost faints. Not so prepared to trust it, Dean’s eyes roam across your face for hesitation or displeasure or anger—and some of it’s there. There are still things to fix, still changes to be made, but. On top of all that is beautiful, sweet-tasting relief that Dean feels like collapsing under. You’re coming home.

“Just like that?” Dean asks, and he really shouldn’t be grinning, not until he’s sure and you’ve said it, but he can’t help it.

The tears still beading in your eyes slip into the pressed line of your lips, where a guarded smile is growing. You start nodding and then you don’t stop nodding, sobbing in earnest, and since it hasn’t screwed him over yet Dean follows his instinct to scoop you into a deep hug. You’re a little chilly and you smell a bit like pub food, making Dean’s heart squeeze with nostalgia. God, he fucking missed his girl. You grope around his back for something to cling to and fist both hands in his jacket til’ your fingers ache, and Dean explodes with gratefulness so pure he sways in place with you, squeezing you tight around the shoulders. You’re here and you’re alive and you don’t fucking hate him. Dean would take that and this stilted happiness over anything.

“This is all I wanted, D,” you hiccup. “You never say it, n’ I-I just need to hear it, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for,” Dean soothes, but you interrupt him.

“I was too much of an idiot to say goodbye,” you shook your head, smooshing your face into his jacket. “Too scared,” you confessed, and your voice was even scratchy from crying. “I didn’t want it to be over for real. Didn’t wanna close that door forever.”

Dean sloped his palm down your hair, your back, your arm, soaking you in every way he could. “M’ glad you didn’t. I’m sorry I pushed you to any of this, darlin’. I’m sorry too.”

You peel yourself off him just far enough to flash him a wolfish, tear-streaked grin. “Oh, I know you are. Are you ready to be makin’ it up to me for the rest of your life, Winchester?”

Dean makes the mistake of indulging your taunts with a chuckle, which puts this light in your eyes that he never wants to let go of. You swish in real close to his face, threatening with a big, 1000-watt smile, “Pucker up, cowboy, because you’ve got a lot of ass-kissing to do.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, wetting his lips. His belly warmed at the nickname. “So come here, ass.”

It’s not often that Dean has the pleasure of making you so flustered your face steams. He never gets to see it this close, either, so he leans further in to put it all to memory, which just makes your cheeks hotter. Your eyes dart across his face, wild and nervous. Dean’s smile sinks into a nasty smirk because, there you are, tough as nails and melting into your shoes at the thought of kissing him. It’s a lucky thing you’re so distracted. Maybe if you weren’t you’d notice how Dean’s hands are trembling, how his mouth’s watering. His whole nervous system flips when you reign him in by a fist in his collar, and he’s pretty sure his soul levitates out of his body when you kiss him.

One kiss turns into two, then three. Your lips are smooth with vanilla chapstick, and it only takes a minute for it to be all over Dean’s face—his mouth most of all, but the corners of his lips and his chin, too. You’ve always been the sweet one, but something about finally being subject to it melts the iron ball of anxiety in his gut. He kisses back like it’s his damn job, pouring his confession, his apologies into you, cupping your face, dimpling your cheeks with his thumbs. You’re softer than he remembers, and the fact that he could be forgetting anything at all about the last night you spent in Tulsa together makes him starved to remember this.

By some twist of fate, Bad Company’s Ready For Love plays next on the cue inside. With you cozy in his arms, his body works on muscle memory, and soon you’re swaying back and forth as you kiss, dipping in close for sweet pecks of each other.

“I love you,” he thinks he hears you say.

Playfully, Dean budges your nose with his and sing-songs, “Can’t hear you!”

“I said,” you took in a big breath, “I LOVE YOU TOO, asshole.”

Dean dissolves into chuckles, which are happily interrupted by more insistent kisses. You’re almost ten whole feet from where you started, and scooping up your hand, Dean starts the trek backward to where the Impala is parked. It’s your home as much as it’s his, so you barely need him to take the lead to find it among the other cars.

“Hm,” you say, “Maybe the girls will just figure out for themselves why I’m gone, yeah?”

“They’ll survive without you,” Dean shrugs. “You got other people who need you.”

“Need me,” you say, just rolling the unfamiliar words around in your mouth. Dean feels another pang of guilt; he could’ve sworn he’d told you that more, could’ve sworn he showed his love to you every day. Another thing to change.

“Yeah, need you,” Dean mutters, and he doesn’t mean to expose the desire rolling around in his belly, but there it is. He wants to take it back as soon as it leaves his mouth, but the second you get a taste of it, you’re hooked. A beat later he’s being pushed up against the driver’s door of the car and kissed stupid, warm and wet and so much of what he remembers. Fantasizes about.

In the next kiss a gentle hand grabs at the clasp to his belt buckle. Instantly, Dean pulls back to speak.

“Sweet pea,” he manages, trying so hard to be reasonable and good and everything that you deserve. You laugh at the nickname, which eases his mind a bit. “...You sure you don’t wanna wait? I think I got other things to prove t’ you, first.”

You draw him into a deep, lingering siren’s kiss that leaves his knees threatening to lock and his common sense threatening to bend.

“Can’t wait any longer,” your eyes burn like cigarettes, all heat. Quietly, you ask him, “Prove to me I’m your favorite. That m’ the only girl you’re looking at.”

There’s the underlying desperation to your voice that goes beyond just wanting to have sex with him. This is confirmation of something to you, something you need to hear, to feel. So Dean guides you into the backseat and proves it to you.

This is not at all where he expected this night to go, and he’s grateful that he’d lost the opportunity to overthink himself into his grave. There’s no room for Dean to worry if he was really good enough for you, if he deserved this, because these things are proven to him too. You slot so perfectly into his lap that he knows the moment you’re out of it he’ll be battered with homesickness. For long breaths there’s no kissing at all, just Dean nuzzling his face into your neck and committing each second to memory. When you do kiss him it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, this grand, surging happiness that ripples through him head-to-toe. Each kiss has a new kind of gentleness, and before either one of you starts to strip Dean knows that you want more than what he’s about to give you—you want him, and that feeling is an old comfort.

Knowing your famous attitude, Dean would’ve bet money on you taking control, but for whatever reason you step back and let him make the first move. Again, it tells him that this is his chance to tell you something, to make it clear that he wants you and he’s going to show it. So he does. Your fingers in his hair are all the invitation he needs.

Dean scrapes his palms up your back as you kiss, soaking up every naked inch of skin he’s allowed. You’re making all these soft little noises that make the pressure in his jeans unbearable, so with the next drag of his hands he’s intent on seeing what you’ll feel like naked in his lap. When your uniform is nothing but a memory and your throat’s slick with hickeys, you try out a new way of teasing him, murmuring in that caramel voice how long you’ve wanted to feel him inside you. After that he doesn’t even care about being fully naked—but you clearly do. He puts your roaming hands on his belt. I want you to do this part, I want it to be you who opens me up. You kiss him so intensely that Dean doesn’t even remember when or how his belt comes off. Or his shirt, or his jeans, or his boots, gulping down your love potion by the gallon.

All he knows is pretty girl, his pretty girl, and swaths of hot sweat-tacky skin on top of him. You hesitate to close that final gap between you once the condom’s on, so Dean whispers whiskey-warm assurances in your ear as he cups the curve of your ass and slides you onto him. The moan that presses out of you pours right into your next kiss, then the next, and the next. It takes everything in him to start slow; Dean gives you two deep, fulfilling grinds across his lap. The rippling squeeze of you around him is too good to be real. You press your lips into his, then his nosebridge, his forehead, urging him on, and that’s all Dean needs to let go. He cups the dip of your back, shoves his face in your neck and just loses it.

Dean rocks you across his lap at a vicious, pounding tempo, giving you his all. The whole time his head bumps against the height of the seat, craning to watch the perfect little shifts in your expression. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut and your lips parted. His lap is slick with you, making the grind, the chase, the rush to the finish come faster and faster. He could’ve gotten off on the sounds you were making alone. They turn into full-on squeals when Dean slides his fingers between your legs, and a flush of I love you I love you I love you bursts out of him when the hot silk wrapped around him clamps even tighter. You cum almost sobbing his name, and Dean coos you through it, his thighs cramping with effort. But it’s all worth it—you’ve always been worth it.

He finishes with your hands combing through his sweat-damp hair, echoing back to him the three words he’d been chanting the entire time.

It’s a few hours before dawn when you land in Sam and Dean’s motel a town over. Dean had wanted to get back earlier, intent on having you back as soon as possible, but it’d taken a bit to pack your stuff into the Impala and drive home. You’d commented on being hungry on the way back too, which ended with Dean pouring an entire gas station’s worth of snacks into your lap at three in the morning.

By then it’d gotten too cold out to be comfortable, so it was tempting to succumb to sleep in front of the Impala’s heaters. But robbing yourself of any time with Dean wasn’t an option, so you pushed through, feet aching after an eight-hour shift and body glowing with Dean’s affection. You nibbled on twinkies in the passenger’s seat, happy that he was happy. He kept the radio off to hear you, but hummed when the conversation peacefully faded. I can hear the train a’ comin’, it’s rollin’ round the bend…

Sam was waiting for you on the stoop outside the room when you pulled up, and did an impressively poor job at containing himself. He’d gotten his arms around you before your door was fully shut, and when you were back on your feet his brother took up your other side. Together, you herded each other into the cozy darkness of the motel. Someone said something about unpacking your things; but all three of you were tired, so that thought was saved for tomorrow.

Dean tossed his jacket on the back of a chair. Sam rearranged the salt lines on the window sills with a careful hand. You fumbled into the first pajamas you could find (aka, the hoodies in Dean’s duffle that rightfully belonged to you), and crash straight into bed, too lazy to kiss goodnight like usual. When the lights were off and the boys were down too, you stretched a hand out from under your comforter and reached across the bed’s gap.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you told him, wiggling your fingers.

His whole hand engulfed yours in a warm, I missed you squeeze, and then he was rolling onto his stomach and sinking like a rock into sleep.

When you twisted onto your other side, Dean was already there, propped up on an elbow. His broad hand on your shoulder smoothed across your belly to pull you into him. Once you were close enough to kiss, he disregarded your cheek and your forehead entirely, dipping in for a real kiss that tingled all the way down to your toes.

“G’night,” Dean whispered.

Welling with too much emotion to put into words, you willed it all into a simple and loving, “Goodnight, cowboy.”

Together, you snuggled down into your blankets and crashed, content.

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #user uncouth #uncouthspn #supernatural #spn #Spotify

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basketprutas · 8 months ago

Text

I can't stop feeling, I want her love ♡

Prompt: Childe, captain of your rival school's soccer team, helps you clear out the soccer field and closes it up with you. Will he stop being an asshole? Probably not.

Characters: SoccerPlayer! Childe x Fem reader

Genre: Modern High School Sports AU, school rivals to something more?

Notes: This prompt was in my mind and I couldn't help but bring it to life. I hope y'all like this!

Now playing... She wants me (to be loved) by The Happy Fits!

Soccer practice was always fun but sometimes sharing the field with your rival team isn’t the best idea. You had no choice though, both your team and Childe’s booked the same field for the same time slot and now you had no choice but to practice with their team.

You’re not complaining, with the start of the season coming up next week, having a rough practice with his team can prep you and your team for what’s to come. It was a great match, with both teams doing their best until the very end. Though it ended with a tie, you and Childe were fine with the outcome. With both of your teams being the best out of all the other teams, you were expected to meet in the finals anyway.

Now late at night, the cold breeze blows through the field as both you and Childe pick up the balls all over the place. He was moving the cart for the soccer balls while you picked them up. Childe, of course, was being a piece of shit by teasing you as you went around the field.

“You wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid.” He laughs as you pick up the balls. “Projecting now, are we?” You replied, not backing down from his usual antics. “Just admit it, you have a stupid little crush on me. You should just leave me alone, you know.” He nudges your shoulder. “While I would love to do so, you and I are unfortunately stuck together while we’re still in season.” You groan.

“You’re annoying, you know that right?” “I’m doing nothing but helping you clear out the field, Jesus.” “Whatever, you just wanna stare at my eyes all night long.” He teases, and your face turns more sour as he continues talking. “It’s funny how you always get upset so easily.” He added.

“And it’s frustrating how you sound like a fucking frat boy that’s desperate.” “Says the girl who can’t take a joke?” He stopped rolling the cart and when you picked up a ball, you threw a ball in his direction, a little harder than you anticipated. Childe grunts as the soccer ball hits his stomach, and you laugh it off.

“You trying to get me hurt or something?” He complains and you can’t help but feel bad. “Sorry, got caught up.” You say as you pick up more balls and shoot them to the cart. “God I hate you,” He replies. “Yeah of course you do.”

Once you and Childe gather all the soccer balls, both of you sigh in relief. All that’s left to do is to clear out the locker rooms and you can leave the field soon enough. The locker room was a mess, with scattered equipment here and there and some water bottles too. You start clearing the mess by starting with the trash.

“How the hell does everyone, even my own team, leave this place a mess.” You complain as you clean up. “Because we’re tired after training, is what it is,” Childe replies as he sees you struggle a little bit. “Need any help?”

“Just clear out the equipment over there.” You point at the scattered equipment and he nods as he starts to do what you asked. Feeling a little bit of awkwardness, Childe tries to stir up a conversation. “So uh, you going to the game of the other teams?” He asks hesitantly. “The others? I mean, they could never compete against us. Contrary to popular belief, I do believe you and your team are good.” You reply nonchalantly.

“Cocky, but seriously- you’re going?” He says as he puts back the last of the equipment. “Probably. Still need to look out for that one guy from Inazuma, looks promising.” “He is good, though he won’t have a chance to play considering he’s up against me and my team.” He laughs.

“Not unless my team wins first.” You say as you tie the last garbage bag. “Like you’ll actually win. I don’t know why you bother to try, honestly.” He rolls his eyes. “We may have lost last year but I swear this year is promising.” You reply as you remember last year’s finals.

“And how will things be different this year?” He teases. “You know what, let's make a bet. If your team wins, I’ll do whatever you want.” He adds, and you turn to face him. “I gain nothing from that. No thanks.” You grab your bags and lock up with him beside you.

“Psh you’re such a coward,” he laughs. “Who’s to say I don’t want something too? Let's just bet, come on captain.” Both of you were now walking out of the soccer field. “Excuse me?” You reply, staring at him in disbelief. “Did I stutter? If I win, have dinner with me. What’s so bad about that?” He smirks.

“You’re unbelievable, fine! If my team wins you’ll do whatever I want and if you win I'll eat dinner with you.” You say, defeated. He just never seemed to back down even in things as foolish as this. Childe does a little victory dance and you scowl and cringe as you watch him do so. “Oh, you are SOOO on. If you lose, prepare for the best dinner of your life.” “Whatever you say, Ajax. Have a good night.” You reply as you reach the exit of the field. “Goodnight captain!” He says as he runs over to his car.

The night may be over, but things just got interesting.

As you drive back home, you can’t help but laugh off everything that just happened.

Childe was always a tease, and even in previous games you would notice his tenacious energy. Your casual banter with him before and after games was always a pain in the ass, but no one can complain, after all, you and his teams were the best out there. You’d eventually see each other and be the finalists every season. Now with a little bet placed, you can’t help but feel a little motivation to do better than before.

Why did Childe make the bet in the first place? You could only guess.

END.

Notes: TEEHEE I felt so giddy writing this and I may or may not have another part already in the works... so if you guys actually want me to continue this ill post the next part soon enough >:) (also none of this is probably true to what soccer is but shhh for the sake of the story lets just say soccer does have equipment LMAO)

I recently started writing again; click here to learn more about me ^-^

Inbox is always open for suggestions and comments.

-Clara

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #ajax genshin #childe x reader #childe imagines #tartaglia #tartaglia x reader #tartaglia genshin imagines #childe genshin imagines #childe #genshin #genshin x reader #basketprutas

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takeomurasaki · 4 months ago

Note

Hey takeo! How’s everything? Welcome to Tumblr and to the writing community. I read your post and I was hoping if you could write something for Izuku’s birthday? Maybe reader organizing a surprise party for him without him knowing? (Only if you want to that is)

And I can’t wait to see you grow here! I was once a small writer here (kind of still am) so I get how you feel about being on such a popular platform. And remember: writing’s supposed to be fun, not tiring. Post whatever’s on your mind.

Take care and stay safe!

Hi Moonlight, Thank you so much for the request and the kind welcoming message! I'm really grateful for your kindness and hope you grow even more as a writer 🙏🏻

I adore this idea and hope I could interpret what you had in mind, hope you enjoy this 🩵

" Perfect Birthday for Him 💚 "

Izuku Midoriya x GN!Reader

Type: Romantic, Fluff, One-shot.

Summary: Surprise party for Izuku's birthday.

Word Count : 2005 words

You put your hand on your hip, the other on your forehead. The cake was finally in the oven.

"I can't believe I beat the squad to it! It was exhausting but everything's ready cake wise."

"Could you help me clean now? First you kidnap me from my morning training to bake a fucking cake for Deku and now you won't even clean. Damn extra!" Bakugo screamed-whispered in your ears. It was still early and if the both of you woke the others up, Izuku might wake up, and that's a no-go.

