#table and snowplow

[sir-buddy]

Artfight tomorrow YIPPEE!!!

[happilyhertale]

Snowbound Warmth – Tom Bennett x female!reader

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem!reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend Tom had actually planned an evening at the pub. Meeting friends and spending a nice time together. But a snowstorm threw a spanner in the works. But that's just how Tom is: he doesn't let it spoil your evening.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, blowjob

Author’s note: English is my second language, please forgive me if I made any mistakes (:

Word count: 1.7k

Other stories of mine

12 Days of Smuffmas

12 Days of Smuff

The snowstorm has descended on Manchester with a ferocity that neither Tom nor you had anticipated. By the time the first flakes started to fall, Tom had been pacing about his room, eager to take you to his favorite pub, a snug little spot tucked into a side street. It was the kind of place where the laughter of patrons mixed with the clink of glasses and the occasional strains of a piano. He’d planned to get you both a few drinks, maybe even dance if the mood struck him.

But now, the world outside his window is nothing but a swirling blur of white. The snow comes down so heavily it obliterates the view of the cobblestone streets and gas lamps he loves. It frustrates him; plans dashed by something as uncontrollable as weather.

He lets out a low sigh, exhaling smoke from the cigarette perched between his fingers. The warmth of the room contrastes starkly with the winter’s chill seeping through the cracks in the old building. His gaze shifts from the window to you, sitting cross-legged on his bed, casually flipping through a magazine. You look so at ease, lost in the glossy pages, and it brings a soft smirk to his lips.

“Y’know,” he says, his tone teasing as he flicks ash into a tray, “I was really hopin’ to show off my fancy moves at the pub tonight.” He turns fully to face you, leaning against the windowsill, the cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers. “Turns out, Mother Nature’s got other ideas.”

You don‘t look up immediately, still engrossed in an article, but you hum in acknowledgment. That only spurs him on.

“Oi,” he says, stepping closer, his cheeky grin growing. “Don’t go ignorin’ me now. It’s bad enough the weather’s givin’ me the cold shoulder.”

Finally, you glance up, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sulking, Tom?”

“I’m just sayin’—seems like a shame for two good-lookin’ people like us to waste a night doin’ nothin’.”

You close the magazine and set it aside. “Well, what do you suggest? Unless you’ve got a snowplow hidden somewhere, we’re not getting out of here anytime soon.”

Tom takes a long drag of his cigarette, his eyes narrowing playfully as he considers his options. He blows out the smoke slowly, then stubbs out the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table. “Well,” he starts, his voice dropping into that familiar, mischievous lilt, “if we’re stuck here, we might as well make it… interesting.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Interesting how?”

“Oh, I dunno,” he says, sitting down beside you on the bed, his knee brushing yours. “Thought maybe we could find a way to keep warm. You know, since the snow’s got it freezing in here.”

You laugh softly, but his tone wasn’t entirely unserious. He leans back on his elbows, watching you with a glint in his eye, the kind that always spells trouble—or fun, depending on your perspective.

“You’re terrible,” you say, shaking your head.

“And you love it,” he shoots back, grinning. “Come on, what else are we gonna do? Sit here and stare at the walls? Nah, I reckon we make the most of it. Could even have our own little dance—no pub required.”

He pushes himself upright again, extending a hand toward you. “What d’you say? Give us a twirl, eh?”

You laugh again but take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. There isn‘t much space in his modest room, but Tom doesn‘t care. He starts humming a tune, spinning you around with a surprising amount of grace.

It doesn‘t take long for his lack of rhythm to become glaringly obvious. His steps are clumsy, a bit too eager, and he nearly trips over his own feet as he spins you around. You can’t help it—you burst into laughter, doubling over as he fumbles to regain his footing.

“Oi, what’s so funny?” he protests, though his grin is wide. He catches your hands to steady himself, his eyes twinkling with playful defiance. “I’m a bloody brilliant dancer, I’ll have you know.”

“Brilliant?” you repeat through giggles. “You’re all left feet, Tom!”

He gasps in mock outrage as if you’d just wounded his pride. “That’s rich, comin’ from someone who hasn’t danced a single proper step tonight!”

“I can’t when you’re stepping all over me,” you tease, dodging his attempt to pull you closer.

“Alright, alright,” he says, raising his hands in surrender, though the smirk on his face tells you he isn‘t done. “If dancing isn’t your thing, maybe we ought to try somethin’ else.”

You narrow your eyes, wary but amused. “Like what?”

He doesn‘t answer immediately, letting the question hang in the air as he wraps an arm around your waist, tugging you close again. His other hand rests lightly on your hip, his thumb brushing against the fabric of your skirt. The touch is casual enough to feign innocence, but the cheeky glint in his eyes betrays him.

“Oh, I dunno,” he says after a beat, his voice dropping an octave. “Reckon I’ve got a few ideas.”

“You always have ideas, Tom. Doesn’t mean they’re good ones.”

His hand on your waist tighten just slightly, pulling you even closer. “I’ll have you know, my ideas are bloody brilliant. Genius, even.”

“Right,” you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Let me guess—this one involves me doing all the work while you sit back and enjoy yourself?”

“Now you’re catchin’ on,” he quips, his grin widening. He leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he murmurs, “What d’you say, love? Thought you might fancy makin’ me feel better after all this weather ruined our plans.”

You shov him playfully, laughing as he tumbles back onto the bed. “You’re ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head.

Tom props himself up on his elbows, watching you with that same cheeky smirk. “Ridiculously charming, maybe. Go on, admit it—you love me for it.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrays you. Snowstorm or not, Tom knows exactly how to keep things interesting—and keep you laughing, even as his hands wandered in hopes of turning the evening decidedly in his favor.

When you finally collaps back onto the bed, Tom props himself up beside you, his face inches from yours. “See?” he murmurs, his voice softer now. “Told you we’d find a way to pass the time.”

“Still terrible,” you tease. He leans in just slightly, his nose brushing against yours. “And still irresistible,” he whispers.

You giggle slightly, “Go on, tell yourself that,” you whisper teasingly and he growls slightly while his hand moves up your thigh. He kisses the tip of your nose, almost a gentle gesture if you didn't feel him gently pressing his growing hardness against you. You giggle again, “Somehow I think I know what you have in mind for how we can pass the time,” you whisper, and he pretends to be clueless. “I dunno what you mean...“ he mumbles with his typical grin. ”Ah... okay...“ you say and straighten up to slide off the bed. Tom watches you and raises his eyebrows slightly. ”Mhm... I think I like the way you think,” Tom says, leaning back relaxed, his arms behind his head, watching you.

You kneel between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs, and you know how his cock is throbbing with desire in his pants. You bite your lip slightly, your hands sliding higher. Tom responds with a small growl as he watches your fingers play with the button of his pants. You slowly unbutton them, his hardness obviously pressing against the fabric of his pants.

Slowly, you push down his trousers, his length springs free. You reach for it, your teeth still not releasing your lower lip. You let your thumb slide over the tip of his cock, smearing the precum. Your eyes focus on Tom's face as his cock twitches in your hand. His eyes are closed and he moans slightly. You love these moments when his cheeky nature fades into the background and you just see pure emotion flowing through him.

Slowly, you lean forward and your lips close around the tip of his cock. “Fuck,” Tom growls, his hips twitching involuntarily as you gently suck. The salty taste of his precum spreads across your tongue. He slides one hand into your hair, gripping it lightly, while you try to take in as much of his length as you possible.

Your teeth slide gently over his skin and he grunts softly. Your muffled moans fill the room as more precum fills your mouth. His hips thrust up slightly, but this time deliberately, and you gag slightly. Your throat tightens around the tip of his cock and Tom groans.

Your mouth slides up and down, trying to get all of his length into your mouth. You try to breathe relaxed through your nose, but the thrusting of his hips prevents you from doing so. The hand in your hair pushes you down slightly and you moan again, feeling the throbbing between your thighs intensify. Your head bobs, lewd, wet sounds fill the small space you both occupy, accompanied by Tom's grunts.

“Yeah, babe... take me deeper in your mouth...” he grunts and you let your lips slide up and down faster. The thrusting of his hips becomes sloppy, his cock twitches violently in your mouth, almost impatiently. You continue to suck his twitching cock, swirling your tongue around the slick head, while your one hand starts pumping his length and then you hear the moan.