You weren't the best at baking, that was a flaw of yours but you always tried your best at it. That failed this time around, though. You had tried to prepare a cake for Izuku's birthday but you mixed the cake mix with too much olive oil and it was ruined and smelled terrible. Thank God you knew just the right person to help you: Bakugo. He might be a douche, he was the best at baking so you asked him regardless. The blonde wasn't dumb, he saw in your eyes that this cake meant a lot to you, and he sure could see you wanted to impress his childhood friend. Your eyes were shining and a deeper colour than they used to be, your cheeks were tinted red and sweat dripped from your forehead. Your hair was messy from the rush you had been in for the past couple days preparing the perfect birthday for Midoriya.

He found that funny and laughed at your face, but followed through with your plan anyway. He's not a monster, why wouldn't he help his nerdy childhood bestie get game?

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming. You're going to wake them up if you keep speaking so loud Bakugo please.." You sighed in complete despair and closed your eyes. He sure could be a pain in the ass sometimes.

As you were washing the dishes and Bakugo finishing cleaning the countertop, he spoke out of the blue.

"Say professional simp, why'd you stress so much over that birthday party anyway? You know damn well he's gonna enjoy it if it's you preparing it for fuck's sake." He said rather loudly, grinning like a mad man, he REALLY was a pain in the ass today.

"Bakugo I- He- What? Oh my God" you facepalmed, your face so red your ears began to redden too. You gritted your teeth, this guy was gonna ruin the plan it he keeps at it. "Shut the fuck up and don't speak so loud! Get back to cleaning." You got back to cleaning the dishes, furrowing your brows still red faced. You did hope he was right, that Izuku was gonna like it and actually realize you liked him bad, like bad bad !

Let's not forget who Midoriya is, he gets quite oblivious when it comes to love. Random people were hitting on him at least once a month in the most random places ever and he never suspected a thing, he thought they were just being nice.

That made you fall deeper for the green haired boy if you were honest, you found that just so cute. He always was but his oblivion to others' perception of him added to his natural charm.

You could not mess today up, you were a compassionate and thoughtful friend who always went above and beyond to make your loved ones feel special. You have a knack for creating unforgettable moments and ensuring that every detail is perfect when it comes to showing someone how much they mean to you, mostly Izuku.

It was your chance of getting him to be aware of himself and his attractiveness that you admired deeply, too.

Later on, you went to Mr. Aizaiwa. He wasn't your teacher, you were in class 1-C, but he was Midoriyas and he was helping the whole plan happen out of sheer boredom. He was indeed the weirdest teacher you'd ever met.

It was lunch time, the perfect timing to meet him and discuss today's matter. You knocked on the almost empty classroom's door and entered slowly.

Internally you were an absolute mess. Trying to keep your composure wasn't easy as a swarm of butterflies filled your stomach to the brim, the anticipation was overbearing. The party was getting closer.

"Hello Aizaiwa sensei. Do you remember about Izuku's birthday party perchance? Do we have permission?" You managed to smile somewhat normally with sweaty palms.

He looked up from his spot, tucked in his sleeping bag about to fall asleep from the bags under his eyes. "Hello Y/N L/N, I do remember problem child's birthday party... Principal Nezu is okay with the party being held in the dorm's common room. You will have to mark out the things you're using from the school on a paper though so we know what you took. Dismiss now, I'm sleepy, kid." And with that he just fell on the ground and closed his sleeping bag further, till we couldn't see his face.

You did a little happy dance, how could you not? You had everything planned out perfectly. You rushed out of the classroom to prepare the decorations and the organization.

You were by yourself to prepare the room and all. The others were still in class. After class was done everyone has to come here and finish preparing everything with you, excluding Ochaco of course. She was his current best friend and was tasked to keep him occupied for sometime so we could all hide and all. Honestly your excited was making you go faster than you anticipated, your breath was warm as you were going up and down chairs to be tall enough to reach the ceiling and put the All Might banner and balloons you managed to obtain.

You carefully placed the plates and cups, All Might themed of course, on the table. Each plate and cup with a name on it so no one would get mixed up, that also prevented you from forgetting anyone. You prepared the soft and energy drinks you had brought the day before and put them on the table alongside crackers, chips and nerunerune kits. Candy for the sweet guy, you were proud of the connection you had made at the supermarket. You even got to use UA's party things, so you had confetti on the table, on the ground and even found a red carpet to put at the door leading to Midoriya's chair. Oh his chair, you took an extra time on it. It had little All Might stickers on it you brought for this special occasion, an All Might cushion sitting bare seemingly waiting for Izuku to sit down on. You were overjoyed it was so perfect and turned out how you imagined it.

After the bell rang, the others rushed to the dorm and were surprised to see you had done everything. You took the paper hats, All Might themed why wouldn't they be, and ended one to each and everyone. Mina insisted on having colorful streamers, you couldn't disagree it was a great idea for sure, the clean up was going to be a nightmare but that's for later.

You all got in your hiding spots and turned off the lights, Ochako texted you and said she was near with Midoriya. Your heart was racing, your face red. Barely hyperventilating at this point, you brushed your palm against your chest to contain your excitement. The door clicked open.

"Ochako-san? Why is it so dark in there?" Midoriya was intrigued and turned on the light. Seconds after, you all jumped up and screamed happy birthday to the birthday boy. Midoriya was surprised, his eyes wide and sparkling as he scanned the place and everyone in the room. He smiled brightly, showing his pearly white teeth. His cheeks tinted pink at this point. He thanked everyone, one by one, until it was you left. He approached you, he seemed excited from what you could tell.

"My raitō! Everyone told me you planned all this and I could never thank you enough!" He engulfed you in his muscular arms.

Your eyes widened, he had just called you his precious and on top of that he was hugging you. Heat rushed to your whole face and ears. Your pupils dilated, you inhaled his sweet scent that filled your lungs to the brim. You giggled finally hugging him back.

"It was nothing Izu, nothing is enough to compare to you." You admitted, a knot forming in your throat as the words spilled out your mouth. Izuku instantly lifted his head up from the hug and he was scarlet red at this point. He started stuttering and muttering, you couldn't really understand what he was saying so you just laughed. With the courage you had managed to form you gave him a small peck on the cheek and went to Todoroki to get the gifts out of their hiding spots in his room.

Izuku was frozen in place, his chin trembled as he tried to process what just happened. His hand trailed slowly to his cheek and realization hit him straight in the face. He had not studied them enough, that wasn't in his notes.

The time for the gifts came, everyone hurried at the table as Izuku sat down on his custom chair. He was so nervous, that was a lot of attention on him at once and you were still there, sweetly grinning at him. He opened each gift gently as to keep the All Might merched wrapping paper and thanked everyone for their gifts. The last one was yours and he was absolutely thrilled, his palms shaking and his heart racing. He opened the box hidden under the wrapping paper and lifted an eyebrow, the box was empty.

"Is- is this normal Y/N ?" He said scanning the box, flipping it upside down and shaking it.

You were freaking out. Everything was perfect but this. The gift wasn't in the box. Without even thinking, you screamed, terrified and hurried to Todoroki's room, it must still be there. Izuku followed you and motioned the others to stay put in their place.

"Where the fuck is it!? I swear it was just there!" Your eyes scanned every corner of Todoroki's room in desperation. You were moving every single piece of furniture trying to find the gift for Izuku, you rambled on about where it could be and didn't hear it feel Izuku's presence in the room. His brows narrowed and he stepped towards you. He placed his hand on your shoulder stopping you dead in your tracks. You were crying, the frustration was too much for your poor heart and soul to handle.

He opened his arms and smiled at you,

"Y/N please calm down, I don't need a material gift it's all fine I promise. We can have fun with the others and we'll search for the gift after the party how does that sound to you? Is this ok?"

You accepted the embrace, slowly nodded rubbing your eyes. "I guess this is. I'm so sorry Zuku it was meant to be a perfect birthday. I was so focused on you and your birthday party I even forgot to put the gift in the box." You managed to trail out between small whimpers and crys. Izuku gently rubbed your back as you confessed to him, he was happy you trusted him with your emotions. Seeing you vulnerable like this comforted his love for you, if you could break your outer walls down for him, he could do the same for you.

"I understand the struggle, it was the same to me when it was your birthday honestly. You're just so mesmerizing I lost myself for a moment." You looked at him with mouth agape, face redder than it had ever been. He chuckled and pecked your forehead, just as red as you were.

"Your presence and attention towards me and my birthday is the greatest gift you could have given me, Aijin."

Takeo.

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taiyaki-translations · 6 months ago

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Murmurs of Flourishing Blossoms - 5

Season: Winter Characters: Kaoru, Mika, Tatsumi, Midori, Izumi, Shu, Chiaki Translator: taiyaki-translations

Izumi: First of all, let me be clear, today’s the only free day I have to give you this special lesson. If you dare waste my precious time, I will immediately send you on the return flight home, got it?

Kaoru: Now, now, Senacchi. Lighten up your expression. If you keep your face like that, you might get wrinkles.

Izumi: Ha? Wrinkles? Apologize to my face right now!

Midori: (Ugh… Why aren’t Kagehira-senpai and Kazehaya-senpai here… I want to get special lessons from Anzu-san too. Please don’t leave me to deal with these two seniors alone…)

Izumi: Takamine, what’s with that expression?

Midori: Uh… I’m sorry…!

Izumi: Why do you keep apologizing? No one’s asked you to say it. Look lively, not like you want to run away at any moment.

Midori: Hiii… I’m scared!

Kaoru: (Takamine-kun is tall but is acting like a scared little animal right now, while Senacchi likes to bully his juniors. So this scene of them together is really funny~)

(Still, if Takamine-kun gets too nervous, the effectiveness of the training will decrease and Senacchi will just get angrier. It’ll be one whole vicious cycle so I need to find some kind of common topic that will lighten the mood.)

By the way, Moricchi also came to Itsuki-kun’s atelier last summer right? (1) Before Takamine-kun came here, did Moricchi give you any advice as your unit leader?

Midori: …Since I didn’t specifically tell him, Morisawa-senpai probably has no idea I’m here.

Kaoru: (Eh? Did I step on a landmine? Did Takamine-kun get into a fight with Moricchi?)

Midori: Sorry, that’s my phone. Let me check the number. It might be a spam call…

(So Morisawa-senpai’s alive… I don’t really want to answer, but seeing as he called me, it’s probably something important…) (2)

Chiaki: “Takamine! I didn’t expect you to take on overseas work so soon! I’m so proud of you!”

“It would be better if you could give me a heads up while you’re at it, too! Are you getting accustomed to life in Paris?”

Kaoru: Moricchi~ Me and Senacchi are here too. Isn’t it mean of you to only say hello to Takamine-kun?

Chiaki: “Hakaze! Sena! I missed you both lots too! I’ll leave Takamine to you both, please take good care of my junior, will you? The four of us should go to karaoke together after you come home ♪”

Midori: Senpai, are you just going to sing a medley of the all-time Hero Sentai theme songs again? Honestly, you hummed them during practice so often I got sick of them…

Izumi: I’d expect as much… The last time we went to karaoke, this guy sang those songs and even did the dances. (3) It was sooo annoying.

Kaoru: Haha, Takamine-kun and Senacchi found something strange to bond over. As expected, the mood became a lot better because of Moricchi ♪

Chiaki: “Hahaha ☆ I don’t know what’s going on but if there’s ever any problems, just call for a hero!”

Tatsumi: This garden is really special. Since the flowers are all varieties that bloom in the winter, they made this garden so we can enjoy their beauty and be healed by nature even in the loneliness of winter.

Doesn’t the client’s choice of location for the shoot and exhibition reflect this wish?

Mika: Yeah! I’m already lookin’ forward to what kinda effect the exhibition will have ♪

At first, Midori-kun didn’t seem like he was in good condition, so I was worried.

But durin’ the individual shoots, he seemed more relaxed. And the teddy bear that Midori-kun brought really made the whole setting all fairytale-like. The photographer was also very happy.

Midori: Ahaha, at first I was nervous because I kept repeating all of Sena-senpai’s pointers in my head… But thanks to Tatsumi-senpai taking a walk with me in the gardens, I was able to relax.

Tatsumi: I didn’t expect to come across a fan of Midori-san’s during the walk. Midori-san is really popular.

Midori: Technically, they are a Japanese fan that was travelling in Paris. They have been supporting RYUSEITAI for a while now, so I was really happy I could meet them by chance.

Tatsumi: I see, I’m sure the fan was thrilled. They kept hugging the teddy bear you gave them as a gift tightly. Their feelings were quite serious.

Midori: Ehehe, I feel completely healed. I’m so grateful to my fans and to my seniors. Thank you for taking care of me…♪

Tatsumi: I’m really glad I could be of help. Endings where everyone can be happy are the best, amen.

Kaoru: Here here~ Everyone, look who’s here—

Mika: Oshi-san?! Why are you here? I hope my performance didn’t disappoint ya…

Shu: Hmph, did you not care to judge for yourself? Or perhaps, did you carelessly release a product that you yourself thought was an imperfect, haphazard work? If that’s the case, then you truly should be ashamed.

Mika: Nnah, I think I did a good job…

Shu: Then you should be more confident! Don’t get caught up in the petty gossip of others nor try to seek recognition from authority figures! Show your pride as an artist!

Mika: (Oshi-san…! So dashin’…!) (4)

Kaoru: Oh, Anzu-chan, you were here. I was looking for you just now~

Actually, it’s not that important… No… That’s not to say it isn’t important but uh… Um! A-Anyway, p-please accept this bouquet…!

Haha, I’m less nervous when I see you smile. I was worried you wouldn’t like it.

Uh? Why am I suddenly giving this to you? Well, we were all holding flowers during the photo shoot, so I was worried you’d be sad that you didn’t get one too, despite being the only girl present ♪

Just kidding~ I wanted you to relax a little here, Anzu-chan, but since you came overseas, you’ve been receiving special training in making costumes and arranging the exhibition hall. I was hoping this would cheer you up at least a little bit.

Although not all of them have expressed it in words, everyone cares about you and this bouquet is to show our gratitude.

We’ve all had a lot of fun these past few days. It’s all thanks to you that our trip overseas has gone so smoothly.

Mika: Ngah, Hakaze-senpai is so sly. Sneakin’ off secretly t’ say all this to Anzu-chan by himself~

Kaoru: Haha, you just have to seize the opportunity yourself at times like this ♪

Let me ask one more question. Before we left, Anzu-chan asked us what the most important thing we brought with us was. I was actually curious about what Anzu-chan’s answer would be?

Mika: I wanna know too! There’s lots of things I wanna talk about with Anzu-chan as well—

Kaoru: You’ll give your answer after thinking it over carefully? That’s fine, you can take your time. We have lots of it…♪

Translation Notes: 1. Referring to the story Astraea's Atelier. 2. Possibly a callback to Motor Show, where Chiaki was often absent from the unit due to being busy with work, to the point that Midori would say "he's dead." 3. Referring to Izumi's 4* feature scout story, Alma Mater. 4.The word Mika says here can also mean "handsome" but I used "dashing" since it fit the context better.

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#ensemble stars #enstars #enstars translation #kaoru hakaze #mika kagehira #tatsumi kazehaya #midori takamine #shu itsuki #izumi sena #murmurs of flourishing blossoms

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sm1l3b0t · 7 months ago

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4 and 10!

hi!

4. do you have any characters you wish interacted more?

this is a difficult one because theres so many relationships i wish we saw more of. orv is so long but its so chock full of interesting characters and dynamics i can easily list like 10 of these. gun to my head though id have to say kim dokja, lee gilyoung and shin yoosoung! every time theyre together they're a unique combination of adorable and heartbreaking. i am dragging his deadbeat dad ass back from whatever suicide hes currently busy attempting and making him have a nice family dinner with the two of them!!

i also think kim dokja and lee jihye have a fucking FASCINATING relationship though....i think out of all of the kids she's the one attempts to mimic his self sacrificial tendencies the most, (all though shin yoosoung and lee gilyoung also try and imitate him if im remembering right.......the cycle of self sacrifice is STRONG in that family) and i think her 'lmao youre so lame old man who even cares about you PLEEEEEAAASSSEE PLEASE DONT GO' dynamic with him is so funny. and also somewhat tragic. so yeah i think my final answer is kim dokja + the youngest trio from kimcom. although i do also spend a lot of time wishing we saw more of yoo jonghyuk and yoo mia.......

10. any popular thing in the fandom you cant stand?

aside from the way so many joongdok fans will erase han sooyoungs importance to the narrative and her relationship with them to facilitate their yaoi (which ive complained about so many times i dont think i need to repeat it here).....ok, this could just be a different interpretation kind of thing but i dislike when people use kim dokjas objectively very warped perception of himself, where he's like 'oh yeah im so evil for caring for these children' to do a complete 180 and be like 'oh hes the best guy ever with no moral complexity'. he did some fucked up stuff!! i dont think hes evil at all. i also think that orv loses a lot of its teeth when you refuse to consider the moral complexity of him only saving a handful of people on that train, or any of the other many instances where he sacrificed random nameless side characters he didnt care about to achieve his goals. were his goals good? yes. but theres still a complexity there that was one of main things that hooked me on orv that i dont see discussed much.

also fellow white fans stop calling kim dokja a rat its racist and its weird. ive been seeing people in the fandom ask white fans to cut that shit out literally since i joined in 2021 and its still ongoing. weird as shit! cut it out!

thanks for the ask <3<3<3

#orv ask game

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sunshine304 · 6 months ago

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Movies watched in 2024: The Fall Guy

Please go watch this!

I had such a good time with this movie! Ryan Gosling plays stuntman Colt Seavers who quits the business after a serious injury almost costs him his life. But then he's roped back into it, because he wants to help out his old flame Jody Moreno (Emily Blunt), who's a first time director on a big science fiction blockbuster. When on set, he's tasked by the film's producer (Hannah Waddingham) to find the film's star, Tom Ryder (Aaron Taylor-Johnson), who has vanished. Can Colt clear up the mystery and rescue Jody's movie?

Gosling and Blunt have great chemistry and sell the former lovers who had a fall out but still deeply care for each other really well. I loved them together and I also really liked that the movie took its time with some of their scenes, where they just talked about what went wrong without it being cut short by quips and the like. Those scenes were sincere and you are rooting for them to get back together.

I've seen Gosling's character described as a himbo but I'm not sure I subscribe to that as I don't think Colt is dumb. In over his head a bit at times, but he manages to adapt quickly. He does have huge Golden Retriever energy though! And he definitely is boyfriend material with no toxic behaviour in sight (like, Jody tells him at one point - obviously to hurt him because she is still hurt herself - that she got over him by getting together with "lots of" other men and he's basically like, "Yeah okay that's fair").

I liked the supporting cast as well - Winston Duke was really cool as the stunt coordinator and Colt's friend, Hannah Waddingham was good as the OTT insincere producer type, Aaron Taylor-Johnson sold the dickhead movie star really well, and Stephanie Hsu has a small but fun role as Ryder's assistant.

The stunt work in this movie is absolutely fantastic! Those are real stunts we are seeing and some of them are breathtaking. The whole climax of the movie was particularly entertaining. I also loved the fight scenes, especially the one in the club. Stay for the credits to see some BTS footage of the stunts as well as a mid credits scene.

The way they use music is also really great! There's a Taylor Swift needle drop that's very funny, and the way "I was made for loving you" is used as Colt's theme song (and actually shows up in the score itself!) is a wonderful idea.

Also, if you like to see dogs having a big role in a movie, this one's for you - Colt takes Ryder's dog Jean Claude with him, who is a trained stunt dog but only understands French commandos.

And lastly, what I really enjoyed was all the planting and pay off in this movie, including Chekhov's gun. XD I can think of at least six things that are mentioned earlier in the film and then become relevant later on.

Please go see this movie! It's super entertaining and a love letter to stunt work and the invisble people who contribute so much to movies.

(And for the Germans: The movie is based on a TV series that's called "Ein Colt für alle Fälle" in German - which was quite popular here, I think.)

#the fall guy #movies #movie reviews #my reviews #ryan gosling #emily blunt #aaron taylor-johnson #hannah waddingham #my posts #the fall guy review #reviews

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eponymoussquared · 2 years ago

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The only good thing Velma has done.

Velma is a train wreck. As everyone knows. It'd be an insult to the Scooby-Doo franchise if it was actually part of the Scooby-Doo Franchise, but its not. You can't have an origin story if the characters aren't in the origin. Somehow, nobody realized this.

However, Velma has done one good thing, and a very good thing at that. Let's talk about Be Cool Scooby Doo.

I never watched Mystery Incorporated beyond a few episodes, which were admittedly very good. The old cartoons were also before my time. So this was one of the first iterations I got into. While this did-mean I didn't appreciate the in-jokes, I still loved it. It was funny, had surprisingly three-dimensional characters while also being overexaggerated caricatures at the same time, and while the story structure was formulaic, they were also willing to subvert and play with it. There was meta-humor, but ti was more characters talking about how unlikely the situation was, or how they keep meeting monsters, instead of deliberately mentioning shows.

It wasn't anything groundbreaking, but I liked it alot. However, apparently that wasn't a popular opinion. Alot of people didn't like the show because of the artstyle(apparently it reminded them of family guy, although I don't see it) and just-never watched it. Combined with Cartoon Network airing it at bad times and alot of troubled production, it kind of fell under the radar for the most part, and wasn't super well liked, especially after Mystery Incorporated being so serious, and Be Cool being so silly. Then Velma came, and people started to get nostalgic for the old shows. They also seem to have rediscovered this show along the way, and now many are wondering if they were a bit harsh towards it. Seriously, I've seen the comment "Perhaps I was a bit harsh towards you" regarding the show about one million times now. They found that the jokes were funny, the characters were likable, and everyone wasn't a jerk with no redeeming qualities. I always liked Be Cool, from the character dynamics(Shaggy and Scooby being so used to being chased by monsters they're experts at distracting them so they can escape, even spontaneously finding costumes somehow, Daphne being incredibly eccentric but also being the heart of the group, encouraging them when their down and always reassuring anyone who needs help. Its the most personality I've seen of here in-almost anything, really.) Velma(The be cool version[The 'Cool' version, if you will....you won't? Yeah, okay, thats fair]) is a bit toned down if anything, very deadpan and tired, but that makes it a lot funnier when she's actually emotional, and she is still invested in helping her friends out and having a good time solving mysteries with them. She's definitely alot more caring then her Indian counterpart. Sure she still has snark, but she's also willing to give affection and actually call the gang friends.

Then theres Fred. He's a bit meaner here,(due to spoiler reasons-yes he has reasons why, but I won't tell) but he's far from incapable of introspection, often realizing his desire to solve mysteries, and take the lead on them, can make people upset or get hurt. While he usually ends up being somewhat right, he does still learn a lot by being around the gang. I've heard some people theorize that Velma(In the eponymous show, not the Be cool version) is supposed to be seen as a jerk, so that we can watch her grow into a better person. From what little I've seen of the show(no, Im not watching it, i've heard enough horror stories), that might be true, but the fact is she's not likable enough to want to stick around for. The gang in Be cool are fun to watch, even when some of them are being jerks. And while its sad it took Velma to get people to give this show a chance, I'm very happy its starting to get some of the recognition it deserved. Stay Cool, Scooby Doo.

TL;DR: If you have a bad taste in your mouth from Velma and want some good-old fashioned mystery solving-fun with the gang, while still being able to poke fun at them a little without poking fun at YOU for watching them, watch Be Cool Scooby Doo. It's a pretty good time.

#I know I started this tumblr for writing #but just typing out my thoughts is kinda nice #I might do more of that until I finish another story #Be Cool Scooby Doo #i cant believe I finally got to use 'eponymous' in a sentence #oops! this is a rant now

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circesays · 2 years ago

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IM AM SO MAD THAT TUMBLR ERASED MY FIRST VERSION OF THIS. WHY. Time to rewrite 30 minutes of editing.

Frustration aside, here’s some notes for a fun “villain” Tango and hero Jimmy friendship story! Features Rancher Duo, misunderstood dungeon master Tango, unwilling hero Jimmy, ravagers, wardens, and adventures, oh my!

(I put most of it below a cut because I wrote a lot lol have fun!!)

———— :) ————

Jimmy is the prophesied Hero and member of the legendary Minecraft Adventuring Guild (MCAG), whos party has abandoned him due to his clumsiness to “protect” him, leaving him at home with a sense of betrayal and some very reckless ideas.

Tango is the mighty villain and ruler of Deep Frost Citadel, menace to all who live… yeah except he’s not. Tango actually runs a Ravager and Warden sanctuary, where he rescues abused ravagers from pillagers and maintains a healthy skulk network for his Wardens.

Jimmy marches into DFC and finds Tango with no intent to harm him (he was prophesied to defeat Tango and was kinda forced into it by his village and adventuring guild) and is like “I’m here to negotiate. Stop terrorizing people. Also please don’t murder me” and Tango instead is like “actually we don’t do that here. You seem kinda lonely and bored, how would you like a job?” (And a boyfriend and/or beloved friend cough cough-)

Jimmy and Tango run Deep Frost Citadel and Decked Out (the sanctuary/dungeon run) for a couple months together when finally Tango senses the heroes’ party approaching and decides to absolutely Clown On Them.

So they enter and are like “We’ve come to end your evil deeds once and for all!” And Jimmy enters the room like “Babe, Janet just gave birth to two absolutely amazing, healthy baby ravagers and ohmigosh they’re so cute you gotta come see them- oh hey guys!”

Cue absolutely flabbergasted stammering and indigent arm/hand motions until Tango and Jimmy just break down laughing.

-More Pieces/Story elements/headcanons-

-Tango can sense when someone is approaching Deep Frost Citadel with the intent to harm

-he usually attempts to ward them off with snowstorms and negotiation, but very very rarely is forced to kill intruders to defend himself and his assistants. He mourns every death and always returns them to the nearest settlement

-Tango has run Decked Out for years, a dungeon run that’s healthy for the ravagers and the Wardens and allows people to gamble for treasures with only risk of minor harm (they can enderport out at any time)

-Most people nowadays believe Decked Out is actually a villainous scheme to provide raids with ravagers and create an army to destroy the world with Wardens and ravagers.

-Jimmy’s old party consists of Grian, Lizzie, Joel, Scott, Pearl, Gem, Sausage, Fwhip, and Scar (who is now the clumsiest but still skilled with the bow). He loves them dearly but hates how they underestimate him. He’s not very good at swordplay or archery but he’s charismatic and funny and people like him.

-Jimmy could never hate his old party but it took him a while to stop being bitter

-Jimmy is the son of the town fisherwoman, and he loves fishing and swimming. Unfortunately he wasn’t able to continue his hobby while out training to fight

-Jimmy and Tango both know MCSL (Minecraft sign language lol). Everyone in DFC has to know it because of the Wardens, but Jimmy learned from the children of his village because he wanted to be able to talk to lots of different people

-the MCAG is a large and extremely famous adventuring guild that consists of many inner-guilds and parties, including the popular Hermits, Empires, and DreamSMP (Dream’s Survival-Magic Parties)

-Captain Sparklez leads the MCAG because of course he does.

-Jimmy’s old party is unusual because it consists of Empires members and Hermits. But his party was also a “temporary” party that was only supposed to last until Tango was defeated

-the question that remains after all of this is… what now?

Please please feel free to use any of these ideas. This is just for fun. I might write it later.

#mcyt #empires smp #jimmy solidarity #hermitcraft #solidaritygaming #tango tek #tangotek #team rancher #ranchduo #fantasy AU #hero Jimmy #villain Tango ish #fic ideas #mentions of DreamSMP #hc x empires #hc x dlsmp #honestly lots of crossovers here but it’s funnnn

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maximons · 3 years ago

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Tricks And Treats

Summary: Pietro tries to get Wanda and Y/n to finally admit their feelings for each other and takes them to a haunted house. Too bad Wanda is a full on scaredy cat...or is that exactly what is needed?

Word Count: 2,915

Genre: Fluff

Requested?: Yes

A/N: Finally back with the Fluff! Here’s that one shot I promised like a week ago lmao Happy Reading!

Halloween was for sure your favorite holiday.

You knew you were in the minority with that thought, seeing most people picked Christmas as their favorite, but you didn’t care. You always loved the time of year that came with Halloween, your birthday fell pretty close to it, you get to dress up and pretend to be someone else for a day, and it’s full on spooky season! What wasn’t there to love?

Well apparently a lot, at least according to your best friend Wanda.

For someone who’s a witch, you find it very funny that she doesn’t like the holiday.

You first met Wanda during the whole Ultron situation, back then she took on a more ‘emo’ appearance. Don’t tell anyone you said this, but you wouldn’t mind if she adopted the look again cause damn, so you just assumed Halloween and all things spooky would be for her, right?

Wrong.

You quickly learned that Wanda was not a fan of scary. You remember asking her to go see this new horror movie with you, it was your first time hanging out alone together and you just figured it’d be something she was into.

By the end of the movie, her face was buried in her knees, and she didn’t believe you when you told her the movie was over. The poor teenager working the theater was pretty annoyed with you both.

Needless to say, you didn’t bother her about anything spooky related again.

So when Pietro came to you two asking if you wanted to go to the new haunted house in town, you were beyond shocked that she agreed without a second thought.

“Uh, Wanda are you sure?” You asked, very hesitant. “I don’t know if you’ve ever been to a haunted house before, but-”

“I know what they are, Y/n.” Wanda cut you off before you finished, seeming very enthused, which confused you more. “I think it’ll be really cool!”

“Yeah...Wands, I know this group. This isn’t your typical ‘few scary decorations with the occasional light jump scare’ thing. These guys are intense.” You tried again. You didn’t know what had gotten into the witch, but you were sure she was making a mistake here.

“Y/n/n, relax. I’m not a child, I can handle myself. Trust me, okay? It’ll be great!” The bright smile on Wanda’s face was always a sight you welcomed, but it confused you in the moment. Still, you knew once her mind was set on something...let’s just say it’d be easier to find all the infinity stones than to talk her out of it.

“Alright, if you say so.” You shrugged, deciding it was best to drop the topic. Besides, she was right, Wanda’s a grown woman who can make her own choices. You just get to wait to be able to tell her that her choice was a stupid one. “So Friday night?” You asked Pietro, who nodded excitedly.

“Friday night!” He confirmed.

“Okay, cool.” You took another quick sip of your morning coffee before setting your mug down. “I gotta get ready for training. So happy to be working with Steve today instead of Nat, he’s always a walk in the park.” You said sarcastically with a roll of your eyes. “Wish me luck.”

The twins wished you luck as you left the room to go get ready. After they were sure you were out of earshot, the witch turned to her brother. “This is your plan? Are you crazy?”

“I know, I know, but trust me, okay?” He reassured, walking to the fridge to grab himself a drink. “Y/n loves this stuff, and as she is the love of your life-”

“Whoa, whoa, I-I never said-”

“-You should experience the things that she loves to do.” Pietro finished, ignoring his sister’s intervention. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your guys’ way, and you have the whole evening to yourselves. Sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, until I act like a complete, how do they say, ‘spaz’ around her again.” Wanda sighed, leaning on the kitchen counter in defeat.

“You won’t. You know what kind of things to expect now. And if you do freak out, all the more reason to be by her side. She will protect you.”

Wanda looked at her brother in confusion. “I can protect my self.”

Pietro rolled his eyes playfully. “Not what I meant. You will see, sestra.”

Friday night came before you know it, and you, Wanda and Pietro were waiting in the line to buy your tickets to enter.

“Holy shit, this is a long line.” Pietro complained, causing you to chuckle.

“Not surprising. It’s the week before Halloween, weather’s nice, and this group doesn’t come to New York a whole lot. More surprised it isn’t longer actually.” You shrugged.

“Why don’t they come to New York? I thought this was one of America’s more popular states?” Wanda asked.

“It is, but ever since Loki invaded and our merry band of misfits formed, tourism and things like this have been down a whole lot.” You leaned down to get closer to Wanda’s ear. “I guess we’ve been the scary ones all along.” You joked, but Wanda was more focused on trying to calm down and forget the feeling of your breath against her ear.

“Everything alright there, Wanda?” Pietro asked after a moment, teasing smirk on his face. Before Wanda could even fire back, a voice from in front of you spoke up.

“No way! You guys are Avengers!” The group in front of you turned around, one of the guys recognized you instantly.

“Uh, yes...we are.” Wanda awkwardly stated. You knew Wanda hated fan interactions, and to be honest you weren’t a fan of these situations either. They were unpredictable. The Avengers were either beloved or despised, and you’ve been on both ends of the reaction spectrum. Wanda and Pietro, unfortunately, have seen a lot more animosity than you and the others.

Honestly, you couldn’t even fault the ones that didn’t love you guys. You weren’t ignorant and knew your battles have caused a lot of problems for a lot of people. You could sympathize, but that didn’t mean you wanted to be on the receiving end of that anger. Especially not when you were trying to just have a fun night out with your friends. “Look guys, we’re really just here to have a good time. We don’t wanna cause a scene.” You said.

“Nah, nah, it’s cool. I think you guys are awesome!” The guy said, and it was clear to you then that the dude was baked out of his mind. “Especially you, with the red wiggly woos!” He pointed to Wanda as he gave a terrible impression of her hand movements. You smiled, happy to see a fan interaction go well for Wanda.

The joy you felt didn’t last long though, as another guy in the group turned to you, blunt in his hand. “Hey, you’re the fire one right? Can you do me a solid?” He gestured to you, asking you to give him a light. You sighed, the twins chuckling at the situation.

“Yeah, but don’t ask again.” You ignited the tip of your finger, gently placing it on the end of the blunt. The group turned around in line and continued to go about their own conversation. You felt Wanda elbow your side, and you turned to see a smirk on her face. When you heard Pietro’s snicker, you groaned.

“Shut up.”

“Look at you, helping delinquents. Aren’t you supposed to be a superhero? Bringer of justice and all of that?” Wanda teased and you rolled your eyes playfully.

“Yeah, but I’m the fun one. It’s just weed.” You said confidently, but the witch saw through it and you dropped the act. “And the last time that happened and I said no, the dude burst into tears.” You said under your breath.

“There it is.” She smiled, and you couldn’t help but smile back despite you being the subject of mockery. You loved seeing her smile, you didn’t care about the reason why.