Tom’s legs tensed, driving himself deep into your salviating mouth once more, hot cum spilling down your throat as you eagerly swallow his cum. He is panting and gruntin while his cum is filling your mouth. His hand clenches in your hair and you moan, trying to swallow all his cum. When his cock stops twitching and you have swallowed everything he has given you, you release his cock from your mouth with a pop and wipe your mouth clean.

You look up at him and smile. He is breathing heavily, his eyes closed, a slight smile on his lips. You slowly get up and crawl back onto the bed. Even before his eyes open, you gently kiss his lips.

He hums contentedly, his breathing still heavy.

“Have you thought of something like that?“ you whisper and you feel him smile slightly.

“This is pretty close...” he mutters and suddenly grabs you. You squeal slightly, but giggle as he pushes you onto the bed and rolls on top of you.

[fiery-blues]

the pitt fic recs! (pt. 3)

link to fanfic recommendations masterlist

1. something more (for me to prove) by ytsson | mohan/santos

Trinity was clearly doing the math in her head. She opened her mouth, then closed it, as if the words wouldn’t physically come out. She bit her lip, fingers still drumming against the bar. Samira watched her face shift again into something unreadable.

“I could take you on a date,” said Trinity, slowly and carefully. Her voice was unsure, as if she were testing the waters. “It doesn’t have to be an actual like date date. I mean it can, it doesn’t have to—it can just be a nice night out, so that you don’t have to give up hope on dating.”

—

or, samira gets stood up.

2. folded and unfolded and unfolding by goddesspharo | abbot/walsh

It's the end of the world as The Weather Channel is predicting it and Walsh is stuck on in-house call for however long it takes for this blizzard to let up and the snowplows to start plowing again – even though she's supposed to be off for a three-day weekend – with an ER counterpart whose Catholic guilt is surpassed only by his God complex.

3. i cant let go when somethings broken. by contentment (fallinqstars) | whitaker centric

So no. Dennis doesn’t want to die, he just wants to quit without feeling like everybody is going to be disappointed in him. It’s like he’s got a gun to his head at all times. Robby’s hands around his shoulders like a vice, his mother’s lips to his broken wrist, his hands holding a dead calf.

God forgive him for what he’s going to do.

(Trinity forgive him, too.)

4. goliath prostrate by falteringstar | whitaker/robby

“Please don’t tell me the first person who ever touched your dick was Dr. Robby.”

“Um.” He coughs.

“Oh my god I’m gonna fucking die.”

—

Santos tries to solve Whitaker’s sexual hangups. Whitaker tries to save Robby’s soul. Neither initiative goes exactly to plan.

5. i like it (a little too much) by HotelRaleigh | mohabbot bodyguard au

“You were testing us. Testing me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jack leans forward on the small table and Mohan leans back, but her mouth is quivering. “Did we pass your test, Doctor Mohan?”

The smirk breaks through, a dimple emerging on her cheek and - oh, that’s disorienting. Jack collects himself while she glances at her phone. “Under ten minutes. Not bad.”

“Usually my clients aren’t actively avoiding me, so you’ll have to forgive me the oversight this time.” He takes her soda and sips idly from the same straw.

Her lips grow into some wider, wilder. “Guess you’ll have to do better next time, Mr. Abbot.”

***

bodyguard AU

6. from the sidelines by griffenly | melangdon

She gets this tingling in the back of her head, sometimes, when she can’t quite be sure what she knows, just that she knows something. She feels it as she watches Mel show Langdon the tablet; her hands are gesticulating wildly as she explains, pointing to the screen occasionally, but Langdon’s eyes never leave her face. It is a wonder, Dana thinks, the poor girl doesn’t just combust on the spot from the force of his gaze.

[sethmacfarlanedeathpose]

Engineer x Pyro preg fic!!!

The RED team's base was never that warm in winter. Especially the base located in Snowplow which was already cold enough, it didn't help that it was the dead of December and all the mercs had to find some alternative way to keep warm. For the team's resident Engineer that meant sitting in his little workshop, being kept heated by some overworked machine that he was using as a heater. He did take the time to tinker with a few little gadgets and gizmos, and figure out why his teleporters weren't working right. The Texan wasn't alone. There sat beside him in a rather comfy recliner chair was Pyro.

The masked mercenary also seemingly working on something, not as advanced as Del's own machines, but hard enough for them that they seemed to be struggling and starting over again a couple of times.

Engineer had let his concentration break a few times, allowing his eyes to wander in Pyro's direction to see what they were working on. Their hands still protected with those near two inch thick gloves, attempting to knit some sort of blanket. The Pyro wasn't particularly skilled it seemed, as they were constantly stopping half-way through every blanket to start a new one, all because of one mistake. Although after some time Engineer had once again decided to peer over to Pyro, viewing a far more completed, now scarf length piece of wool. It was a lot better compared to all the serviette sized blankets that Pyro had so carelessly tossed aside.

Red and yellow in colour and now long enough that it was draping over Pyro's belly, which had grown a large amount in size.

"For the baby, Pyro?"

"Mmr phe mmby!"

If Engineer was correct, Pyro's mumbles indicated that the blanket was indeed for the baby, the baby that had been growing in Pyro's belly for the past six months and even through the asbestos suit, was now becoming more prominent.

Pyro found some comfort in lazing back in Engineer's well heated workshop, and not being disturbed by the other mercs. Beside them was a small table hosting a basket full of yarn balls that Pyro was subjecting to below mediocre knitting, a plate of little sandwich looking cookies that Spy had baked out of boredom (Which he called Macarons) and a cup of hot cocoa in a giant Mann. Co mug, adorned with whipped cream and marshmallows.

Pyro couldn't be enjoying themselves more, although sitting by the fireplace in the Rec Room, needlessly burning whatever random things they could find would be better.

Pyro had stopped for a moment, the sudden change in activity once again garnering Engineer's attention. Gloved hands now gently running in circles around their swollen middle and a gentle mumble could be heard from behind the mask. One couldn't see the fire wielding merc's face from behind the gasmask, but Engie would tell when something was up with them.

Quickly, Engineer turned his chair in Pyro's direction, seeing them now place their hand underneath their rather bloated middle.

Suddenly Engineer felt Pyro's hands grab his own non-robotic arm and was being pulled in their direction and having his palm forced against Pyro's belly.

Another moment of silence as Pyro moved Engie's hand across the expanse of their stomach in hopes he could feel what they felt.

Engineer's eyes, hidden behind goggles, pierced upwards from Pyro's belly to their own shadowed eyes.

"Is it the baby? Is it kicking?"

"Mhmm!"

Pyro shook their head, still attempting to move Engineer's hand around, but not much could be felt on Engineer's part, seeing as Pyro was still wearing that thick, protective suit. And well something had to be said.

"Darlin', I can't feel a thing, you're gonna have to take the suit off."

Pyro didn't hesitate in the slightest, and although it was a major struggle for them to lift their overburdened body up from the chair, they still managed. Unzipping the suit from the back and removing all the belts and straps to reveal their heavily pregnant figure.

Pyro had always been chubby, but their now six month pregnant belly only stood to make them look rounder. They were wearing a lightly burnt up, pink coloured vest, which stood to hide Pyro's very scarred and burned body.

Once again they grabbed Engie's still intact arm and pressed it against their vast belly. A thick layer of fat covered their womb, but Engineer could just feel the tightness of their pregnant womb. The minor disturbance had again awoken the baby inside and kicks and movement could be felt again. The feeling of a little kick against Engie's hand had him almost in tears, a sudden rush of happiness and joy shooting through Engineer's brain, having him suddenly press his noggin against Pyro's belly and placing a gentle kiss near the naval.

"Sweetheart? Is this the first time you've felt the baby properly kick?"

Pyro just shook their head, and Engie could tell their were smiling behind the mask. There had been some worry about the pregnancy early on. With all the stress Pyro's body had gone through in their life and what it would continue to go through as a mercenary, Medic had classified it as a "high risk pregnancy", which worried Engie. Worrying that the baby wouldn't even live till birth, but here he could feel a rather lively baby kicking about.

Engie continued to rub and place kisses all over Pyro's belly, until he could hear some low groans and heavy breathing from Pyro, to which he shot up out of his own chair to help Pyro sit back down in theirs.

Despite always carrying around a tank of gas and a giant, homemade flamethrower, Pyro had found being knocked up to be extremely exhausting. Although they seemed fine once they were back down in the chair.

Engie's hand lay on Pyro's hip, massaging the bone and up by their lovehandles.

"Hold on, sugar. I'm gonna go get you something."

Engineer left Pyro to go search for the merc's sweater, which would be a far better option for them to wear instead of that heavy suit.

Pyro sat, half nude, only their tank top and underwear to cover their shame. Since they were already missing their suit they might as well take off their gloves to feel around their belly a little better. The baby had since found a comfy spot and went right back to snuggling up in Pyro's womb, so not much kicking or moving could be felt.

The hard hatted merc returned with Pyro's pajama bottoms and Company issued Mann. Co sweater. One being provided to all the mercs when being forced into such cold bases.

"Really gotta keep warm in this place, right Py?"

Pyro was happy to receive the clothes, letting Engie help put them on all while still sitting down.

"Mhhmm!"

Pyro muttered in agreement. Neither they nor Engineer were used to such cold conditions, but the sweater and pants seemed to be comforting to the little firebug.

Once Engineer was done dressing Pyro, he sat his body close to his partner, placing his hand once again atop their belly.

"If I didn't know any better I'd say you were ready to pop!"

A sigh escaped Pyro's mask. Didn't they know it? Six months in and having only one baby? And yet they were rather large. Scout had made some backhanded comment the other day about how Medic definitely had a baboon uterus put in Pyro, and that wasn't Del's baby but some dumb Baboon, which earned the youngest merc a slap in the face. Maybe it could be chocked up to Pyro's weight or all those vitamins and crazy experimental drugs given to the mercs. Needless to say Pyro was huge.

"I think you look cute all round like this!"

"Mhmrr mrst mrming mrt mpho mme mmece!"

If Engineer could translate correctly that was a "You're just saying that to be nice." but truthfully he meant it. Something about Pyro's rotund figure and how they had since developed a little waddle was extremely cute to him. Of course Pyro had not been on the battlefield since they discovered that they were pregnant, but Engie could only imagine them not being able to keep up with anyone, so it be best they stay here.

"No, I'm serious. Although I think everything about you is just adorable."

Maybe there was a little blushing behind the mask, but Pyro wouldn't tell.

Engineer now placing an ear against Pyro's belly and hearing a low rumble, indicating hunger, which didn't seem go be satisfied by the little sandwich cookies.

"How's about I go see if someone made dinner? You sound famished!"

No words escaped Pyro's mouth, but a nod of agreement was all Engie needed to go by.

[camisoledadparis]

STORY: Stranger at the Door

A knock at the door on a snowy New Year's Eve

______________________________________________

I picked the extra wine glass up from the coffee table, took it into the kitchen, and put it back in the cupboard. I wasn’t surprised. In fact I’d really known for a couple of hours that Emmet wasn’t going to make it up to Wintergreen for the weekend. It had been snowing all day in the mountains, and my vacation house was nearly the last one on Pine Trail, winding around the mountain a third of the way down from the ski lifts at the top of the Blue Ridge Mountains resort.

The house further in from mine, the Albrechts’ A-frame, had a few lights on, but I’d seen them down in Waynesboro Thursday evening, at the Kroger grocery store, and they said they’d be up in D.C. for the weekend. They must have loaned the house out. I hoped their guests wouldn’t be disappointed about being snowed in. Of course, if they’d come to ski, they could wade their way up to the lifts and ski back down a short way to the house. I wonder if they knew that. I might go over and make sure they did—if I could get the gumption to go out in this snow myself. It was beginning to drift.

The house on the other side of me, the more substantial log house the Logans owned had had lights on earlier too—I got more of a glow from that direction over the treetops than being able to see the actual house. It was a good bit lower than my house in elevation and on a nasty twisting and rising curve that would be hard to navigate in this weather.

I went back to the living room and settled in to watch the DVD I’d put on, a gay male sex one that was making an attempt, not too successfully, of padding out the sex scenes with a background story. I’d picked it because I thought the actors were hot—not necessarily as actors, but certainly as sex partners—and there was a black guy who looked a lot like Emmet and a bit older blond who I could see as me. I had been warming myself up for Emmet’s appearance, but now he wasn’t coming. He’d called me and said he didn’t think he could chance it unless he hopped on a snowplow. I’d told him not to bother, hoping that he would bother, but he’d said he wouldn’t.

So, there went the weekend. I didn’t even know whether the electricity would hold up here on the mountain in snow like this. At least I had a lot of firewood in and had had this house built with fireplaces and double insulation that could provide for heat, as necessary.

I was deciding whether to go take a shower and dress more warmly after the DVD was finished when I heard the door chimes sound. In anticipation of Emmet, I wasn’t wearing anything under the Henley shirt and faded low-rise blue jeans I had on. I’d really planned on a sexually satisfying weekend.

And maybe, I thought, as I clicked off the DVD and went out to the foyer to answer the door, Emmet had hopped a snowplow after all and the weekend would be saved.

But that wasn’t the case. When I turned on the front porch light, I saw that a stranger, bundled up in a parka and a floppy-eared hat, was standing out there, shivering in the cold, and blowing on his hands to warm them.

I opened the door.

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’m looking for someplace I can make a call. My cell phone is dead and I’ve just gone off the road on a curve. Banged my car up pretty bad. I need to call AAA.”

“On the curve?” I asked. “That would be in front of the Logans’ house. They should be home.”

“I didn’t see any lights in any house but yours. Sorry. I can go back and—”

“No, no,” I said. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight. You certainly can come in and make a call—assuming I still have phone service. The electricity is still on, so maybe the phone . . .” Just then the lights flickered, though, so I reached out and tugged on the arm of his parka to let him know he could come in. “You’d best hurry in and try to make the call,” I said, “And you may be out of luck on AAA for a while in these conditions. There’s a landline phone over there on the kitchen wall, but you can use my cell phone, if you want. I have AAA dialed in. The cell phone is on the kitchen island over there.”

“Thanks,” he said, as he entered. He shook my hand as he slipped off the parka and was going by me. I was surprised to find that his hand was warm. I was also surprised to see that he was wearing a muscle T-shirt over tight jeans under the parka and was built solid and had a dark, sultry look about him. He looked like one of the porn stars I’d just been watching in the DVD. “My name’s Brad,” he said as he moved beyond me.

“I’m Justin,” I said. “Can I get you something to drink while you’re making your call?”

“If you have it, a beer would be nice, thanks,” he said, as he picked up the cell phone and moved back into the corridor to the bedrooms to make his call. Before I went into the kitchen, I watched him slouch against the corridor wall, the small of his back against the wall and his legs stretched out before him into the corridor and spread a bit. I thought of it as a Marlon Brando stance. He reminded me a lot of Brando in his Streetcar days rather than his bloated afterlife. The man had that sensuous, pouty aura about him that Brando exuded in the sexy phase of his life.

I felt tingly inside. It obviously was from having been watching sex DVDs while waiting for Emmet and anticipating what Emmet and I would be doing tonight. But not doing now, I remembered, as I went into the kitchen and broke out a beer. I took the wine bottle back into the living room along with the beer and replenished my wine glass while putting his beer—Brad, he had said—on the coffee table. The big leather couch faced the TV. There were leather recliners set across from the couch and beside the TV credenza and, on second thought, I moved my wine glass to a side table beside one of these.

As I passed the opening to the bedroom corridor, I could hear him on the phone. He wasn’t sounding too hopeful. I wasn’t surprised by that, and my mind was already working on what could be done other than offering him a place to stay. But I couldn’t think of any reason I shouldn’t ask him to stay other than that he was a complete stranger and, despite that, I could feel I’d gone hard in comparing him to Marlon Brando. But was I set up for a house guest? Emmet, of course, would have slept in my bed with me. The bed wasn’t made in the guest room. I’d have to do that, and I couldn’t remember if there were towels in the guest bath. But I was getting ahead of myself. Maybe AAA was on its way and he wanted to be on his way as well. I found myself looking at myself in the hall mirror and wondering if I was good enough for him. That made me laugh and chastise myself. Talk about getting ahead of yourself.

“It’s no go on AAA for a while—not until tomorrow they said,” Brad said when he came back and put the cell phone on the kitchen island. “Guess I’ll have to try to hoof it out to the main road. Is it better for me to go up or down? I didn’t see much that might be open at the foot of the mountain. Is there a lodge up at the top?”