Before you knew it, Pietro announced that you guys were next in line to buy tickets. He bought his and stepped aside so you can go next. “Hi, two please.” Wanda turned to you with her eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“Wha- Y/n, I can afford it.” She chuckled nervously, flattered by the action.

“I know, but when I have to drag you out of here cause you’re paralyzed in fear, at least you won’t regret dropping forty bucks on it.” You shrugged as you handed the cashier your credit card.

Wanda’s face reddened, something she quickly tried to hide from her brother who was enjoying this way too much. Her flustered state faded quickly when she processed what you said. “Hey!” You chuckled before thanking the cashier as she returned your card.

“Please go to the table to sign your waivers, entrance is down that hill. Enjoy your night.” The monotone voice told you that the poor woman’s been working all night. You didn’t have time to dwell on that though as you felt a panicked tapping on your arm.

“What’s wrong? We haven’t even entered yet.” You teased.

“W-what did she mean by waivers?” You chuckled at the panicked tone in the witch’s voice.

“Just means if you have a heart attack or something, you can’t sue.” You shrugged nonchalantly, but Wanda took it very seriously and turned to you with even wider eyes.

“That can happen!?”

“Well, it happened at least once if the thought of doing a waiver.” You answered, once again, nonchalantly. You looked at Wanda and could swear you saw her blood run cold. You laughed, which resulted in you receiving a glare. “Relax, Wan, you’ll be fine. You’re an Avenger, you’ve faced off against killer robots, stared death in the face time and time again!” You exclaimed dramatically as you waved your arms. You noticed Wanda start to smile and relax her shoulders.

“Thanks, Y/n.” She gave you a sweet smile, and you couldn’t help but melt.

“Yeah, anytime.” Your eyes locked with Wanda, you were about to look away but couldn’t. ‘Wow, were her eyes always this green? They’re beautiful.’ You thought.

A blush appeared on the witch’s face as she tore her gaze from you. You were about to ask what happened, but were interrupted. “Let’s go slow pokes!” Pietro’s voice shouted, effectively breaking the moment.

“Yeah, yeah Sonic, we’re coming!” You rolled your eyes as you shouted back. Wanda giggled at the banter between you and her brother, she loved that you two were close. With that, you and her headed down the hill towards the entrance.

After about a half hour, it seemed Wanda was holding up well. The three of you walked out of the corn maze, and she had a triumphant smile on her face. “I thought you said this place was scary.” She teased causing you to roll your eyes playfully.

“Congratulations you survived the corn maze, you get to join the hall of fame with the other twelve year-olds.” As if to emphasize your point, three twelve year-olds ran out of the maze in giggles, clearly unaffected. Wanda pouted. “Aw, don’t worry. I thought you were very brave.” You teased yet again, which resulted in an elbow to the side.

“You’re a jerk.” Wanda held back a smile as she strutted forward. You laughed as you jogged forward to catch up.

“Alright, are you guys ready for the big one?” Pietro asked and your eyes widened.

“Oh, Piet, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You said as you nudged your head towards Wanda, hinting that you didn’t think she could handle that. Unfortunately, she caught on.

“Aw come on, Y/n. I’m not a baby.”

“I know, but you can’t go from the corn maze to...that.” You gestured towards the haunted maze entrance, a giant purple demon with smoke blowing out of it’s ears looming over. You guys turned at the sound of screams, and saw a group run out of the maze in fear, which then dissolved into laughter.

“They seem to be having fun.” Wanda gestured towards the group.

“Yeah, after the screams of terror.” You shot back. “You can’t go from walking around the block to running a marathon.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” Wanda strutted forward towards the entrance, determined to prove you wrong.

You groaned as you looked over to Pietro, who watched the whole ordeal with a cheeky smile. “Your sister’s insane.”

“Yeah, but you love it.” Pietro said under his breath, but you still heard it.

“What?”

“Nothing!” With that, the man sped forward, catching up to his sister at the entrance. You stared after him for a moment in shock before joining them.

The three of you walked the path, and everything seemed to be going well...for all of five seconds. The first jump scare happened behind Wanda. The loud screech startled her, and she jumped with a scream. She stumbled into your arms, and you wrapped them around her in order to keep her from falling. You chuckled, and Wanda looked up at you with the intention to glare. However, when your eyes locked again, Wanda couldn’t help but stare.

You, of course, had to ruin the moment. “Not too late to turn back, y’know. This is just the beginning.” Wanda groaned and pulled away from you, continuing forward. You laughed. “You can hold my hand if you want!” You don’t know what compelled you to say that, but you knew you weren’t entirely joking.

And you didn’t regret it when Wanda reached out and held your hand without another word. You smiled, squeezing her hand.

What you didn’t see was Pietro giving Wanda a thumbs up as you both walked past.

At some point, you guys lost Pietro in the dark maze. Wanda wasn’t even worried as she still held your hand tightly, and you knew the man would be fine and he’ll meet up with you at the exit.

Wanda had been holding up better than you thought. You wouldn’t say she was good per say, seeing as she screamed and practically jumped into your arms at the slightest sound, but she hadn’t collapsed on the ground in tears yet, so you’d count that as a win.

“Gotta say, Maximoff. I’m impressed.” You said as you two walked down the maze hand in hand.

“I’m just being that super brave Avenger like you said.” Wanda giggled, and you couldn’t help but melt at the noise.

“Well you’re doing an awesome job. Even if the last three guys almost made you pee your pants.” You laughed loudly as you took in the shocked reaction the woman gave you.

“Y/n!” She scolded, but before you could even respond, the worst jump scare yet occurred.

A large animatronic growled and lowered from the ceiling right behind Wanda. The witch turned to look briefly as she screamed loudly and jumped to you again. This time, however she literally jumped into your arms. You quickly braced your hands under her thighs, catching her, as she wrapped her legs around your waist. The force from the jump caused you to stumble back into a darker corner of the maze. Your back hit a hay wall, and you and Wanda laughed at the moment. Your laughter continued for a moment, and Wanda lifted her head from your shoulder to look into your eyes. Both of you got quiet as you continued to stare, sensing the moment shift.

“You okay?” You whispered, almost as if talking to loudly would shatter the moment. Wanda nodded, eyes still locked onto yours. After a moment of silence, she spoke up.

“Y’know...I think a distraction would help.” Your eyebrows shot up at the insinuation. You doubted you heard her correctly, but when you saw her eyes shift down to your lips, you knew what she wanted. And you wouldn’t lie and say you didn’t want it too.

“I...Yeah, I think I could help with that.” You barely got your sentence out when Wanda smashed her lips to yours roughly. You tightened your hold on her thighs as she wrapped her arms around your neck. You stood there, making out roughly against the wall of the maze. As wild and sudden as this was, you wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

Pietro noticed you two were gone for a really long time. He was beginning to get concerned, and pulled out his phone ready to call one of you. Turns out he didn’t need to.

You two came out of the maze, only you weren’t alone. You and Wanda each had a security guard holding your arm. After you two were out of the maze completely, they let you go and walked off. It was then that Pietro noticed both of your disheveled states. And he could swear he saw two or three hickeys forming on your neck.

“No you didn’t-” He started, but you cut him off.

“Not a word.” Your hand found it’s way to Wanda’s as you guys walked towards the exit of the park, figuring it’d be bad Avengers press if you guys stayed any longer at this point. You had an awesome night anyway, and didn’t care if it ended a little early. Besides, you had a feeling you’d get to have some more...fun when you got back to the compound.

You didn’t notice Pietro high five Wanda’s free hand.

#wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 years ago

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Peace of Mind ~ Hatake Kakashi

It’s more of a... Licking each other’s wounds, type of little imagine, where a mysterious girl goes out of her way to talk to Kakashi, but he doesn’t know why, until she explains she is the sister of one of his old friends, and they share war stories together.

I’m planning something similar for Itachi, Kisame and maybe Pein too, but I’ll have to see~

The girl sat down at the base of a tree, reading, and listening in to what the silver-haired Jonin was trying to teach the young team that he was supposed to be testing. it was his first time, as a Jonin, aiding Genin teams, but he failed them without a second thought. Interesting approach to training, she thought, as she smiled. Obviously, those kids had no idea what they did wrong, not the first time, nor the second time, after being scolded by the teacher. What a shame.

Still, it was quite a fun and relaxing afternoon spent, and the weather was fine, so no loss here.

Still, that didn’t stop the girl from occasionally going to read where Genin teams and Jonin would usually trained, but nobody bothered to shoo her away from that spot. After all, she wasn’t troubling anyone with just her presence.

She looked up at the blue sky and sighed, a nostalgic smile on her face. “Is this the man you wanted me to befriend, brother?” but her question was left unanswered.

With a heavy heart, she made her way towards the Hokage’s office and smiled enigmatically, as she always did, and leisurely, or rather said, lazily greeted him. “I suppose... It’s time for me to join a proper team, isn’t it? After all, I never bothered to actually go up in rank. Isn’t it funny? Well, I guess I do need more money, after all, and with my title of Genin, I can’t do much, despite my profession.” she chuckled, shrugging carefree. “I’m glad to see you’ve come to terms with what happened, Y/N. Very well, I will be assigning you to a team of Genins, and you will be tested by a Jonin soon.” he smiled, as a grandfather would, and the girl merely mused at him. “Ah right, before I forget... I want to be on Kakashi’s team.” she said, before turning around and exiting the office, as the Hokage’s subordinates were all gasping in shock at her request. “Is she mad? Kakashi never passed any team before!” one of them cried out. “She’s not mad. She knows exactly what she’s doing.” the old man chuckled as he smoke from his pipe.

As requested, Y/N and her three other team mates, who, adorably, were merely 13 - Not that she was much older, per se, but at least taller than them - And they went up on the roof to have a brief chat with their Jonin, who made them all introduce themselves and tell their likes, dislikes and dream in life.

Y/N listened the three obnoxious boys bickering between their desires to be the strongest or the wealthiest or the most popular shinobi there is, and she couldn’t help but snort and roll her eyes, not realising it was already her turn.

“Ah, right. My turn. Let’s see, let’s see... My name is Y/N, I like reading, I dislike conflict and my dream is... Hmmm... Ah, yes! To find peace.” her voice was soft and chilled out, as if she had no care in the world. “By how empty-headed you are, I think you already found peace, dumbass!” one of the boys laughed at her, and she merely shrugged, with a serene smile on her face. “Yeah! You’re still a Genin at 17, and you think you stand a chance in our team? What a joke!” another continued mocking her. “I guess it’s never too late to search for the path you’re supposed to take.” she offered, taking out her book at reading, completely ignoring the three stoogies. “Enough, you guys. Tomorrow morning, before the break of dawn, come at the training area to test your survival skills. Oh, and, don’t eat. You’ll puke. Bye!” Kakashi poofed away as if he was never there, and Y/N, too, got up to leave. “See you at noon, guys. Don’t forget to eat breakfast!” she chuckled lightly as she jumped off the roof and went back to read under the tree.

The next day, at noon sharp, Y/N casually made her way to the designated testing area, reading and not paying attention to anything. She greeted the kids good afternoon, before plopping down on the soft grass and continued reading. Of course, the trio was angry, exhausted and famished, but she didn’t care. Obviously, Kakashi wasn’t there either, so who cares?

Less than an hour later, the Jonin arrived, coming up with the excuse that he got distracted by some black cat - And then gave them the assignment - Getting the two bells he’s holding, or return to the Academy. Fair, and simple, as he always did.

As expected, the 3 boys boasted about how they’ll get the bells, and instead of helping each other, they ended up fighting against each other, making the girl slap her face in disdain, shaking her head and sighing. Idiots.

“Uh... Guys? As Genins, we have no chance against a Jonin, you know that, right? So... Let’s try to work together and at least get one bell, and that’s the assignment.” the girl tried to get the boys’ help - Not because she needed, but because she needed to go by the rules - But, of course, they started mocking her for being a weakling. They can take the teacher by themselves! “...Oki doki, then! See you at the end, good luck!” she shrugged, wishing them good luck, as she went to sit down at the foot of a tree and read... Again. It was great for some light reading!

More than half an hour passed, and, to her surprise, a shadow obstructed her light source - Shadow that, as soon as she lifted her sight from the book, realised it was none other than Kakashi himself.

“Yo!” the girl greeted him lightly, as he crouched in front of her. “‘Sup?” “Just wondering what you were reading. You seem pretty captivated by it, considering you’re reading it instead of trying to get the bells, like all the others.” he explained, as the girl handed him her book. “I tried to ask them to work together and try to form a battle plan, but they rejected and went on their own... And you trapped two of them by now. I hoped the other one would try to help the others and realise they can’t take you down, but he merely laughed and mocked them. What’s the point in doing an assignment that you can’t do by yourself, when the whole idea of the exercise is to test our teamwork?” she explained, rather non-chalantly. “I need to waste time somehow, you know?” “I figured you’d get it. You have been watching my training closely these past months.” he called her out, making her chuckle shyly. “Ahhhh, so you did see me. I’m surprised.” her voice was just a tiny bit embarrassed. “Hard not to when you’re always in the same spot.” the silver haired man chuckled at her. “...Most people don’t.” she confessed, scratching the back of her neck. “Really, now?” he blinked in surprise. “Yep. I guess I blend in the landscape a bit too well for my liking.” she smiled at him lazily. “I wouldn’t say that.” he declared, getting up. “Ah, right. Kakashi, may I ask you something?” she got up suddenly, looking at him with a bit more urgency. “What is it?” he raised his brow in wander. “May I please have the bells?” she chuckled, extending her hand to him, which, in turn, made him chuckle too. “Nope.” he answered with glee. “Well, that’s too bad. At least I tried.” she laughed, very amused. “Since you’re the teacher of our team, you, too, are a member, thus, the point of the exercise is for our team to have the bells - Which, you do! Figured I’d play around with that notion a bit.” she grinned sheepishly. “Don’t give me that.” he ruffled her hair, leaving the place, obviously amused by her proposal. Pretty smart, he had to admit, and he was tempted to agree, but he didn’t want to give the other three the satisfaction of winning.

As the alarm resounded through the forest, Y/N went to help all three boys out of their traps, and they grumbled insults and curses under their breaths, calling her useless, as they walked towards the meeting point. Kakashi was already there, and the boys walked faster, to get in front of him. Y/N, however, walked at a leisure pace, and, as soon as she walked by Kakashi’s side, she, like a very skilled thief, snatched the bells and threw them at the boys, laughing at everyone shock.

“Well, did we win or what?” she asked, plopping down and resting her back on a wooden pole. “You really piss me off with your antics, you know?” the poor Jonin dragged his hand down his face, as if to show mental exhaustion. Oopsy. “Wait, we won?! But who gets to stay? There are only 2 bells and 4 of us!” one of the boys exclaimed in confusion. “None of you gets to stay.” the teacher answered, as he explained the point of the assignment and what it was supposed to test - And how miserably the boys failed. “To hell with that! Who cares about all that anyway?! Why should I give my life for another?! Look at these bastards who died! They have a whole-ass cenotaph in their memory! And for what?! They’re just some random guys forgotten by everyone!” one of the boys growled at the teacher, stomping next to the K.I.A. cenotaph, ready to kick it, only to, in the blink of an eye, find himself flying on the other end of the forest. “Don’t touch it with your filthy mongrel hands, you, scummy worm.” Y/N cursed him under her breath before turning around with a wide, fake smile. “Any more complaints on your part, or are you ready to leave and get better?” her words held poison - After all, she hated blatant disrespect like that the most. “I will only keep Y/N. The rest of you are back to the Academy to reflect on what is truly important in a mission.” Kakashi declared, as somehow, albeit very angry, the boys kinda understood their flaws, and left the place, disappointed, but with a lesson learnt. “I’m not entirely sure what am I supposed to say now. Thanks, I think?” she tilted her head to the side like a confused puppy. “I did nothing to be thanked for. We start training tomorrow around the same time as today.” he seemed more relaxed now, than when the other boys were around. “Ah, right. Do you, uh... Wanna come grab something to eat from the BBQ place?” she asked, a bit timid. “My treat.”

Albeit a bit confused, the man agreed, and together, they went to that BBQ house and got a table for two, somewhere in the back. Still, neither of them spoke for a while, until finally, Kakashi was the first to speak.