“Yes, there’s a lodge up there, but it would be tough going on foot in this snow. And you have an open beer here. Come on in and take a load off.”

I don’t know if I was planning even then for him to stay and fuck me, but all the signs pointed to that. I was keyed up for an Emmet visitation—had even gotten a start on viewing the DVD—and this guy was a hunk in a tough guy Marlon Brando sort of way. His T-shirt was showing off a great set of pectorals with hard nipples standing out under the tight material, he had a mighty fine six pack, and his jeans were tight enough that I could see an impressive bulge and follow the line of a long cock. I was close to hyperventilated from the buildup of need.

I wondered if he was straight. I had to say he didn’t act one way or the other yet. Most of my friends were gay, though, so I didn’t often have to wonder about someone I met who I was interested in sexually.

But was I interested in Brad sexually? I’m afraid that ship had sailed. I had been so keyed up for Emmet and had just watched a gay fuck video. Why wouldn’t I be interested in a hunk like Brad sexually?

We chatted for a while. I told him of the restaurants I owned in Waynesboro and Charlottesville and that I was up here for the weekend to take in the skiing with a friend of mine, a professor at the University of Virginia, but that the friend couldn’t make it up here tonight.

“Your friend a man or a woman?” he asked.

“A man,” I said without thinking of what inference he could get from that. But it was meaningful that he asked and was prepared to hear the friend was male. I tried finding out something about him, in turn, that would help me categorize him, but other than saying he worked in construction, he didn’t reveal much. He even deflected the conversation the couple of times I asked how his car came to be in a snow bank this far into a dead-end mountain road. I probably should have pursued that more closely, but I found him disconcerting, sitting—more slouching—on the leather couch, with his legs spread and being all sultry and pouty, across from where I was sitting in the recliner.

The conversation had come to an awkward halt a couple of times, with him saying he should get out in the snow, but accepting a second beer, and then him saying he should start trudging up to the lodge but not moving, so I got the message that he wasn’t that anxious to get out in the snow.

God help me, but I wasn’t anxious for him to leave either. And it wasn’t hard to figure he was playing me—taking me to the brink of begging him to stay. He must have known by now that I wanted him to fuck me. I wasn’t too subtle when I was heat, and I moved deeper in heat the longer he sat here in my living room. I didn’t care if he was playing me. It was part of what aroused me. At this point, if I had to beg him to stay, I would. My ass was twitching. I wanted it; I wanted him.

“It’s still snowing,” I said, looking out the wall to ceiling window that looked up the hill at the Albrechts’ house, where the lights were all off now. “You won’t get anywhere on foot tonight, and you’ll need to be here for whenever AAA can get to your car. You’ll have to spend the night here. I’ve got a guest room. Just let me go in and get sheets on the bed and make sure there are towels in the bath. I’ll get you another beer while I’m up.”

He didn’t object to spending the night. He didn’t object to having another beer either.

As I was leaving to go back to prepare a bedroom for him, he said, almost casually, “You know, now that you mention it, I know about you and your restaurants. John Knowles told me about you. Do you know John Knowles?” That stopped me in my tracks.

“No, I can’t say that I do,” I answered. But a chill had gone up my spine. I knew John Knowles quite well. He moved in my social circle in Charlottesville. He was a bottom, as I was. What did Brad know about me, I wondered. Was he playing me. I stopped at the kitchen counter and picked up my cell phone and checked the last call made on it. It was one of my calls, not a call to AAA. My mind was spinning as I went back to the bedrooms. What the fuck was going on here?

When I came back out, he’d rid himself of the T-shirt, had his legs spread and his feet on the coffee table. His fly was unzipped and a fat ole cock was standing straight up from the flared jeans. He’d turned the DVD on and was watching a sex scene and stroking his cock.

“You know, you don’t have to set up a guest room just for me,” he said. “I could sleep in your bed with you.”

“Uh, I didn’t mean for that to be on,” I said, my voice slightly shaking and not having something to come back with on his direct proposition. “Maybe you should turn it off, and . . .”

“And stop beating off?” he asked, turning a sneery look at me.

“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t—”

“You didn’t actually say you wanted me to stay and fuck you, but you do, don’t you?” he said. “You don’t want me to put my cock away, do you? You don’t want me to use the guest room.” He made to do so—to fold his cock back into his fly—and I groaned and involuntarily reached a hand out. He laughed.

I couldn’t think of anything to say. Is that what I really wanted? And, if so, had it been so obvious?

“One of these guys, the blond there, looks just like you. Is that why you’re watching this vid? You’re fantasizing being fucked like the blond in this vid, aren’t you?”

“This is getting a little out of hand,” I said, putting a bit of bite into my voice. It was one thing for me to fantasize this guy fucking me; it was quite another for him to be so forward. “Maybe we should back up a bit.”

“We could do that, but we’d be wasting pleasure time,” he answered, with a knowing smile. “John Knowles claims he does know you. He told me you took cock. You do, don’t you?”

“Yes,” I said meekly, defeated. I wanted someone to fuck me so bad—and now, not some later date.

“And one of the other guys in this vid looks like this guy who was supposed to come up here tonight, doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” I said in a small voice.

“Which one?”

“The black one.”

“Nice. He does you real well in the vid. Does your guy—did you say his name was Emmet?—do you that well—as well as the hung ball bull in the vid performs?”

“Yes.”

~~

~~

“I can do you that well. Come over here. Come over to the couch.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think—”

“Come here. Kneel to me. Suck me off. Do it.”

I was a submissive. John Knowles had probably told him that too—that I folded immediately to domination. I responded to commands. He lifted a leg off the coffee table to allow me to slip in between his legs and kneel in front of the couch. He put the leg back down, bracketing my body, and I took his cock in my mouth. He broke contact long enough to pull the Henley over my head and I resumed sucking him hard as a rock. The DVD continued to run, with the only sounds from the couch being the slurping sounds I was making, my occasional gag as he forced me to take him deep, and his mutterings of what he was going to do to me after I’d sucked him hard as hard could be.

At length he brought his legs down off the coffee table and raised me up, turned me and laid me down on my belly across the couch. “Up on your knees,” he commanded. “Give me your ass,” and I meekly did what he demanded of me. He laughed when he unbuttoned and unzipped my jeans and pulled them down to my ankles, finding I was wearing no briefs.

“You were ready for your boyfriend, weren’t you?” he growled.

“Yes,” I answered.

“So, I’ll be your boyfriend for the night.”

“Yes,” I answered. Then I was panting and moaning and rocking my pelvis back into his face as he pulled my cock through my legs and gave that, my balls, and my ass attention with his tongue. I opened quickly to him. I had been anticipating this all day. Just not from a stranger. That didn’t keep me from opening for Brad, though. He fiddled around in the pockets of his jeans, now bunched on the floor in front of the couch under mine, came up with a condom disk, and crowned himself. Then he mounted me, crouched over my body, and forced himself inside, as I groaned and grunted and felt my channel walls give—actually pull him inside me. My channel muscles rippled over the hard cock. There was no question that I welcomed this—that I wanted it, that I needed it.

“You do it. If you want it, you do it. Show me you want it,” he said, and he stopped pumping and held there, while I took over, rhythmically rocking back on the cock, fucking myself on it—embarrassed and cowed, but, yes, wanting it; wanting it badly enough to fuck myself on the cock. I stretched my arms straight out from my body in both directions, gripping opposite edges of the coffee table to hold myself steady while I rocked back on the cock. After a few minutes, he laughed, and took over the thrusting again.

He fucked me for several minutes, with the DVD still running. It was a two-hour show. It had nearly an hour left to run and, I couldn’t help it, I hoped the fuck would continue for that whole time.

Before either of us were done, though, he pulled out of and off me and said. “Over in the chair. I want you to do it. You have to show that you want it.”

He was off the couch and went over to the recliner I had been in, slouched into it, made it recline, and grabbed his cock and held it upright. “Come here. Sit on it. Ride it,” he commanded.

I mounted him on the chair, descended on the cock and rose and fell on it with him holding my waist and helping me to slam up and down on the cock. Just as we both came, the lights flickered and then went out. I collapsed on top of him and we lay there in the chair for a few minutes, him embracing me, both of us feeling him go flaccid inside me—but not all the way. He remained half hard. Only then, with the lights out, did I realize that the DVD had run its course. We’d been fucking for an hour or more.