“Why did you choose now to become a ninja? And why did you specifically choose me as your teacher?” busted, as expected. Kakashi has always been remarkably smart and observant. “Technically speaking, I have been a proper ninja since I was 6 years old. But I haven’t done any missions since the war... I have been professing as a medical nin, since then, though. But... It gets rather lonely in that field. Doctors aren’t always as lovely and accepting as you’d think they are.” she chuckled elusively. “So... You began training again... Because you were lonely? That doesn’t answer my question.” he pulled down his mask to eat some meat bits. “My brother died in war. In my arms, saving me. Before he died, he told me to give you this necklace. He always wanted to be your friend, but he said you always pushed him and your team away. But he wasn’t mad. He knew of your past... Though, he never told me. He said it’s your business, whether you tell others what problems you have or not.” she smiled melancholically as she took off the pendant from around her neck and put it in his hand. “B/N was your brother...?” His voice was pained, and he obviously remembered him. “Yeah... I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you sooner. I just... I was a bit jealous. And heartbroken. He didn’t leave anything to me in particular, but he wanted his precious pendant to be given to some stranger. I was a bit angry, and hurt... But also, I didn’t want to part with him... But it’s fine now. I don’t have that childish mentality anymore. I’m still sorry, though.” she apologised sheepishly at her childishness. “...Thank you for telling me about this. When I heard that he died in war, I couldn’t handle losing both him, and my team mates, so I joned the ANBU soon after. But then, the Kyuubi attacked, and my teacher, the 4th Hokage, was killed, along with his wife.” he explained, although it was obviously painful. “Which was when I lost my parents.” the girl added, much to his surprise. “No wonder you felt lonely.” he nodded now, in realisation. “After B/N died in war, my parents refused to let me go out on missions. They trained me thoroughly, but never let me leave the village, so I chose to become a medical nin instead. At least I was attempting to save families, you know? After they died, though, I was so depressed that I tried to keep myself overworked so I wouldn’t think about it... But that wasn’t a great idea. It didn’t work, and I was spiraling harder. Which is why I’m here.” she went on, telling him, for the first time, her story. “I figured there was more than met the eye with you, but I didn’t think it would be so much. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for your brother... I didn’t even know he had a sister. I never listened to a word he said.” he confessed with shame. “Still... Have you ever opened the pendant?” he asked, looking at the open pendant. “No, why?” she blinked in confusion. “Look for yourself.” he said, as he showed her the two pictures inside the pendant - One was a picture of himself and all his friends, while the other one, was a picture of himself, hugging her child self. “Oh. I see. Dumbass B/N.” Despite trying her hardest not to cry, her eyes were still glimmering with forming tears. “Why do good people always die so fast?” she asked in a soft voice. “I wish I knew, Y/N.” he spoke in a dejected tone, holding her hand with both of his. “Before B/N died, he told me to look after you and be your friend. I wasn’t brave enough to actually talk to you... But I did go out of my way to search you and see who you were. And... You were just as I expected. A very depressed boy who hated the world so much for putting him through so much pain and injustice. I wanted to reach out to you since then, but I was too ashamed. At some point, you disappeared, and when I asked around, you were the ANBU captain, so I couldn’t know whether you were holding on by yourself well enough... Still, you had some friends who kept pestering you from time to time, so I assumed you were getting better, and I didn’t have to worry about you well-being.” she explained with a self-deprecating chuckle. “And when I stepped down from the ANBU position and became a teaching Jonin, you started looking after me again.” he deduced immediately. “I’m still surprised you noticed me. As I told you... Most people don’t. Hence why I never really made friends. People just didn’t want to talk to me, so... I just got used to it. It’s not fun, but... What can you do?” she shrugged, squeezing his hand. “Thank you... For telling me this. And I’m sorry for not being there for you, and for your brother, as I should have. My trauma and arrogance got the better of me for the longest time.” he kept apologising, but the girl merely shook her head and smiled to him. “Stop apologising, you did nothing wrong. Life is harsh and we can’t always treat our pain with ignorance, as if it never happened. Sometimes, no matter how much time passes, we never heal our heart wounds. That’s just how life is. It took me a while to get that, but hey, we’ re still pretty young. We have enough time to be wrong and learn from our mistakes. I’m just glad that I finally managed to talk to you, after so many years. 10 years, I think?” she mused, looking out of the window with a nostalgic look. “Yeah... 10 whole years. Did you choose that spot because you can see the cenotaph?” he asked, paying for the bill and getting up, pulling her with him. “Oh, busted, you got me. My brother liked reading, but never had the time, due to his training, so I just picked up his hobby. Thought it would be cute to read with him.” she explained as she realised, Kakashi was guiding her to a flower shop, from where he got two flowers, and walked back to the cenotaph and sat down, dragging her down next to him and handing her one of the flowers, so she could gift to her deceased loved ones. “I come here every morning to see them again. When you have people in your life, you never treasure them as they deserve, then when they leave, you miss them and realise how important they were for you. But you can’t turn back time, nor can you revive the dead. All you can do is move forward and live in their memory too. You family would want to see you happy.” he continued, putting his arm around the girl and pulling her to his side. “So would yours, Kakashi.” she muttered in a soft voice. “Still... I think my brother is very happy now.” “How so?” he asked, caressing her hair as she leaned her head on his shoulder. “The boy he wanted to befriend finally has friends, his sister befriended that boy... And that boy gave her the peace she’s been wanting to achieve for 10 years now. What do you think?” she chuckled, snuggling closer into his arm. “I think that’s a pretty good outcome.” he agreed, with a light voice. “Ah, right. You don’t actually want me to be your teacher, do you? That’d be weird.” “No way. I’ll just tell the Hokage that I want to take the Jonin test, for real this this time, so we can be officially on par and go on missions together. Ah, maybe I can start teaching too at some point? That could be fun? But I have to watch how you do your job more and learn from the best teacher who never actually taught anyone so far.” she chuckled, teasing him. “Ahh.... Don’t call me out like that, Y/N, it hurts my feelings.” he let out a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

#naruto x reader #Naruto Shippuden #naruto shippuden x reader #naruto #hatake kakashi x reader #naruto imagine #naruto shippuden imagine #hatake kakashi imagine #hatake kakashi #kakashi x reader #kakashi #kakashi imagine

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apocalypticgargoyle · 3 years ago

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𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝘽𝙍𝙄𝘾𝙆 | 𝙠𝙖𝙧𝙡 𝙟𝙖𝙘𝙤𝙗𝙨 (18+)

edit by 🐓 anon. im still screaming over this.

∘ request: [insert the 14 asking for more Sapnap humor in a pt. 1.5 of Meet the Jacobses]

∘ pairings: edgy!Karl Jacobs x fm!reader

∘ warnings: smut (18+), nsfw, language, drinking, mentions of Todd the frat boy, lots of dialogue, biting, asphyxiation

∘ links: 𐐪 ao3 𐑂 𐐪 previous part 𐑂 𐐪 submit an edgy!karl edit 𐑂

∘ a/n: this one goes out to the babes in the gc. ily.

i stole the Brick idea from the Jesse McCartney movie, Keith. I'm sorry. [tw for that link - sad & jesse mccartney not talking about beautiful souls]

also thank you everyone for your support on this series. when my friends and I conjured this up, I never thought I would be at the point where I get to share peoples art/paylists/etc. I'm so thankful for all of you.

okay I'll stop crying. happy reading and have a great week! :)

The sun beat down against your skin, your mind drifting to whether or not you should apply more sunscreen. Karl jumped into the light blue water in front of you, the water splashing out to almost completely soak you. You frowned at him as he came up for air, blowing you a kiss mockingly.

Sapnap’s cousins started tackling Karl, the chorus of laughter echoing around the pool. You stretched your legs out beneath the table, leaning into the shade of the umbrella as you watched them roughhouse.

Sapnap came out from the pool house, opening a beer bottle for you before taking the seat beside you. He sighed, buttoning the top of his shirt as he watched the boys. “Did you have a good time at the party yesterday? I dipped after an hour,” he asked, pushing his sunglasses to rest on top of his head.

You shrugged slightly, taking a sip of your drink. You couldn’t wait to tell your roommate how lavishly you’d been living. The fact that you were lounging by a heated pool, drinking beer from Copenhagen with the sons of millionaires was nearly mind-boggling to you.

You wet your lips, squinting your eyes as you looked at him. “I honestly have no idea. I was kind of just there as a Karl accessory,” you joked, making him chuckle softly.

“Yeah, I get that,” he flipped off one of the cousins as they threatened to throw water at him. “It’s always the Karl show around here,” he added. You raised your eyebrows at him and he backtracked. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. He’s a good guy; everyone’s just obsessed with him.”

You nodded slightly. “Yeah, he’s definitely the star baby,” you joked, making him laugh. “I need to ask you…” You bit your lip voice trailing off as you searched for the night words.

He sent you a closed-mouth smile. “About my mom and Karl?” He asked, biting back a blithe expression. It shocked you how calm he was about the situation.

You chuckled nervously. “I swear I won’t bring it up again, I’m just,” you cut yourself off, unable to describe the question marks pulsing through your thoughts.

He snorted, taking a sip of his drink. “I know right,” he reassured. “When I found out, I almost broke Karl’s nose,” he chided. “Not that I was like… angry it was my mom but out of how weird it was.”

“Yeah it is really fucking weird,” you agreed, laughing slightly.

He gestured as if to thank you for understanding. “I mean, Karl’s a great guy. He was my best friend for a long time but…” He made a face suggesting his discomfort and you snicked. “That’s my mom, man.” You giggled wholeheartedly at this, making him laugh too.

“What are you guys talking about?” Karl asked, seemingly appearing out of nowhere, dripping wet from his pool time adventures.

“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear,” you joked, making Sapnap wink at you. “Tacitus’ Annals,” you answered, making Sapnap nod at you.

He chewed on his lip, with a calm expression as he supported your lie. “I was telling your girlfriend how much I enjoyed his love of Nero,” he continued, you bit back a smile.

Karl ruffled his hair out in a towel. “Come on now,” he grumbled, calling the two of you on your bullshit.

Sapnap squinted as he looked up at him. “Karl supremacy. As always,” he answered with a touch of quiet sarcasm, making Karl roll his eyes playfully as he took to the other seat beside you.

Karl ran his fingers into his hair. “You wanna get matching tattoos together, Sapnap?” He quipped; Sapnap sending him a smug expression.

“Why? What were you thinking?” He asked, knowing he was walking into whatever Karl was setting up.

Karl pulled the leg of his swim trunks off his leg a bit, furrowing his brows. “I wanna get your mom’s name on the top of my thigh,” he teased, biting his lip. You rolled your eyes playfully.

Sapnap let out a sarcastic laugh. “Oh my God, that’s so funny. I totally didn’t see that coming.”

Karl took a sip of your beer and you spoke up. “I think you’d look good with a tattoo, Sapnap. All jokes aside, you’ve got a great body,” you mused, sending him a wink. Sapnap bit back a smile looking at Karl, who you could already tell was glaring back at him. “Side note, I was meaning to ask you. There’s a guy that’s in Karl’s frat,” you paused, trying to remember what Karl had said Todd’s real name was when you were pinning his auction number on him.

Sapnap raised his eyebrows. “Oh, Mark?”

You pointed at him. “Yes, the fake Romney.”

Sapnap snorted. “He did that on campus too?” Karl nodded, a look of disappointment spreading across their faces.

“Speaking of Todd Mark, the king of the Brick” Karl kicked his feet beneath your chair before continuing, “I heard there’s a bonfire tonight,” he probed, making Sapnap slowly shake his head in disapproval.

You raised an eyebrow at the two. “What’s the Brick?”

Sapnap seemed to have already made up his mind on the situation. “A fucking cesspool,” Sapnap grumbled, sipping from his bottle as Karl tsked. Sapnap tilted his head. “You really wanna take her to the Brick? People get together and smoke crack over there. The fact that,” he paused to furrow his brows at you slightly, “Todd Mark? is the benefactor should say something,” he stated, lips curling into an uneasy expression.

You peered over your shoulder at Karl as if to ask if he were crazy. Karl swatted off your gesture. “They don’t smoke crack this time of year. All the locals are back visiting for break.”

Sapnap shook his head again in unease. You chewed your lip, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t know… Sapnap, do you wanna have a movie night instead?” You joked, making Karl sigh behind you.

Sapnap mimicked your mock severity. “Yeah, a stay in and cuddle?”

“Of course,” you repeated.

Karl wheezed. “No, we’re going.”

Without missing a beat, Sapnap chimed back. “Maybe you can take my mom instead?” Karl’s expression flattened at his words and you nodded, high fiving Sapnap in mock victory.

Despite Sapnap’s hesitation, you all went to what they referred to as The Brick. In reality, it was a spot on the edge of a lake. They only called it the Brick because of Todd’s dad, a racecar driver who claimed the post back when he was in high school and later bought it. A large bonfire burned in the center of the space, various people around your age and a bit younger were either dancing to the music coming from one of the souped-up sports cars or shotgunning beers. You pushed away the thought of your stingy fire marshall back home who―more than once―had reported you and your family for “overactive cookouts.”

“Overactive,” meaning your dad and Clay were failing at not catching hotdogs on fire when the two would get lost in a chat about a mutual videogame when the families would cross the fence line in the summer.

As soon as you had stepped foot on the gravel, Karl was welcomed back like some kind of celebrity, so you stayed close to Sapnap. He would lean towards your height, pointing people out that Karl had mentioned in the past or those worth noting. You nodded along, soaking in what he had to tell you and laughing at his jokes.

A random guy strolled past the two of you, making Sapnap purse his lips. “Hey, Sapnap. How’s your mom?” One of the countless jokes thrown at him since you’d arrived.

He tilted his head with a mock look of questioning. “Didn’t your parents just get divorced, Jeff?” He deflected. Jeff’s face dropped slightly as he moved on. You always found yourself struggling not to laugh at how well Sapnap was at counteracting the jabs at his mom and Karl. Most of you felt guilty for how long he had dealt with it.

Karl watched you carefully as you sat down beside Sapnap on one of the vast benches; hands shoved in his pockets as the group around him caught up. You were glad to have someone around like Sapnap, despite the fact that you often went to parties. In the past, it was more of a bi-annual thing, but since being with Karl, you found yourself shoulder to shoulder with nameless people in a line doing shots every other Thursday.

You laughed as Sapnap joked about avoiding the drinks at the Brick because of the mites in the water and the STDs in the beer. “So, I never asked how you met Karl?” He queried, sticking his hands into the pocket of his Baja hoodie.

You smiled slightly. “Uh…” Shameless thoughts of you on your knees in a random building when you barely knew his name paced through your head like a quickfire of serotonin. “We had a lecture together and he liked my handwriting.” Sapnap smirked, chuckling slightly at your words.

Karl’s eyes were trained on the two of you, demeanor shifting each time one of you leaned towards the other to hear over the music or the two of you bumping each other’s arms to grab your attention. You knew he wasn’t jealous, but his look of curiosity was almost hilarious to you. Sapnap stuck by your side while Karl introduced you to his friends. He was basically your encyclopedia on the newer people as Karl would go off on a tangent with them.

The fact that Karl was so close to all of them and was so popular made your heart swell with pride. You were used to Karl’s deadpanned glares at most of his frat brothers and his snide comments, but now he was welcomed back like he was some kind of hero returning from the war.

After saying goodbye to Sapnap for the day, you threaded your fingers with Karl’s, enjoying the time where it was just the two of you. He brought the back of your hand to his lips, smoothing a kiss against your skin. “So… Sapnap’s mom…” you began, making him chew the inside of his cheek. “Where… did it happen?”

He looked down at you with a perked eyebrow before raising his sights forward, pulling you off the street where the two of you were walking. You followed him as the pair of you snuck through between the houses and across the backyards until the two of you were at Sapnap’s house again. Through the front windows, you could see him talking to his sibling in the kitchen.

Karl grabbed your hand, leading you along the side of the estate and toward the pool house. You wanted to groan at the thought before he pulled you through the door with him. “Are you serious?” You hissed, looking around at the dark place. Karl fought not to smirk as he peered out through one of the windows, watching the lights in Sapnap’s house turn out.

The moonlight streamed through one of the slender windows, illuminating his face and washing his features clean. Your gaze trailed along his arms; his tattoos peeking out from beneath his hoodie as he reached up to lock the door.

He turned back to face you, walking closer to you. “Did you have fun today?” He asked, plopping down on one of the couches and pulling you into his lap. He moved your arms to rest around his neck, pressing his lips to your skin. “I feel like I didn’t see you at all. Sapnap’s a bogart,” he muttered jokingly, settling his hands on your hips.

You scoffed before leaning toward him, pressing your lips against his. “Make it up to me,” you murmured, raking your fingers into his hair. “I think I selfishly need you to ruin me here; you know. Like a cleansing of you and Ms. Scarlet,” you chided.

He bit his lip, eyes pulsing with lust as he fought not to grin. You pressed your lips against his, turning to lay back on the couch and yank him on top of you. He chuckled into your kiss, as your hands moved to curl into his hair. His lust was a taste you could get drunk off if given the chance as his hands traveled the length of your body, moaning as you ground your hips against his, gripping into his clothes.

He leaned off of you momentarily to pull his shirt over his head as you slipped out of yours, you wrapped a leg around him, pushing him onto the couch instead and pinning him between your thighs as you straddled him, running your hands up his tattooed chest and connecting your lips again.

One of his large hands covered your breast as you began to grind your hips against his. His teeth grazed against your skin as he caressed your body while you moved against him, trying to create as much friction as you could against his jeans. He ran his fingers along the hem of your underwear, his lips curling into a smirk as he moved slightly to get a better look. "These are nice. Did you plan this?" He leered, snapping the elastic against your hip playfully. You rolled your eyes, pulling his chin towards you and pressing your lips against his. Every movement of his body seemed to lick at the fire deep within you.

You smirked breathlessly as his lips settled against your collarbones. “These are my church clothes. I had no other motive,” you jousted. His hand reached up to rest against your collarbone, his fingers lightly curling around your neck.

“Of course, how could I not realize,” he jabbed, pressing his lips and tongue against your neck. You moaned, tugging at his zipper before wrapping your hand around his cock, pumping him into harder arousal. He groaned against your neck, bucking into your hand lightly. His head tilted back against the couch beneath you, cheeks flushed at the attention. His teeth nipped at your skin as you ground yourself against his thigh, basking in his noises of pleasure.