I felt the beating of his heart as he cooled down. I wasn’t cooling down as quickly. I was still excited. This unexpected fuck by a stranger kept me keyed up.

“Where is your bedroom?” I heard him ask.

“Down the hall and to the left,” I answered.

“Is that where this boyfriend of yours—Emmet, was it?—was going to fuck you tonight? In your bedroom?”

“Yes.”

He hauled us both out of the chair, slung me over his shoulder, and lunging this way and that way and barely keeping from banging into the furniture on either side, headed back to the bedroom corridor. At the opening into the corridor, he banged my head against the wall. But I didn’t care. All I could think of was that I was going to be fucked again—on my bed—in the dark, by a young Marlon Brando.

“Where do you keep them,” he asked after he’d tossed me on the bed. “No reason to use mine if you have them.” I rolled over and opened the top drawer of my nightstand and retrieved a condom packet.

While I was doing that, he went to the fireplace and lit it. I’d already laid the firewood in anticipation that the electricity—and thus the heat—would go off at some point in the storm. After he’d lit the fire, he came over to the bed and went down on his knees on the mattress beside me. “You do it. Crown me,” he demanded. I rolled the condom on his erect cock.

Once again, saying it had to be because I wanted it, he made me do the work. He was controlling me with the tease and more than a hint of humiliation, making me beg for it and demonstrate my submissiveness to him. But he was reading me correctly. He had me under his control. I would do anything he told me to do as long as he gave me the cock.

He lay on his back on the bed and put me on top of him, in a reverse crab position, facing him, with my arms slung back, my fists buried in the mattress, and my legs bent, my feet planted on either side of his waist, with him fisting my ankles, and I was skewered on his cock. I rose and fell on the cock and he thrust up into me. I was trembling and nearly exhausted when we’d come.

He fucked me to exhaustion in various positions and we both dozed off, stretched against each other in the flickering light and heat coming from the fireplace at the foot of the bed. When I woke, he was gone. I turned and looked at the clock, aware that what had awakened me was the electricity coming back on. It was barely midnight. Still, the stranger had fucked me for over two hours. I wondered where he was.

I realized it wasn’t just the restoration of the electricity that had awakened me. Someone was outside, ringing the doorbell and beating on the door. Had he—Brad, I think he said—somehow locked himself out of the house? I rolled out of bed, reached for the sleeping shorts I’d put in a chair near the bed earlier in the day in anticipation of sleeping in them, and padded out to the foyer.

Brad’s parka and floppy hat were gone. It wasn’t him at the door. It was Emmet.

“Emmet. You made it,” I said, hoping that Brad indeed was gone and suddenly concerned about what had been left behind. Beer bottles in the living room. Emmet drank beer and that’s why I had it on hand. I didn’t drink beer. I drank wine, and Emmet knew I didn’t drink beer. My clothes on the floor in front of the couch. The TV humming, with the DVD in the slot. And condoms. Where had the condoms gone?

“Yes. I did catch a snowplow. But I can only stay the night, I’m afraid. There’s a crisis in my department and the chairman has called a meeting for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Did you have to walk from the accident in front of the Logans’ house? Did the snowplow have to leave you there?”

“What accident?”

“I think there was a car accident. A car went off the road on that curve we’re always careful about.”

“No car there, and no sign of one.”

“OK, well, come on in and get that coat off.” I was looking into the living room as he took his coat off, panicked at what I could see in there of the evidence of the debauchery earlier in the evening.

Mercifully, the power went out again right at that moment.

“Shit,” I said, although only halfheartedly. Maybe this would be OK, I thought. Maybe after he went to sleep.

Right on cue Emmet said. “I’m bushed, and we don’t have much time. Maybe—”

“Come on back to the bedroom,” I said. “It’s warmer there. I’ve had a fire going and I can lay another one.”

I remade the fire as Emmet stripped and retrieved lube and a condom from the nightstand drawer. Even in the dark he easily found it. He’d done this before. When I came back to the bed, I stepped on something squishy. The condom from Brad’s fuck, I realized, and I kicked it under the bed before I climbed in and laid down on my back.

Emmet fucked me in the missionary position—satisfying but not the variety Brad had employed—his knees pressed under my buttocks, lifting my pelvis to him. He leaned over me, holding my arms up and out on the top of the bed, fisting my wrists in his big, brown hands. He was thick and long inside me. If he sensed that I already was open, he made no remark of it. He started slow, but we quickly found a more vigorous rhythm of moving together and he pounded me long and hard before tensing, jerking, and coming in the sheath inside me. He rolled off to the side and was snoring in short order.

Quietly, I rolled out of the bed on the opposite side of him and padded out to the living room. I was tidying that up when I realized that the lights were on in the Albrecht house at the end of the road. I went over to the window and looked at the house.

He was standing naked, in the full wall of glass of the A-frame cottage, backed by lights inside. He was smoking a cigarette and staring at my house. Brad’s body was as beautiful backlit like this as it had been when he had been standing in my living room, under me in the chair, and fucking me in my bed.

I was sure he couldn’t see him, but I realized there was a light on in my kitchen, so maybe he could. He certainly had been able to see me from there earlier in the evening, slouched in the sofa and jerking off to the sex tape.

He confirmed he could by waving at me and blowing me an air kiss. Instead of pulling away, out of his sight, I turned on the lights in my living room. Now we each could clearly see the other. He took his cock in his hand. I was as naked as he was. And now I was as erect as he was too. We stood there, facing each other from across the snowy divide, and masturbated. I watched him jerking off and he watched me jerking off.

As if there was a mental connection, we both were working to come simultaneously. We came close to managing it, with him, as could be expected, demanding that I come first. My spunk arced and splashed against the glass window. His did so soon thereafter. He saluted me and the power in both houses, as if on cue, went out again.

I had had a stab of disappointment when Emmet said he could only stay the night, not the weekend. But now, thinking of the possibilities with Brad if he was staying the weekend, I wasn’t disappointed anymore.

Happy New Year.

~~

~~

[cozza-frenzy]

Well, we finally managed to figure something out - and in the end it was something we knew all along. We don't need permission, we don't need a reason, we don't need to justify anything to exist the way we do. Alters can front just because they feel like it. We can have fun with each other. We can find ways to break free from our own suffering, and move on from our past. It's not easy to let go of what other people think, but we couldn't let it continue to hold us back.

I mean - trying to balance the idea of "being a good system" with what was happening? Keeping our headcount low even when we still have missing memories and skills? Trying to prevent splits even when we can't handle things any more? It was killing us. It was very nearly the end of us.

It stressed us out so much that it plunged our Inner World into a vicious blizzard. It blacked out the sky so there was no day or night, no sun, no stars. Areas outside our airship home became nearly impossible to access; even areas not connected to the 'main' inner world were inexplicably cut off. If we'd let it continue, I can tell how bad things would have gotten. Yggdrasil, the tree that represents all of us, had lost its normally permanent leaves and flowers - and Yggy, its representative alter, was constantly tired. We were stuck in what felt like an inescapable spiral; tempers were flaring, trust was breaking down. Anger leading to hurt. Hurt leading to despair. Despair killing hope. If the storm had continued to cut us off from the rest of the world, alters would have gone dormant - and those of us that survived the first time wouldn't want to live through losing everyone again. The world that represents our collective soul would have died in freezing darkness, and whoever was left would have to pick up the pieces.

We only managed to avert what seemed like an inevitable collapse, and pull ourselves out of that deep hole, by identifying what the problem was and letting the fuck go. Maybe we're not a good system in some people's eyes. Maybe to them we're "in love with being sick", we're glorifying, maybe even exaggerating or faking. But we're done with apologizing for posting about things that actually happened; so here's what actually happened, when the storm finally cleared.

On Christmas Day I ran outside in my new pair of digitigrade snow boots, gifted to me by Roses. I'd seen the others outside having fun in the snow, and after Celeste relieved me of "fronting duty", I threw a snowball so hard at Zee's head that it spun around 180 degrees. An attempt to divide into teams for a snowball fight devolved into a free-for-all; snowballs got dropped from above, flew out of doors, fired from cartoon weapons. Sasha jumped on Anarchy's back and went riding around, Martin got revenge on Vivien by burying them in a huge armful of snow, even Morpheus showed up and got absolutely pelted as he tried to lazily watch from one of his clouds. And Roy literally buried his competition, using a modified snowplow to hurl oversized snow-boulders.