His cock pulsed in your hand, making him grab your wrist and pull you beneath him. He gripped one of your legs, resting it in the crook of his elbow as he pushed himself into you, connecting your lips to swallow your moans. The feeling of him inside of you sent a wave of pleasure through your body. His voice was low in your ear, murmuring your name as if it were a curse. You moaned as he took one of your hands, lacing your fingers together beside your head as he kissed you again, tongue slipping into your mouth.

His thrusts became more rhythmless, his hold on you driving him deeper as the pool house filled with the noises of your whimpering moans. Karl’s breath was warm on your neck as he took advantage of your submissive state. He moved his hand from around your leg, wrapping his fingers around your neck again. Your body shivered, waiting for the pressure of his hand as his hips rocked against yours.

He chuckled darkly, teeth grazing against your shoulder before his lips hovered beside your ear. “Beg for it,” he commented, voice strained as he thrusted into you.

You swallowed, fingers digging into his back. “Choke me,” you groaned, “please.” His hand tightened around your neck, breath hitching in your throat as his thrusts became rougher. He bit back a smug grin at the way you reacted to his antics, relishing in your body beginning for more.

He relaxed his hand, pressing his lips to yours as you struggled to inhale. Heat ran through your body as your leg curled around his waist, nails raking down his back.

You leaned away from his lips, voice coming out unevenly as you moaned his name. His movements became sloppier as you groaned in bliss, tugging the flesh of his bottom lip between your teeth. You tipped your head back slightly as you reached your climax, riding out your pleasure and sending him over the edge as he pulled you closer to him, his hands digging into your hips as he encouraged you to continue grinding against him. You exhaled deeply, pressing your lips against his neck and his cheek before kissing him breathlessly as your movements slowed.

You pulled on your shirt, Karl’s hands moving to rest on your hips as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “Should we leave a note for Ms. Scarlet?” You joked, making him chuckle as his arms wrapped further around your waist, cheek pressing against your shoulder.

“Who?” He teased.

Tag List: (to be added, follow this link :))

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monaisdark · 4 years ago

Note

i like how u write Shigaraki 😳❤ can u do maybe some bully reader with a sprinkle of virgin!shiggy hehe 🥰 reader can be dom or sub its up to you!! ❤

AH i’ve been meaning to check my inbox but ommmg this motivates me so much, thank you ! <3 I decided to do some dom reader - hope its ok!

➨ paring — Virgin! Tomura Shigaraki x Fem! Bully! Reader

➨ warnings — Sub! Shigaraki, Dom! Reader, slight mommy kink, slight masturbation, humiliation, degradation, cum denial, begging

PART 2

Shigaraki slumped into the ground, his back against the now wet wall. It hasn’t even been 3rd period yet and you already completely ruined his day. You and your group of followers threw water at him, something about him smelling bad. His papers and books were thrown out of his bag, soggy and falling apart from the water poured on them and his favorite hoodie now uncomfortably wet.

Shigaraki would already be late to class by now so he didn’t bother to scurry off like your friends did when they heard the late bell for class. You walked a bit behind them, turning your head back at him a few times before completely disappearing down the hall.

Shigaraki wasn’t sure what he did for you to hate him so much. It was almost like you were out to get him since day one. And of course, you being so popular, it made him the school outcast, well, even more of an outcast.

He tried everything — ignoring you, doing everything you asked him, even trying to fight back. The last try left him with a sprained wrist and bruised cheek. So in the end, everything left him either humiliated, damaged, or hurt.

He finally stood up as he heard footsteps from a hall monitor coming down the hall he was in, grabbing his backpack that contained the remaining contents of his school stuff before running off into a nearby bathroom to hide. Luckily, nobody was there to see how disheveled he looked.

Shigaraki took off his hoodie, thankfully the hoodie was thick and caught most of the water, leaving his long sleeved undershirt a bit damp but nothing he couldn’t handle for the rest of the day. He set everything wet under the hand drier, letting the hot air dry them a bit.

As he dried his face, something at on the floor caught Shigaraki’s eye. It was a small piece of paper that was also damp. He picked it up confused, did it fall out of his hoodie pocket?

‘’Shigaraki, meet me in room 204 after school today. Be there.’’ He could read out from the smudged, running ink. Shigaraki looked at it confused, yeah it was definitely for him but why? How did this even get into his pocket? He’s usually always alone, he didn’t hang out or spend his school days with anyone.

“Hey! Get to class!” The voice of the hall monitor outside of the bathroom almost made him yelp. He stuffed the note into his back pocket, grabbing all his stuff that was thankfully a bit more dry before leaving.

You eyed Shigaraki from across the cafeteria, a small smirk tugged your lips as you saw him pull out the tiny piece of paper for the 12th time that lunch. A wave of satisfaction overcame you every time you saw his eyebrows furrowed at the paper.

You tried to make the note as vague as possible, you could tell from the confused look on his face that he didn’t have a clue on who sent it. Just how you wanted it.

You turned your thoughts back to your friends, mixing your laughter with theirs. You had no idea what they were laughing at. These people are assholes, why do you hang out with them again? A small boy whimpered on the floor, his food spilled all over his body. Oh, that's why. Like hell you’d be on the receiving end of their bullying.

It’s not like you felt bad. School was a hierarchy, these poor people were just at the bottom. When you first got here, you quickly rose to be at the top. Not like you expected to be anything less. You held yourself to a high standard, of course you’d be at the top.

So it made you sick seeing how some of these people held themselves, especially Shigaraki. He looked and smelled like he only showers every other day, he alternated between 2 hoodies each week, did he even bother to wash them?

He barely talked to anyone, usually playing some videogame on his phone. Does he not care about himself? Well maybe that was why you targeted him, you just wanted him to be better. Nothing else.

Then you noticed how much of a pervert he was. If a girl was ever near him, his eyes would automatically shoot to their chests before awkwardly shifting away from them. In P.E, you found it funny how he’d try to hide his boners after seeing all the girls in their shorts. How gross, he’s a horny little virgin.

You almost felt bad, maybe if he smelt better, maybe if he wore better clothes, maybe if he just tried to take care of himself. It was no surprise that he wasn’t getting chicks. But then again, he didn’t look too confident in anything. Yet alone girls.

That’s when you had came up with a plan. You’d sleep with him. Don’t get it wrong, you had dignity. If it was anyone else, you’d probably make fun of them even more, maybe even expose their perverted behavior.

But Shigaraki looked so helpless, if he kept up with this he’d never get better. Maybe he’d become desperate enough to start touching girls on the train to school, how disgusting.

You were doing everyone a favor. This is just charity work.

“Hey.” Shigaraki jumped, what? He was even more confused then before, you? Why would you send him a letter to meet him alone after school? He stayed quiet, he backed into a desk as he heard the click of the door. Locked, shit, you locked the door. You probably were gonna beat him up, usually you’d have other people pick on him, was today finally the day you’d take more action?

“Stop sweating, I’m not here to do anything bad.” You walked in front of him, Shigaraki would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified. “Um — why.. why did you want to meet me?” Shigaraki’s voice cracked and you almost laughed, has he ever even been alone in the same room as girl?

You decided to be blunt, there was no sugar coating what was about to happen. “You’re a virgin right, Shigaraki?” You brought your hands to the buttons of your shirt, slowly unbuttoning your top.

Shigaraki immediately felt himself starting to get hard at the sight of your bra. “What—” You rolled your eyes, doesn’t he get it? How dense can he be? “Just answer me.”

Shigaraki felt so humiliated, this was honestly worse then all the bullying he experienced from you. He has to admit to his bully that he’s a virgin, or better yet, that he’s never even gotten close touching a woman.

He couldn’t lie, I mean look at him! The most action he’s gotten was those JOI videos he’d watch late at night. “Yeah..” He whispered enough for you to hear, just incase anyone else was hiding in the room. “..Why?”

A smirk spread across your face, just like you thought. His red face was honestly so enjoyable to see, almost just as enjoyable as seeing him try to hide how hard he was.

“I know you’re hard, Shigaraki.” Your hands moved to his crotch, palming him. “Ah, ah! Wait! I’m—“ Holy shit, did he cum? Just from a bit of palming?

Your hands retracted from the damp fabric, “God, how pathetic can you be?” Shigaraki lowered his head, you didn’t want to know. You’re the first girl to ever touch him, he didn’t want to come that fast!

“I’m sorry! Please.. I’m still hard!” Now he’s begging? He was ready for you to laugh at him and leave him a gross mess. He would understand.

“Take it out.” Shigaraki could cry right there, you were serious! He didn’t know what made you want to do this now but he didn’t care. All that matter’s was you wanted to fuck him.

His mind flooded to what you guys could do, would you rub his now exposed dick? Would you take it in your mouth? Better yet, what could he do to you? He’ll learn quickly, he just wants to touch your boobs!

Suddenly, he was on the floor. He couldn’t even process what was going on before you straddled him. We’re skipping straight to it? This wasn’t necessarily what he saw in those porn videos but that’s okay. His hands moved to your chest, he saw this in the porn videos too! But your hand slapped his away, “Don’t touch me. You still stink.”

He frowned but it was quickly gone as he felt you lower yourself on him. Shit, shit, shit, he’s inside you! Inside a pussy! You already started moving and Shigaraki already lost it. This was better than what he could ever imagine!

You smirked at the scene, its barely been a minute and he’s out of it. His eyes were rolled back and he was moaning louder than you! You had to admit though, you were a bit surprised he even got past 30 seconds of being inside of you.

“Mhmm— m...mommy!” Now you could laugh, “Mommy? Really Shigaraki?” Tears were forming on the corner of his eyes, you weren’t sure if it was from your words or the pleasure but you preferred if it was from both.

“I’m sorry! It’s just— ah!” You angled yourself to hit deeper, “No, no, Shigaraki. Go ahead. I should’ve known you’d be into something like that.” His moans filled the room, you were lucky this hallway was always empty after school was done.

You felt him begin to twitch, already knowing he’s about to cum. Eyes narrowed down at his messy face, he’s trying to cum inside you without you knowing?

You stopped moving and brought him up so he wasn’t laying down anymore, “Y’know, for a virgin I’m a bit impressed.” Shigaraki whimpered when he felt you get off of him, the feeling of your warm cunt no longer around him.

“Wait! Please, please— I wasn’t done!” He whined watching you put your panties back on and button your shirt back up, “You were about to. You think I want your battery acid cum touching me?”

Snickering as he heard his desperate whimpers begging you to finish him off, an overwhelming feeling of power filled you. A fake annoyed sigh caught his attention, “Take a shower tomorrow. Also wear a different top for god’s sake. If you do— “You brought yourself to his level on the floor, “I might let you touch me.”

Shigaraki nodded furiously, “Yes! I promise! I will, I will!” You turned and unlocked to the door to leave, catching one more look at his messy state. A sigh was let out of you as you closed the door, the sounds of him moaning ‘mommy’s pussy’ as he finished himself off, made you giggle. How sad.

You rolled your eyes, clicking heels down the hallway. You might’ve just created a new problem for yourself.

#shigaraki x reader #tomura shiragaki #bnha x reader #dom reader #sub shigaraki #mommy #tw humiliation #tw degradation

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i-need-air · 4 years ago

Text

"Dude" — Bakugou Katsuki x Reader.

Summary: Your former bully, Midori, has confessed her undying love for one of the most famous guys at U.A.; you're just venting gossiping about it with Mei, not knowing Bakugou Katsuki is right around the corner, listening;

Warnings: None. Well, Bakugou Katsuki having various anger induced strokes > the normal > no warnings; light crackfic? subtle ending;

Word count: 4.5k;

[ Part 2 ];

"She confessed to him." You grinned, throwing a bunch of fries into your mouth like the absolute animal you were.

Mei on the other hand continued her work on whatever in the world her new prototype, or "baby", was. Still, you had the honor of having half of her attention, which was a compliment to say at least.

She just smiled, shaking her head, leading you to continue, not knowing a blond was quite literally behind the corner, just outside the door leading to the support department, frown on his face.

"She came to class giggling like an idiot saying she's got a plan." You made a face into the distance, remembering your classmate's obnoxious squeal. "Ugh, she started telling the Divas how she's gonna have The Bakugou Katsuki in the bag." An ugly snort left your body, which earned an amused chuckle from Mei.

Both of you were pretty well known to be very good friends, and as much as you hated to admit it, you were both quite the social pariahs too. She was a little bit strange or weird, as some called her, but not for a single second she cared, which was the reason you admired the girl so much in the first place. Meanwhile you've taken the role of the bitch of the whole school by far. Sadly, you were placed in the same class as your archenemy, only increasing your chances of being called said endearing term.

Middle-school was a nightmare to say at least, getting bullied for your looks, the way you spoke or dressed, anything really as long as you were the one being mocked. And who was the one doing the bullying? Midori. Stunning, graceful, baby-faced Midori. Petite yet elegant, a devil in disguise. Whoever crossed her path suffered her malice unless she had something to gain from them.

And now, sweet Midori was in the U.A.'s General Studies, coinciding with you in the majority but not all classes. It had to do with the tragedy that your quirk was so rare that the principal Nezu had to adjust a new schedule just for you. Just kidding, it was amazing. The actual tragedy was seeing her face every day.

Back to your heartbreaking backstory and origin; time made you tough, comments made you build a wall so tall and thick nobody could crumble it. Backstab after backstab made you learn that not everyone has good intentions, but in your loneliness you found Hatsume Mei. So honest and dedicated, so raw and passionate. A good person. The type of person your parents promised you'd someway cross paths with and gain such a strong friendship that nothing could tear it apart.

Becoming friends with her was easy, kinda. It took snapping back at Midori when she started her normal bullying routine on Mei, which ignored it without a care. You stepped in and the rest is history. It did feel good though, calling her a pathetic bitch before turning to the stranger with a cool gadget in her hands to compliment it. And, since she's a sucker for her babies, you had to deal with an hour of sparkly eyes and monologues about her plans and prototypes.

Funny girl, Mei. You remember thinking but the following day you passed by her usual spot to fill your curiosity, asking if she did solve the problem she was complaining about.

"He was the one she was planning to ask out?" She screamed at you, head inside a giant metal gauntlet and the reason you two started talking about said man in particular. News were extra-fresh anyway.

"Oh, yeah!" You shook your head, ashamed to exist in the same general proximity as a person like your former bully. "He's gonna be so rich and famous!" A high pitched squeal left your mouth as you tried to copy her voice. "Poor fucking guy, if only he knew."

"But people know she's a bitch!" She screamed again, repairing or adjusting something with almost all of her body inside the gauntlet. A smile, genuine and soft this time, formed on your face. The pink-haired girl wasn't one to talk bad about others or even care, but it was clear she wasn't particularly fond with Midori either, although the conversation was more for you to vent rather than gossip. Sure it was.

"Like the people from the Hero Department even care about us, the commoners." With a roll of the eyes, you followed. "If he's smart, he'll run away. If he's an asshole, he could use her too."

"What do you mean?" Pink flocks of hair suddently submerged from the gadget, eyes curious zooming on you. That probably got more than 50% of her attention and it was a new personal goal while she was at the workshop.

With shrugged shoulders, your answer came nonchalant. "He could date her and dump her like she's nothing. Would serve her right for all the shit she's talking about him." But the only response you got was a short quizzical look, followed by your exagerated sigh. "She's talking shit about him constantly, but then says he's hot and that his personality doesn't matter anyway. Money, fame, looks. She has a whole fucking life-plan! Then calls him a rabid dog!"

"Woah—" that surprised her.

"Woah indeed! Insane. It's insane. I don't know the guy but no one deserves that shit." When you got no response, you continued your speech, munching in the food with passionate hunger, words coming out almost indistinguishable. "Doubt he'd play her though. He looks like a smart guy. I've seen the Sports Festival—" you picked up your burger, giving it heart eyes. "—and I've seen the news. He's probably a good guy too, the issue is people don't see that and... Well, I understand what's it to be judged... Not many have what it takes to be a real hero but he does. Hope he finds happiness in life." Much talk for someone that doesn't know shit about the guy in particular, but even so faint, your gut instinct was trained well enough to spot malice and he lacked that. "And a therapist." And there's the little shit in you that had to drop a cheeky comment.

Mei's gaze turned downwards and even if you could see her brain do mental gymnastics to solve whatever problem she had in front of her super-eyes, she also contemplated your words with great care.

"He comes here from time to time—" she grins, smacking the grenade looking gauntlet with her weird utensil. "I noticed you two are similar." Your face twisted, eyes wide towards the girl.

Similar how? He was loud, bold with a foul mouth, definitely needed a therapist for those unresolved anger issues... But he was also bright as in whenever he went, people looked in his direction, like he shined; obviously strong, also from what you've heard smart, popular, lucky to be surrounded by kind people. Example being that very nice pink girl that had a joyous conversation with you the very first day of school and, much to your surprise, continued greeting and having sweet small talks with you every single time you saw each other. Or the blond haired guy that showed off a little bit too much and made dumb flirty comments with no bad intentions, the same blond that waved at you with enthusiasm when you'd cross paths. There was the red-head, Kirishima, that was an absolute gentleman, opening doors for you even if you had two functioning hands and smiled so bright it made your corneas burn, or also the dark haired guy, Sero, that you've seen helping literally anyone in need around the school campus with an easy going attitude and gentle grins. Bakugou Katsuki was surrounded by good people, good heroes just as amazing as him and if they liked him, he must've definitely had some good in him, right? Another point appeared in your mental presentation about the brash hero in the making was that he was way too attractive but the wise burried deep inside of you made that particular point dissappear. No need to think about that. Overall you weren't even remotely similar. Not even close. Two completely different human beings from two completely different worlds that would never collide. With that being said, there was the small chance that Mei hinted for you to get a therapist too, who knows.

"How even—"

"I mean!" She screwed something in place. "I mean in your— determination?"

"I wouldn't know that." You muttered.

"He screams I'm gonna be the best every time he's here—"

"Cute..." You vomit that endearment without thinking, but thankfully it got ignored.

"—and it always reminds me of you." A small chuckle left your mouth.

"Don't make fun of me."

"You say it too~"

"I just heal, Mei, it's not the same." Principal Nezu's speech, the speech he gave your parents months into the first year as they found themselves aware of your power made you hold your words. You had it in you. The potential. If incredible people like your teachers, like Shuzenji Chiyo or Principal Nezu twisted things around for your quirk, for how rare and powerful it is, you'd accept it.

"But you're gonna be the best healer ever, aren't you?" She taunted.

"Of course. Which reminds me—!"

"Hmm?" Her attention faded away slightly, but it wasn't a problem.

She cheered, both at you and at her finished masterpiece and proceeded to eat too, passing through the lunch hour without interruption.

"Recovery Girl is putting me on active duty at the infirmary from now on. Finally!"

Innocent pale purple eyes stared into deep crimson ones, furrowed brows covering them.

—

Bakugou Katsuki wasn't one to enjoy being annoyed or surprised and this extra managed to make him feel both things in a short notice.

Everyone around him froze in fear or wonder, awaiting his response without breathing or moving an inch. Meanwhile Whoever-she-was held a pink envelope in front of him, a perfume too sweet coming from it making him want to literally gag in the spot.

Another thing the boy did not appreciate was to have someone bullshit him. His senses were telling him to back off, alarms ringing in his head and those purple eyes held hidden intentions; he wasn't having any of it.

"Fuck off." He snapped, yet his stance was casual as he refused to move out of her way since she was the one that had the audacity to run into him.

Some gasps, even coming from his so-called idiotic friends, could be heard and an indignant Bakubro behind him as he got slapped in the shoulder but he did not care. Not until her lips started to tremble as she retreated her confession letter towards her chest dramatically. His eyebrow started to twitch at the sight.

It was a spectacle for anyone surrounding him.

"What's going on?" Shushes and whispers.

"Bakugou Katsuki just got a confession!" Gossip.

"What!? Who?!" Confusion.

"You said Bakugou Katsuki?!" Shock.

"Oh, she's pretty!" Awe.

"He told her to Fuck off! What an asshole!" Outrage.

"Is that Midori?" Surprise.

"The nerve—" Anger.

"Midori from—" Disbelief.

"Oh, my God, she's really doing it~!" Giggles.

He frowned deeper. If people were to talk about him, they should be talking about all the crap he's been doing and all the lives he saved, not because of a fake bimbo decided to cross his path.

Bakugou wasn't stupid either. With time he knew these things would eventually come in his direction, stuff he'd have to deal with in the future as fame would take over, but not now. He did not have time to entertain this show anyway.

There was only one destination in his mind and she was keeping him in the middle of the whole school cafeteria with prying eyes on them both.

"Bakugou, do something, she's about to cry!" Dunce Face harshly whispered, but turned towards the white haired girl that looked devastated in front of them. "Ignore him! Ask me out, I would never make you cry!"

He rolled his eyes so back in his head it almost hurt. With a need to hurl the food he just ate, he made a step to leave the scene but small hands with claw-like fingernails gripped his arm and he looked at her in utter disgust.

"No, I would never! He—" she sniffled but had no tears in her eyes. He gave her a scowl, trying to take his arm out of her grip but she scratched him in place with her tiny rat hands. "You're the one I love! I—" her bangs covered her face as she continued her show.

"Bakugou! Dude! Do something!" Shitty Hair said, his dumb and blind trust in people buying the act. A vein almost popped on Bakugou's forehead.

"I fucking said—" he pulled his arm so hard she fell on her knees by his side. "Fuck. Off."

Another set of gasps filled the room.

"Bakugou!"

One thing he did not want, even if he could tell it was a foul theater, was to hurt somebody. His asshole act ended at that but his pride stopped him from saying anything.

Glancing to see if she's hurt, Pink Idiot was by her side, helping her up and asking way too many fucking questions.

"No, I'm fine..." she said with such a meek voice he scoffed, also hearing all the shit everyone around him was talking.

"He's such a brute."

"What a mean guy—"

"She's crying!"

"Fucking asshole."

He gritted his teeth.

After the disaster with the League of Villains in the first year, people started to respect him for who he was yet one single, minuscule shit like this and they were all at his jugular.

"I took Bakugou-san by surprise." She excused his behavior to Ashido, which then suggested they should eat lunch together sometimes to make up for the trouble after apologizing in his behalf.

"Yeah, we'd love to have you around! Isn't that right, Bakugou?" The apologetic and almost pleading voice of his blond friend, if he ever was going to call him that anymore, just made him bare his teeth. If they wanted to get played like fools it was their problem, not his.

And that's how he found himself eavesdropping on the weirdo and an extra.

And with a single "Whatever." he left the cafeteria, going to check if his gauntlets were ready, annoyance oozing off him, making the sea of people part from his path. Except he didn't notice you rushing away a little bit in front of him, holding a bag of food, all amused.

Why the fuck was everyone talking about him? Can't they fucking keep his pretty name outta their mouths? With time and without finding a reason why the hell he was glued in place, he listened attentively, his suspicions confirmed and his ego hurt, but whoever was talking about him calmed his nerves a lot. He just needed to put a face to that voice. Just to see who's gossiping about him, nothing else.

—

With a full belly and a whole afternoon to study by Recovery Girl's side, you marched towards the infirmary after you bid your farewell to Mei. There was still time to walk around, grab something sweet for later and save any poor soul that Midori decided to sink her teeth in. It was common at this point, you getting in between her and her victims and taking the hit, yet somehow also being called a bitch by everyone. That's how high-school worked. She did have friends and they spread any word she spat. Vultures.

It was fine though. Hero [Y/N] is there to save the day no matter what. You scoffed at your own stupidity, turning the corner just to step on a leg that was sprawled on the floor.

He clicked his tongue, getting up with no worry in the world, but made no action to leave, settling for observing and analyzing you way too intensely.

"Watch where the fuck you're going, idiot." The man of the hour, the guy you've defended in front of your friend just screamed at you as he dusted off the imprint of your shoe left on his pants. Meanwhile you just paled in place before regaining your composture.

"Why are you sitting on the floor?" You said, tilting your head with a frown, already knowing you will not apologize.

Unimpressed by what was going on, even if you truly couldn't point out what really was going on, you made an attempt to move past him towards the vending machines not far behind, but he caught your arm in a firm grip.

You blinked stupidly at the skin contact.

"Heard you were talkin' shit."

Your stomach dropped. Legs almost gave up too if it weren't for his iron grip holding you still. In the silence and at the satisfaction of the reaction you let out, he smirked and raised his chin, only Mei's singing voice coming from her workshop could be heard. Realization hit you. Hit you? Bitchslapped you in the face and left a mark for sure, because your cheeks started feeling heated, tingly.

He dragged you away, maybe to have the privacy to murder you in peace, but your common sense kicked in and you came back from the land of the mortified.

Much like he did before, action you saw with your two own eyes and repeated, you pulled out of his strong grip and stared as he turned towards you, mouth already opened to probably eat you alive.

"I wasn't talking shit about you, dude." You quickly spoke first.

"You don't fucking know me." He growled back, taking a step towards you but like hell you'd back down.

"Don't need to be besties to say what I said." Without understanding why he was so agitated, the only thing left to do after this beautiful turn of events was to defend the honor remaining in you, so you raised your chin to be at par with him. The action clearly took him by surprise, making him glare more, if even possible.

"I don't fucking appreciate when extras talk about me behind my back!"

"I don't give a shit what you appreciate, dude." Your laugh was the complete opposite of his menacing loud voice, like ying and yang.

"Bakugou, the name's fucking Bakugou, you extra!" Bakugou recovered quickly at your snappy self, getting more bothered as you talked.

"Okay, dude." His hands fisted, shaking in place as he stared you down but did not continue.

Silence; the hallway was now filled with silence as he boiled in his own anger and as you raised your brows in confusion. Now what? Was it time to leave? You've never met anyone like him, this was peculiar—

"NOW IT'S WHEN YOU FUCKING TELL ME YOUR SHITTY NAME, YOU FUCKING DUMBASS!"

A second passes; two; at the third you're wheezing your lungs out, laughing at the ridiculousness of the scenario.

"What the fuck are you LAUGHING AT?!" His voice got louder just to top your howling. You did not expect that.

Through a sigh, regaining your breath, you say "It's [L/N] [Y/N].", seeing him retreat in his form and cross his arms. He was still seizing you up.

"If you have shit to say to me, say it to my fucking face, understood?"

"I—... Say what now?"

"I—." He copied in a mock, getting an incredulous look from you. "You stupid or what?" Your upper lip lifted, ready to cuss him to infinity and beyond but he continued. "Like about that bitch from before and shit—" even if he still was loud, he placed his hands in his pockets and looked more interested in the way the tiles on the wall were placed instead of your person. "An' like you told the weirdo—"

No time to be shocked at the implied; his last word enraged you, making your body shake with rage. "Don't fucking dare to call her a weirdo ever again."

Like a challenge, he snapped his face back at you, ready to take it.

"Or what?"

"Listen here, fucker—" now that was a nice surprised face he was pulling. "Just because I gave you a pat on the back in there doesn't mean you can disrespect people just because you think you're the shit. You're not. Now get out of my fucking way." With a final push to his shoulder, your mind was focused on going to the infirmary, steam almost coming out of your nostrils.

"Hey, extra!"

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him. went through your mind, marching away without a glance back. Not until—

"[L/N]! You're a healer, hah?" That's interesting. He stood where you left him, watching.

"What's it to you?"

Someone sane would've left at your tone but this guy walked towards you then showed you his arms, recently scratched. Images came back to you about the cafeteria incident but did not underst—... did he want to get healed?

You scoffed.

"They're scratches, dude."

"They annoy me. Now heal." All the energy you had left in your body was channeled towards the slow blink you threw at him, at which he scoffed. But they did look nasty— and Midori did them. It was a curse by itself to look down at your own arms and remember that face, so the guardian angel in you decided to take control and be the better person.

Gentle fingers barely tapped his muscular arm. Smile crept up on your lips, feeling absolutely delighted at his obvious stiffness at the skin contact and the clear interest in his eyes, specially when the scratches started disappearing into nothing, leaving smooth silk skin under.

"Hey— Wha— Where the fuck do you think you're going?!" raspy voice got lost in the distance and one thought in your head.

"Want a lollipop for being a good patient too?" You mock and his face explodes in all shapes of red. It would've been great to mock him more, enthralled by his reactions, but with that you turned and left, ignoring the tingling under your fingers that should not be there and your stomping heart.

Did he wait all the lunchbreak to talk to you?

—

A long queue was ahead of you, earning the longest sigh out of your lungs. Life was pain sometimes. Mei couldn't hang out, food was too far away, the delicious croissants Lunch Rush made ran out as far as you could see. Pain. Just pure pain.

And disappointment. When you walked away with your food in a bag, maybe to sit under a tree and enjoy some peace and quiet, you saw her. Midori sitting at a table you did not expect. At the same table where Ashido Mina, Denki Kaminari, Kirishima Eijirou and Hanta Sero sat at. Good people. Honest, good people about to get bitten by a snake. If she was there, then Bakugou decided—

"You. Sit."

Thinking about the boy somehow summoned him behind you. Food in hand and bored expression on his face, he passed you not without giving you a stink eye. Indeed, disappointment.

You shrugged, trying not to pay much attention to the pang in your heart as you moved forward, but a voice— his voice stopped you in your tracks.

"You. Get the fuck out of my face." His growl made everyone around him turn to watch, you being one of them. There was no excuse to what came next, no way to run away past it and dissappear. He nodded his head at you out of all people and pointed at the seat still occupied by Midori; her purple eyes big, shocked, running between your frame and the blond's.

Do you know what it felt to be put in the spotlight without warning? Well, congratulations because that was your life now.

"Ba—Bakugou-san?" Her voice, now highed up and meek followed, then a small scream as Bakugou slammed his food on the table. His friends sat there, wide-eyed, but made no attempt to interrupt.

"Did I fucking stutter, bitch? Or want me to turn into a rabid dog for fucking real?"

You choked on your own spit, bag of goodies about to drop on the floor once you saw her horrified face. She knew that he knew. And when her pale eyes, filled with sudden malice, act dropped, turned to you it's when you realized she figured out where he found out from.

Not like you cared, really, but the little shit that always had to poke out every time she was in the same room as you decided to finally show up, making you wave and send her a wink.

"I said MOVE!" now— that growl, raspy and filled with anger startled her. The orange juice in her hands spilled all over her uniform and woke her up from whatever delusion she was in. With zero time to reconsider, every belonging of hers was picked up with trembling hands and she ran away to her group of cockroaches.

A smile was already settled on your face; your brain was storing that whole interaction deep within, ready to bring it back up whenever you needed a good laugh.

Life was pain and disappointment, you say? No. Life was great. Or more importantly, Bakugou was. Not like he needed to know. But he was a decent guy as he proved—

"THE FUCK YOU STANDING THERE LIKE A DUMBASS?! I SAID SIT!" —to be a pain in the fucking ass and the bane of your existence.

You gave him a face then turned to walk away, even rushing more when you heard his chair screeching on the floor. The exit was so close, so near, freedom never felt this great, the sunlight kissing your skin giving you a new hope to live. But not for long because he grabbed your hand and started dragging you towards his table.

Your hand was in his hand and he was dragging you—

Your hand— his big, warm, a little bit sweaty hand—

How could you ruin such a beautiful moment? Eyes on you two, shocked, silence, his adorable red ears being the only thing you could see as he was completely in front of you, still dragging you towards his friends...

"Did you wait all lunchbreak yesterday to talk to me?" You collided into him as you finished the sentence, his way taller form stiffened so much you felt you single-handedly broke Bakugou Katsuki for good.

But when he turned... Oh, when he turned. Biggest deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes you've ever seen on anyone, cheeks painted so red you almost melted in the spot, lips trembling as his head worked a thousand miles per second just to find a retort. And you prepared yourself for—

"NO, I FUCKING DIDN'T! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT, YOU FUCKING EXTRA? I'D NEVER WAIT FOR SOMEONE LIKE YO— ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING TO ME!" Mina's waving hand caught your attention and smiled at her. Your hand was still in his, gripped harshly as he still hasn't noticed it's still there.

"Hey! [L/N], long time no see!" She cheered, ignoring the living shit out of her screaming friend, like she's used to it.

"FUCKING LOOK AT ME WHEN I TALK TO YOU—"

"Hey, chill, dude. Now let go of my hand, I wanna talk to Ashido." You smiled sweetly, making extra effort to wave your linked hands arond until he finally noticed. He zapped his hand away so fast, like he's been bitten by a wild animal. Maybe even a rabid dog, if you will.

You couldn't ignore your own flustered state as you walked past him, giving him a one up, adding the absolute scandalized face he had into the back of your mind for safekeeping.

"Come sit with us!" The pinkette offered.

"Oh, hey, I know you! You're by Hatsume's workshop all the time!" Kirishima intervened with a surprised face that broke into a grin. "Nice to officially meet—"

"I fucking said." he appeared, sitting in front of you. "My name's Bakugou."

"Ok, dude, but I'm talking to someon—"

"BAKUGOU KATSUKI!" Could be heard from the stratosphere.

Note: I just realized Midori means Green [ fucking duh ] but I'm not gonna change the name or her description. I think her parents fucking up her name was the start of many accidents leading into the Midori we all know and hate. Also, I know you understand. We all know a Midori in our lives. Much love.

Note 2: I keep editing it but tumblr dot com slash Install App on Phone fucks my editing and switches paragraphs all around! If you find any PLEASE tell me, I'd really appreciate it!!!

#bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha #noire writes #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #i just wanted to make myself uwu #reader is op

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dat-town · 4 years ago

Text

not gonna miss this chance

Characters: Han Seojun & soloist!female reader

Genre: fluff

Setting: true beauty au, set a year after the tv show’s ending timeline

Summary: Your career is on the verge of ending, hence your management puts you up to do a duet with the infamous Han Seojun. You have heard too many rumours about him to keep track of and yet, none of them could have prepared you for the feelings that came with meeting him.

Words: 4.1k

Self indulgent little snippet because he deserves happiness too.