We celebrated with a round of hot chocolate and a toast, and that evening we had a feast the likes of which we've never seen in realspace. Everyone working together to arrange plates, cups and napkins. Dagwood creating a bunch of copies to heft massive roasts onto the table with their disproportionate strength - beef, salmon, pork with crackling, an enormous puff pastry stuffed with cheese and cranberries, and Leaf (our tiniest alter) got an entire squab pigeon to themself. There were tureens and trays of potatoes and vegetables, home-baked bread and rolls, mounds of stuffing and a rainbow of sauces and condiments. The sparkling juice flowing, the gravy getting passed - laughter and cheers and the sound of popping christmas crackers between more than 30 alters.

And after dessert, there was a special visit from Father Christmas for the kiddos in the system... and a marriage proposal that took place in the front. I'm not saying which alter proposed to which other alter - but they said yes.

Even knowing that all of that happened in our Inner World; in a kind of collective, unending dream that we all share? It doesn't take away from the genuine joy we all felt, the fun we had, and the love we have for each other. It doesn't mean the memories we made together should be ignored or discarded. And it doesn't mean that we didn't suffer horribly before we got to this point. We don't need to suffer to prove we deserve happiness, but this has been one of the worst Decembers of our life, and possibly the worst splitting phase we've had post-discovery. It's been a long, hard slog of mental and physical exhaustion, anger and resentment, and sheer desperation to get to the end of 2024. But we pulled it off, and we had probably one of the most memorable Christmases of our lifetime.

So here's to a new year. Here's to healing, to moving on, and continuing to thrive. And to anyone and everyone who's sent us thinly veiled insults and threats, who's tried to get a rise out of our "angry alters", who's accused us of not knowing what's best for ourselves, or not trying hard enough? May your roast always be dry, that one relative you hate always show up last-minute, and the dog eat the entire family's dessert even if you don't have a dog. Fuck you, and I hope you get COVID for New Year's.

But Happy Holidays, from me and the rest of the system. We made it. Let's party.

[palepinkgoat]

Tag Game (belated)

I was tagged by @mybrainismelted and I think a couple others I'm not seeing now? Anyway, enjoy.

Name: Karen

Location: kitchen table

Did you collect anything as a child? stickers, porcelain dolls and then as a teenager I had a jillion candles.

Do you collect anything now? not collect as much as really enjoy thrifting colored glass things and I am obsessed with pens and things like random pouches for said pens and other things. I don't need any of it but I'm like a magpie with that stuff

What random piece of office equipment do you have a weird attachment to? I'm really into my planner and have the pens, highlighters, dot markers, stickers etc to prove it. I also write everything down so I have pads of paper for lists and a journal too.

Stick your right arm out; what do you touch first? Do the same with your left arm. right arm - a new cat food dish I just unpacked from amazon. left arm - planner

Do you drive? I do! Once a truck with a snowplow attachment ran into me, pushed me across the street, and kept on driving. It was the day before Christmas Eve and it was awful.

You’ve been given $1000 but you can only spend it at one store. which store do you choose? Costco lol

What is your secret weapon to get someone to like you? my sense of humor

Whats your go-to flavor for cough drops? I don't really use them much but I guess honey?

What does your latest text message from someone else say? November Dates Nov 6, 11, 14,18, 22, 25 (work related)

What are your preferred pizza toppings? I'm actually not a huge fan of pizza! I'll eat it but I'm not that picky. I guess sausage?

Colored glass vases on my built-in shelves right next to me. I saw them after I hit publish so now there is (not very even) proof.

[kydrogendragon]

Dec 16 - Snowed In

(Ao3 Link) (Masterpost Link)

“It doesn’t look like it’s letting up anytime soon,” Hob says, holding his half-drank mocha as he stares out the window. They’d rented a place up in the Highlands, taking some time for themselves after the busy holiday season. Morpheus had mentioned wanting to go somewhere quiet and with good views. He claimed he’d heard such environments were beneficial to “spurring the imagination in one’s mind.” So Hob found a cabin for rent on short notice, packed their bags and Morpheus’s laptop, and they headed out.

They got in late last night and the snow was coming down hard. The forecast had mentioned a small storm was going to be rolling in, but after listening to the news this morning, it looked like that small storm wasn’t so small after all. By the time they had gotten settled down for the night, there was easily 15 cm of snow on the ground and climbing. When they’d woken up in the morning, there was at least 25 cm, maybe more. And the snow still came down.

It looks like their stay might be longer than anticipated.

“What shall we do?” Morpheus asks from his spot on the couch near the fireplace. Hob had gotten a fire started - thankfully, there was a lot of pre-cut wood both inside and out in the log shed. At least they wouldn’t need to worry about not having enough heat. The cabin they had rented was well stocked (Hob thinks he remembers something about extreme sudden weather and ensuring there was enough supplies in cases like this listed on the website) and they didn’t have anything they needed to get back into town for, so if they stayed longer, it didn’t matter all that much.

“Guess we’re stuck here for a bit. At least until the snow stops coming down long enough that we can dig ourselves out. Or until the owners of the place come by with a snowplow to clear out the road.” Hob shrugs. “Guess until then, we just enjoy our time here like we planned.”

Morpheus nods and settles back into the plush cushions. His laptop - Hob had gotten him his very own for Christmas - was set on his lap. The coffee table was pulled closer, almost touching the couch, so Morpheus’s array of mugs were within reach. Hob discovered, soon after Morpheus had moved in, he was a fan of always having a variety of drinks available. His current array consisted of hot chocolate (with mini marshmallows, of course), green tea with honey, a water bottle that Hob had insisted he always have, and a half-drank can of cola. You know, the essentials.

Hob steps back over to his side of the couch and plops down, pulling Morpheus’s feet into his lap. The TV above the fireplace was muted (the sound distracted Morpheus) but was currently playing through the movie Elf that had been in the DVD player when they arrived. Hob had put the subtitles on since he knew the movie well enough to follow along without sound. He worked his fingers against the muscles in Morpheus’s feet and followed along to the film, enjoying the gentle clacking of laptop keys and crackling of wood in the fireplace.

They sat there, each content in their own little worlds and by the time the movie had finally ended, Morpheus, Hob realized as he turned to face his lover, was staring at him from over the top of his laptop. Hob arched a brow in question.

“I was simply… studying.” Morpheus replies, a light blush on the crests of his cheeks.

“Oh? That so?” Hob asks, smirking. “Something for your work?”

Morpheus nods and looks back down at his screen. His lips are pursed. “I… I wished to describe the flames upon this character’s face better. Yours made for an excellent reference.”

Hob had gotten used to this, over the past few days. Whatever story Morpheus was writing at the time, he always seemed to find a reason to “study” Hob. For his writing, of course. Definitely not as a not-so-subtle reason to oogle him. The last time he had caught Morpheus’s staring, when he’d looked over at the screen of his laptop, there hadn’t even been a word document or anything open. It was just the desktop screen. Not that Hob doubted he was telling the truth, occasionally, but he was certain that it made Morpheus more comfortable with looking at him casually. It always made Hob’s heart soar. He just wished Morpheus didn’t feel like he needed an excuse to do so. He’d gladly take Morpheus’s eyes on him anytime, after all.

“Well, if that’s the case, stare away then!” He says, patting Morpheus’s feet before setting them to his side. Hob stands, stretching his limbs out with a groan. “I am gonna grab a bite first, though. Want anything?”

Morpheus considers him, tilting his head in thought. It was adorable when he did that. It reminded him a bit of Matthew’s mannerisms. He’d said that once, in fact. Morpheus had just scowled at him, but it just made him all the cuter. Hob’s pretty sure he would have gotten a death glare if he’d said that thought aloud.

“A sandwich, perhaps. If it is no trouble.” He says, turning back to his computer.

“No trouble at all, love,” Hob says, leaning down and kissing the top of his love’s mess of inky black bed-head. He hears Morpheus huff fondly as he walks towards the kitchen. You know , he thinks as he pulls out the bread and spreads and fillings. A few more days of this bliss wouldn’t be too bad, after all. Perhaps getting snowed in was its own Christmas miracle, in a way.

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  Belonging To A Screwed Situation

Series: Holler Me Home, part 2

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage

Rating:  Explicit

Pairing:  Dean Winchester/OFC

Synopsis: Part of the Holler Me Home series. A scene from Alpha!Dean's early life.

Tags:  Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, ABO, Omegaverse, AU, Alpha Dean Winchester, Omega OFC, Alpha OMC, Pre-Series, Weechesters, Alpha John Winchester, John Winchester's A+ parenting, Sam is a good bro,

AN:  Contains sexual situations involving minors, so the appropriate flag is in place. Also flagged for non-con, as one of the parties involved is incapable of consent because of age and physical state. All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any trademarks or copyrights. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and is protected by Fair Use.

---

Charlotte woke the way she did most weekday mornings, with the scent of fresh coffee and absent husband.  She sat up and found her Thermos, Billy’s sticky note stuck to the side:

Baby,

Picking up Jamal’s shift today.  Probably won’t be home until Saturday.  :-(  Would love pork chops for Sunday, nudgenudge.

140 -- Heater needs parts

210 -- fixed sink

Love you a hundred million bunches,

-Billy

“Plus one for luck,” Charlotte said, kissing the note.  The coffee was perfect-- hot, sweet, strong enough to strip truck parts.  Breakfast, a cream cheese and raspberry Danish, waited on the kitchen table.  Billy wasn’t any girl’s idea of a Prince Charming but he was still her husband, her mate, the father of her pups, and amazing in bed.  Her heats had passed with menopause; no one had thought to tell her sex would get better after that.

At six on the dot she relieved the night shift desk clerk.  “Go on get outta here Malik,” she told him.  “Billy’s filling in for his drivers again.”

“You sure Miss Charlotte?” he asked.  “I got no problem working overtime.”

“Don’t worry about it, go on home after you salt the sidewalk.  S’posed to snow later.”

“Yes ma’am.”  Bless his mama for raising a boy with good manners.  Like a breath of fresh air.

Charlotte checked outside, pleased to note that Drew had already made a pass with the snowplow.  Sent the message the place was still a working business, no matter how out-at-the-elbows it looked from the street.  The West Main Motel sat on a state route that mostly served local commuter traffic, it did business but business never really boomed.

Charlotte sat at the desk and did the balance book for the day, a tape of last week’s choir practice playing on the cassette player.  Mostly it boiled down to an inventory of the regulars.  Sudahara in 220, paid his rent when his pension check came in every month.  230 was open again.  Charlotte had had to evict Alice day before yesterday; certain things Charlotte refused to abide, and bringing johns home was one of them.  Annette, the fat divorcee in 130 trying to get back on her feet after a nervous breakdown, she was good company -- for a goddamned Methodist -- and baked the best cakes.  Drew in 240 lived on a handshake basis, filling the role of building super in lieu of rent.

The rest of the motel’s open units -- Charlotte made a mental note to scratch 140 until Drew and Billy could get the heater fixed -- were empty most of the time.  Advertising was a sign out front and yielded a seedy clientele, people who preferred to deal in cash and without computers.  With those types, Charlotte asked no questions and her guests told no lies.

The current tenets in 120, for example.  Family, a widower with two boys, Alphas all three.  The father’s scent stung Charlotte’s nose.  A broken bond had turned him bitter, acetone and cheap liquor.  The boys, a towheaded stringbean with big green eyes and a moptop maybe three or four years younger, with child-simple scents of apples and growing things-- Charlotte couldn’t help but smile at them.  They reminded her of Dwayne, firstborn of their second litter and the only one of their six living pups to Present.  A fine young Alpha, mated to a sweet Omega girl he met at school.

We don’t got much but what we got’s blessed, praise Jesus, Billy liked to say as he held Charlotte in the night, and Charlotte wouldn’t argue with that.

No one came in wanting a room all day.  Charlotte kept her hands busy mending, keeping half an eye on the weather.  Billy on the road with the snow coming down always made her nervous.  She fixed herself a sandwich for lunch but she couldn’t do much more than pick at it.  The cheerful noise of the boys in 120 getting back from school made her jump a foot.  Why you so squirrely Mama? sweet Matthew might’ve asked her, then squirmed close for a hug.

Charlotte turned on the Vacancy sign as twilight drew down and the snow started to fall.  Absently she wiped her nose.  Damned thing just started tickling for some reason.  Charlotte made a mental note to ask Veronica if she was trying a new fabric softener on the sheets.  Something cinnamony, but with sweet chocolate.  Something to make a girl’s tummy growl.

This is what happens when you don’t clean your plate, little Omega, Charlotte remembered her Daddy lecturing.  You stick to your diet, hear me?  Alphas want a curvy Omega not a lumpy one.

Billy likes my lumps, Charlotte retorted primly and dished herself some ice cream.  Tasted heavenly, felt good sliding down her throat, and didn’t help her sudden, intense craving for sweets at all.  Her mind filled with chocolate chip cookies, baked apples, coconut cream pudding, apple pie, cinnamon candies, apple turnovers, real egg nog with rum, apple butter on toast--

A hand frantically fanning the desk bell finally snapped Charlotte out of her daydream.  It was the younger of the two boys in 120, snow caught in his brown hair and melting down his shoulders.  “Young man where is your coat?” Charlotte snapped on reflex.

“Please, Mrs. Fiedewa,” the little boy panted.  “Pastor Jim isn’t home, Bobby’s not answering--"

“Calm down honey,” Charlotte said, assuming the mantle of Mom.  Voice of sanity, calm point in the storm, keeper of the world’s peace.  “What’s your name?  Shamed to say I don’t remember.”

"Sam Winc-- uh . . . Sam,” the boy caught himself.  Charlotte frowned as other things caught in her memory.  The father’s giant black land yacht of a car hadn’t been in the parking lot in a while.  A week at least . . . more like two . . . maybe three.  The envelopes with the rent showed up in the lockbox every Monday, Moneygram money orders purchased from the Gas’n’Sip up the road.  Filled out, Charlotte realized, in remarkably uneven -- one might say childish -- handwriting.  The last name Sammy cut short, Win-something, wasn’t even close to the one the father had scrawled in the check-in book.

All of that fell by the boards when Sam managed to blurt, “My brother.  He’s sick.  He’s got a fever and really bad cramps.  I tried to give him some water but it didn’t help.”  Huge tears pooled in Sam’s hazel eyes and ran down his cheeks, though he tried with every bit of his strength to hold them back.  Charlotte’s heart melted and without another word she grabbed her coat and hurried out the office door, flipping the BACK IN A FEW sign on the way.

The situation clarified itself the instant Charlotte stepped into the humid confines of 120.  The air reeked of scent.  Alpha scent.  Warm, sweet, with apple providing the ground note.  “Ugh!” Charlotte exclaimed, clapping a hand over her nose.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked.

“Sweet Jesus boy, can’t you smell that?”

“That?  That’s Dean’s scent.  He always smells like that.”

“You don’t-- of course not, you’re too young,” Charlotte realized.  Sam’s nose must not be mature enough to detect the change.  “Your brother’s in rut.  Where does your daddy keep the suppressants?”

Sam’s tear-burned face went blank.  “Huh?”

Charlotte’s eyebrows shot up.  “You’re kidding.  You don’t have suppressants in the house?”

“N-no, ma’am,” Sam confirmed.

Charlotte saw him inching away, his nostrils pulsing with deep breaths.  A pup scenting an Omega in temper.  She pulled the office keys out of her pocket.  “Run back to the office.  Get my purse from the bottom file cabinet drawer and get the red box that’s mounted on the wall.  On the double!”

“Yes ma’am!” Sam squeaked and bolted.

The only place Dean could be was the bathroom.  Charlotte braced herself.  Heavens, the kid’s scent was strong.  Dwayne’s wasn’t nearly so overpowering-- then again, Charlotte thought, so angry with the boys’ so-called father she could’ve torn him to shreds, Dwayne had spent his first rut in his locked bedroom, full of muscle relaxers and suppressants, a silicone support band holding his freshly popped knot.  Charlotte remembered her heart hurting every time Dwayne whimpered, and how pale Billy got helping Dwayne clean himself up.  First seasons weren’t easy, for Alphas or Omegas.  No wonder Sam was hysterical.