You had heard of Han Seojun before meeting him, of course you had. Everybody who was in the industry had heard of the hot trend of a Newstagram star-turned idol and his band's shining debut from a year ago. They were told to have snatched teenage girls hearts all over Korea with their good looks and soulful music. You had heard their title track and you had to admit it was nice but nice wasn't enough in a cut-throat industry like entertainment.

Look at you, starting training at twelve, debuting at fifteen and now barely twenty-one you were on the verge of becoming a thrown away doll. Once you had been called cute and the it girl of your generation and now? People were saying you got boring just because your music had matured. Gosh, you couldn't keep singing about first love like your hit song had been for the rest of your life for god's sake. Your last album had been a flop, your company had been losing money and you were still afraid that even with a year left of your contract, they would cut you. But your manager had begged them for a chance and here it was: a collaboration with the newest love of Korea.

But the thing was, Han Seojun had quite a reputation and you didn't know who to believe. Some said he was well-mannered and hard-working. Others gossiped that he was always flirting with his makeup artists and Chen claimed he had been rude to her even when he had just been a ‘nobody’. Not that you were particularly fond of Chen either but as a fellow solo female singer you were a tad bit worried how the infamous singer would treat you.

Well, standing in front of Move Entertainment, you were just about to find out. Taking a shallow breath you followed your manager's lead, bowing to the receptionist and getting into the elevator after taking your visitor's badge. You had heard the company has gone through many changes after the executives were replaced due to the revealed Seyeon scandal but everything looked expensive, shiny and new, unlike in your small agency.

“Hey, I’m Lim Heekyung, nice to meet you. Seojun will be in a minute, too,” a woman in a pantsuit walked up to you on the right floor with a confident smile as she introduced herself. She led you to a meeting room which was apparently customized for a few people only and started preparing papers. She looked excited which was a relief and nice to see, at least someone from Move Entertainment was happy for this project apparently. You were a bit afraid they would see you like a leech, trying to cling onto their new star’s popularity.

“Shall we start? Seojun is a fan of dramatic entrances anyways,” Miss Lim laughed joyfully as if it wasn’t new to her that the idol didn’t make it on time. Ah yeah, you had heard rumours saying that he had something on the company and that was why they were so lenient with him.

You sat in silence, let your manager do the talk about the collaboration project. Seojun could play the guitar, you could play the piano, apparently it was perfect for a ballad duet, though if you used instruments yourself it added to the preparations time. But luckily, there was a songwriter named Leo at the company who had already sent in a few samples specifically for Seojun, so you didn’t have to start from zero.

“Ah, I see you started without me. What did I miss?” A tall boy opened the door wide and flipped down onto the chair across you casually. He had grown into his lanky limbs and with those wide shoulders hugged by the leather jacket, helix earrings in one ear and soft brown hair brushed to one side, it wasn’t a surprise how many female fans swooned over him. But there were a lot of handsome boys in the business, just his looks – no matter how confident he was in them based on the way he carried himself – wouldn’t make a difference.

Miss Lim patiently let Seojun know about the advances and only when she mentioned your name, did the boy glance at you. His dark brown eyes had a sharp form, just as piercing as his gaze, but the cunning smile spreading over his lips softened it a bit. He looked at you as if he wanted to see through you, to figure out how he should have approached you. You expected a snarky or arrogant comment, but in the end, he just flashed a blinding smile at you, one you could see on his posters, before turning back to Miss Lim.

“What’s the schedule?” he asked simply and you both were notified about the deadline of deciding and finalizing the song, the dates of planned recording sessions and the photoshoot. Since there would be no promotion period, it all would be done within a month and half from start to finish. You were a bit relieved hearing that and leave Move Entertainment without any confrontation.

You thought you were good at masking your wary feelings since the further meetings went well and the first recording session went okay-ish. Although both of you had been a bit scolded by the producer for not putting enough feelings into your singing. He claimed that the demo sent by Leo was much more emotional which made Seojun scoff and mumble under his nose. The PD called it for a day, making you promise to practice for next time and one by one they all left. Your manager told you that he would bring the car while you refresh yourself in the bathroom, so you really didn’t expect anyone to wait for you when you stepped out of the restroom, much less Han Seojun.

"Spit it out," he bit out barely glancing your way as he leaned against the corridor’s wall.

"What?" you spluttered as you were really taken aback by his out of blue appearance and question. The guy let out a tired sigh at your obliviousness and pushed himself away from the wall just to walk up to you, towering over your height with his.

"You look at me as if I killed your hamster or something. Which rumour about me bothers you? I fucking can't keep walking on eggshells around you, especially when it's just the two of us," he tsked and you gulped at the sudden called out. You didn’t think it bothered him, or that he was considerate enough to ‘walk on eggshells around you’, you merely thought he was so distant from everybody. It was still better than what Chen had told you.

"Oh, I… nothing. It's stupid. Sorry," you mumbled, feeling embarrassed for your your actions but Seojun apparently wasn’t satisfied without a real answer as he carried on:

"I didn't bully kids in high school but I threatened ones that deserved it, I didn't only get a pity chance from the entertainment, one of our makeup artists is actually one of my best friends, I'm not…"

"Chen told me you are rude and arrogant and have no respect for girls," you blurted out to stop him from speaking because you felt like you didn’t deserve to hear all that. He didn’t owe you any explanation for the way he was. You were just co-workers for a project after all, you had no place in his life, nor he had in yours, so he shouldn’t have been that bothered by your opinion but you understood that he felt uncomfortable due to your silent accusations.

Hearing your hasty interruption, the singer scoffed, a laugh-like sound leaving his mouth.

"Well, I have no respect for girls like Chen who harass my friends and turn their lives into hell just to go on a date with me," he said and it made you blink slowly.

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. Check your facts before you go around believing such crap," Seojun stepped back with a roll of his eyes.

The whole situation made you feel made about how you acted, so you wished to apologise but it fell from your lips all too carelessly: "Sorry, I was just worried. This is my last chance, so–"

"Last chance?" the guy quirked a brow at you, curious but you quickly waved his question away.

"Nevermind, I just need this song to do well."

"Of course, it will. I'm Han Seojun, it will turn to gold under my hands," he grinned and made eccentric gestures as if he was about to do magic. You couldn't help a smile. “Or well, vocal chords.”

And turn it to gold, he did.

The rest of your recording sessions went smoother, even the previously grumpy PD complimented your for the development in your chemistry. Funny, you wouldn’t have thought that the wall pulled up between the two of you mattered that much, but at least you didn’t have a knot in your stomach, nor did you worry about every small thing you did around Han Seojun. He also acted more casual, more playful, joking around when both of you had a bit of time to take a breather. He snapped silly pictures, showed off with his height, smirked when he got too close but despite all his bravado and lowkey flirting, you believed even he wouldn’t have jeopardised his career over something like this.

Maybe that's why wrapping up the recording felt a tad bit weird: you got used to his presence, his jokes, his beautiful, deep voice that you could have fallen asleep to. Sure, sometimes he was cocky, a bit rough around the edges but he was a great singer and a fun guy. The project seemed to work out well and you loved it a lot, so you hoped the listeners would appreciate it as well.

But before all that you had one photo shoot together for the promotional pictures and the single's cover. You were grateful for the simple pastel colour background and elegant setting. The warm light latte colour and the clock in the background really fit the song's vibe. Luckily, your dress was decent and pretty as well, you didn't have to feel uncomfortable in it at least. However, you didn’t expect that happy yelp coming from one of the makeup artists stepping into the dressing room. You turned to face the girl, wondering whether she was your fan judged by her excitement.

"Oh my! I'm so happy to finally meet you! Seojun told us about you so much!" she beamed at you which obviously took you back. Well, that you didn’t expect at all. He spoke of you to others? Ah. Apparently to the makeup artist who was most probably that certain one of his best friends he had told you about?

"Don't exaggerate, Imju, I mentioned her like what… once?" Seojun walked in on cue. He rolled his eyes and cleared his throat, trying to avert the topic. "How's Suho?"

You had know idea who that said guy was but after a moment or two you could breathe properly once again while listening to their chatting.

“Just the usual. He’s excited about your duet.”

“Of course, he is,” Seojun grinned, a bit snarky but you could hear the proud undertones of it. When he looked at you, you were surprised by him leaning close though as he quieted down until only you could hear it. “Don’t worry, Jugyeong is really good and just stop her if she gets too gossip-y.”

“Are you talking about me behind my back, hah, Han Seojun?” The pretty girl called Jugyeong raised her fist as if she was about to hit the idol but he just laughed it off and left you two alone when he was hurried onto the set to start with his individual shoots.

“Have you known each other for a long time?” you couldn’t help but wonder as you were seated to get your makeup from her.

“Ah, almost 4 years, I think. We went to high school together. Plus, he’s best friends with my boyfriend. Though, they are always bickering like a married couple,” Jugyeong chuckled joyfully as she started with the cushion. You closed your eyes, listening as she kept going on about the time when Seojun had been obsessed with his motorbike, getting into trouble with his mother. It was strange hearing about a whole other side of him, mama's boy but the image tugged on your mouth, making you smile even though you weren't sure you had the right to know all that. You also learned that Seojun's sister was dating Jugyeong's brother and you felt so involved with the girl's trust albeit it was your last meeting, you were sure Seojun must have only told good things about you.

Hence, you felt shy under his knowing gaze when you walked out of the dressing room. He must have known that Jugyeong couldn't shut up for the life of her, so he looked a bit uncertain, too, stretching the back of his neck, forcing a cunning smile onto his smile when you took your place next to him.

To fit the ballad's theme, the setting was a piano decorated with flowers and you were instructed to sit beside him as if you were about to play a four hands piece. As you did what you had been told, you were very much aware of the way your arms brushed, his long fingers over the keys close to yours, his smile small but genuine.

"Great, great, guys! Someone help her onto the piano and Seojun, stand in front of her," the photographer directed the next scene but before any staff members would have rushed up to you, the singer next to you shushed them.

"I can do it," he insisted as he stood up and looked you in the eyes, silently asking for permission. You nodded while holding your breath back before Seojun put his hands on your waist above the fluffy tulle skirt part and counting on three, he lifted you onto the lid of the beautiful instrument.

You crossed your legs, watching in awe as your pink skirt fell down on waves but your breath hitched for an entirely different reason when you looked up, gaze meeting Seojun's feline eyes trained on you. You had never seen him look at you like that, lacking playfulness or suspicion or curiosity. He looked open, vulnerable, outright starstruck. Your lips parted meaning to ask something but your brain shut off when you heard the shutter of the camera go down and the director yelling compliments at you. It made you snap out of it and later, you blamed the evident blush on your cheeks on the makeup. Seojun blinked too, his guarded expression back in no time, finishing the photo shoot professionally, always lingering close to you, but never touching you. Even though you wouldn’t have minded.

"Hey," Seojun peeked into your dressing room just as you were about to leave, packing up, with a smile on his mouth and sparkles in his deep brown eyes. But unlike half an hour ago when he wore a fancy suit and looked at you like a prince would have looked at his princess, he acted just as casual as he looked in his denim jacket over dark tee. "Wanna grab something with me if you finished for today?"

His question took you back but first thing first you glanced towards your manager, eyes begging for permission which you had gotten with a sigh.

"Just be discreet and call me if you need me to pick you up," your manager shrugged, leaving you two alone with a knowing look that told you to be careful. You didn't need to be told though, you knew how much depended on the current public response to your image.

"Seems like a green light. Have you thought of anything specific?" you turned back to the boy with a subtle smile.

"Not really but I know a few less frequent, secluded places to avoid much talk about us," he said and you nodded, following his lead. Masks, caps and hoodies on, you barely talk on your way to the tent with the lovely ahjumma who welcomed Seojun (two heads taller than her) with a pinch of his cheeks and told you to get seated.

"Are you a regular here?" you inquire, carefully pulling down your mask since not many people are around.

"You could say that," the boy hummed letting you adjust to the place at your own pace, not pressuring you with extra reassessments about how safe it is there. Yet, he is so casual as if he wasn't afraid of a getting mobbed by Dispatch out of the blue. Not that it happened to you a lot of times but you heard stories and at such a crucial time in your career, you feared something like that more than anything.

"Do you want to come up to mine instead?" Seojun blurted out suddenly which made you wide eyed in a span of a moment as you splattered out a surprised yelp. "Come on, I don't mean anything by it. You just look really nervous being in the public," the singer said, his deep voice softening, soothing by the end and you needed to take a breather before answering. You didn't think it was so obvious but apparently you had never been a good liar with him.

In the end, you decided on going over to Seojun's place, so he asked the ahjumma to pack your food to go and you headed towards his flat a few blocks from the company. It was a small but cozy place, much softer and brighter than you expected, lots of pastels and photos of friends and family. While the boy busied himself in the kitchen, getting you plates, chopsticks and beer, you were encouraged to look around and you couldn't help but smile at his photos with not only his band members but high school friends, too. You had seen photos of his graduation with Jugyeong, then another one of his debut with her and another guy. He was a recurring person on a lot of pictures, so you assumed that he was the so-called Suho.

"He's Jugyeong's boyfriend," Seojun affirmed as he walked up to you which you acknowledged with a hum and smiled at his photos with his sister and mother. The makeup artist was right when she said he was only tough on the outside.

"You knew Seyeon?" you whispered as your gaze shifted of a picture of three boys smiling widely into the camera. The middle one was the talented boy you had known from the news of his committed suicide. Such a tragedy.

"Uhum. We were best friends. Him, Suho and me," Seojun nodded and without having to ask, he told you how they had gotten to know each other, what were their favourite past time activities and how they fell apart when he died. You could see he was hurting even now as he was talking about it, so you grazed your fingers against his knuckles as though to say you were there for him to listen, or whatever he needed.

Talking about his best friends and how a group of guys including someone named Chorong stuck by his side over the years warmed your heart. It was nice to know that not everyone had it as lonely as you who basically missed out on high school and memories from that time to be able to turn your dreams into reality. Your only friends were also in the industry but it made things both easier and harder.

"What about you? What did you mean by this being your last chance?" Seojun asked like a loaded gun but after everything he had just told you, you knew you could trust him with this and being in the industry for a while now, he must have understood, too.

You told him about the rising expectations, about your image and your company's ultimatum. It actually felt nice to talk about with someone other than your manager. Especially since Seojun seemed to understand exactly why you felt conflicted over the matter. You have given your youth to this dream of yours, so giving up on it would have felt like betraying yourself and everyone who believed in you but you weren't sure you could give it another 10 years of your life no matter how much you liked music. You had decent CSATs result, maybe you could have applied for a university program. Seojun even offered to arrange a meeting between you and Suho who was studying to become a proper songwriter.

You talked for hours and ate the tteokbokki even though it had gotten cold long ago and you couldn't remember when was the last time you had felt so light. You felt giddy even with just the tiny bit of alcohol in your system by the time you knew it was time for you to go.

Once you had felt relieved knowing that promoting your duet would be only one performance but recently, you started dreading the moment because that meant that you wouldn't have any more excuse to see Seojun. In the backstage, this time around you greeted Jugyeong like an old friend and teased to give Seojun a funny makeup before walking up to your own assigned staff members. Your look was full of sparkles and glow fitting the silver colour of your dress, completing the ethereal vibe off the stage you were going to do and the beautiful song you had grown to love so much you held it close to your heart. The last rehearsals went smoothly and if you noticed Seojun's gaze lingering a bit too long, you didn't comment on it.

"Are you nervous?" he asked before the final recording and you knew it would have been unreasonable to deny it, so you replied with a small smile.

"A bit."

"Don't be. You're pretty and you'll do amazing," he reassured you and the way he said those words oh so easy. As if they were natural. As if he believed in you and maybe this was all the reassurance you needed because when you walked up onto the stage, not taking your eyes off his, it felt like it was just the two of you there. All the stress about not being good enough, about being judged for who you were and what you wanted to do with your life was subsided as you focused on the moment, just to sing this one song with one while trying to fight your heart's crazy beating.

You didn't really have the luxury to have crushes. You had always been concentrated on your work, you couldn't let yourself have distractions, especially since love scandals always affected girl worse than guy. At least that was what you told yourself for always putting up a wall around you and guarding your heart all too well. But during the past few weeks, between playful or flirty remarks, between smiles and ruffling hair, Seojun took apart your wall brick by brick even if he wasn't aware.

So it might have been only a few days since you had last seen him but in that rare moment of boredom, alone in your room, you realized that you missed him. Hell, you liked him and the feeling made me want to scream into your pillow as if you were a silly teenager. As if on cue, your phone buzzed with a new message and seeing the KakaoTalk ID made you shy.

duet partner, han seo jun

so...

i've been thinking

you

sounds dangerous but ok

duet partner, han seo jun

don't get sassy with me, miss

you

what have you been thinking about?

duet partner, han seo jun

that i don't want to miss my chance

there's this girl i like

i thought of asking her out

do you think she would say yes?

you

oh. well... why wouldn't she?

i mean, you are talented, handsome, funny and reliable

duet partner, han seo jun

and what about my job? it's busy and a bit crazy

don't you think it would be unfair of me to ask?

you

I think you should let her decide that

duet partner, han seo jun

okay

are you free on friday?

you

um, sure?

duet partner, han seo jun

cool, then go on a date with me?

#han seo jun x reader #seojun x reader #han seojun #han seo joon #true beauty #stories #i just wanted to give him a happy end after ep16 #that's what this is about

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