“Love you a hundred million bunches, plus one for luck,” Charlotte told her absent mate, pressing her fingers to Billy’s mark on her neck.  She rapped on the bathroom door.  “Dean?  It’s Mrs. Fiedewa.  Can you talk?  Talk to me.”

“Yes I can talk!” Dean snarled from the other side of the door.  The deep growl would’ve been very intimidating, except Dean’s voicebox betrayed him and cracked soprano on the final syllable.

“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me young man, I know you have better manners,” Charlotte told him.  She tsked at Dean’s unmannerly reply.  “I’ll expect an apology for that later.  Where’s your father?”

“He’s out on a job,” Dean said.  Charlotte frowned.  The boy’s voice had gone smooth, reasoned, and dull.  Like a child reciting Psalms by rote, poetic flow lost.  “He’ll be back in a few days.”

Charlotte suddenly remembered how Billy and his kid sisters talked when their Daddy was out on a bender.  Their Mama taught them to say Daddy was off to the lake.  No matter the season or the weather, no matter if the damn fish were biting or not, the answer was always, “Daddy’s off to the lake.”  How many weeks are in a few days? Charlotte wondered.

With her Alpha gone and a full house of Betas, Charlotte was on her own.  She stepped down hard on her temper.  “Be not hasty in thy spirit to be angry; for anger resteth in the bosom of fools.”  Dear God, make me a conduit for Thy peace.  In Jesus’s name, amen.  “Your brother’s getting some things that’ll make you feel better.  I’m coming in.”  Ignoring Dean’s shrieked NO!, Charlotte opened the door.

Oh Lord, the scent felt thick enough to bite.  Nausea twisted her middle.  Dean’s naked back, pale, coltish, too thin, curled protectively forward.  Heat radiated off him, like a potato baked in campfire ashes.  Charlotte touched his shoulder and Dean flinched.

“Dean it’s okay,” she said.  My mate and I raised two litters of boys.  There ain’t nothing you got I haven’t seen.”  Dean’s head came up and those big leaf-colored eyes gazed through her, unfocused and dull.  Charlotte put the inside of her wrist to his forehead, hissing at the heat.  “Outta throw you in a snowbank.  Get in the tub.”

Dean shook his head.  Big side-side shake, as a little boy might.

“Honey we have to get your temperature down.  You’ll burn from the inside out.”  A flare of pure fear crossed his face and he moaned.  Charlotte’s eyes dropped, she couldn’t help it.  She saw enough to confirm what her nose was already telling her.  Dealing with that came after she got Dean in the bath.

“Mrs. Fiedewa?  I got the stuff you wanted,” Sam said.  He saw his brother, naked and shaking next to a middle-aged stranger, and turned red.

“That’s good Sam, real good.”  Charlotte kept her tone calm and encouraging, tried best she could to keep herself calm and encouraging.  “Help me get your brother in the bath.”  She worked the taps until she got a perfect tepid and put the stopper in.

Dean roused at the sensation of wet and cool.  “Mighty motherfucker, Sammy!”

“Dean!!!”

Charlotte slapped the sole of his bare foot.  “Watch your mouths, both of you.”  Both boys had the grace to hang their heads, mumbling apologies.  Sam left with a bucket to fetch ice.  Charlotte got Tylenol and some of Billy’s suppressants out of her purse and made Dean take them with a big glass of water.  “Suppressants aren’t going to help much with how you’re feeling, but they’ll help hold down your scent.  ‘Nother Alpha happens by they could get violent with you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Dean retorted, with every ounce the fool’s pride a young Alpha should have.

“Course,” Charlotte agreed, taking the ice from Sam and setting it aside, “but like the Lord says a fight’s best when avoided.”  Sam grunted an agreement, gently washing his brother’s face with a washcloth and trying his best not to look at the angry exclamation point standing from Dean’s groin.

Charlotte could spare the child this much.  “Sam go back to the office.  I can handle things from here.  If anyone comes in wanting a room tell them to wait.  The night shift clerk will be in later.”

“I’m not leaving Dean,” the little boy told her, with a man’s steel in his little boy voice.

Charlotte gave him a reassuring smile.  “I’m not going to hurt him.  This is just something your brother would probably rather you didn’t see.”

“It’s okay Sammy,” Dean spoke up.  His voice had dropped into his chest, into what would probably turn into a husky baritone over the next few years.  It reminded Charlotte, with a hard clench of heartbreak, of her youngest, dead of snakebite at just fifteen.  Christopher, who got his Gran’s freckles and thick black hair.  “I’ll be all right.”

Charlotte’s opinion of the boys rose another few notches when Sam hugged his brother round the shoulders and left without another word.

“How are you feeling?  Any better?”

The young Alpha swallowed.  “A little.”

“Okay.”  Charlotte pulled a deep breath.  In purest compassion or not, Billy was going to blister her butt for laying hands on another Alpha.  No help for it.  She got into the first aid kit for what she needed, and pulled on latex gloves.  “I’m going to help you get through this, but I need you to trust that I’m not taking advantage.”

Plucking up some bravado Dean smiled, the kind of smile that was going to get some Omega in trouble one day.  “I wouldn’t mind getting taken advantage of.”

Charlotte slapped him.  Not hard, but enough to wipe that smirk off his face and wake his eyes up a bit.  “Don’t you get cute with me boy, I’m mated, married, and old enough to be your grandmother.”

“Yes ma’am,” Dean said, shocked back into the out-of-his-depth child he really was.

Charlotte slid over to get a closer look at Dean’s knot, the bulbus process bulging unevenly around the base of his straining erection.  She saw angry red cracks-- stretch marks where the knot had swollen beyond the limits of the skin.  As her breath touched him, Dean went pale.  Not everything grew at the same pace in teenagers; he was one of the unlucky ones, a grown Alpha’s knot popping inside a pup’s sac.  Charlotte touched the backs of her fingers to the boy’s forehead.  He shivered, eyes slipping closed.  It was odd, he had the look of an exhausted child and a deeply aroused man.  Both at once, and both totally at Charlotte’s mercy.

God forgive me.  Charlotte gently pressed her fingers into the soft flesh of Dean’s groin.  No masses, thank God.

Dean was overwhelmed and in pain, but he wasn’t so far gone he didn’t know what was coming.  “Don’t,” he moaned.

“I have to, honey,” Charlotte said.  She coated her fingers and palms with silicone gel.  “It’ll feel better when I’m done.”

Dean cried out as Charlotte gently wrapped one hand around his cock and the other around his knot.  Both pulsed, hot even through the gloves.  “Please,” he begged, his face screwed up around tears he refused to shed, “stop.  It hurts.”

“It’s okay Dean,” Charlotte murmured.  Her fingers tightened around his cock and she pulled upward.  The same fluttering, twisting squeeze she’d learned a long time ago to placate boyfriends when the rut took them by surprise.  Dean’s knot twitched in her other hand, as ducts opened and blood seeped into the chambers under the skin.

Dean tossed in the water, splashing all over the floor and soaking Charlotte’s dress.  He groaned, deep, adult, and very masculine.  Charlotte’s heartbeat picked up and her mouth dried out.  Her skin crawled and her back cramped-- the early stages of bond rejection, as Charlotte breathed the smell of a rutting Alpha she didn’t belong to.

Hard as he was, it didn’t take long.  Dean’s cries spiked up in pitch and seed spurted thick and gooey over Charlotte’s gloved hand.  Charlotte laid both hands over his knot and squeezed, firm and rhythmic.  Charlotte took in Dean’s agonal face and his clenched jaw and throat, torn between pain and bliss.  “Sit up a bit.  Scent me.”

The feel of his cool nose and soft lips on the sensitive skin over the mating gland made Charlotte shut her eyes.  She thought of her pups.  Holding them in her arms as Billy told them bedtime stories, tucking them into their huge crib and later into bunk beds, wrangling the whole pack into the van for Christmas at Gran and Grampy’s, holding her grandchildren for the first time.  Soft, maternal, nurturing, safe.  She wanted to soothe the trembling young Alpha, not entice him or make him sick.

Dean heaved for breath, the rush of air cold on Charlotte’s wet skin.  “It’s not going down,” he panted, his voice thin with panic.

It’s not going to honey, not right away, you’re in rut.  Your body wants to find a mate and breed.  The knot’s going to stay full for a while yet.”  She held her squeeze a moment.  “An Omega’s body will lock your knot inside them.  It’s how you leave enough seed to sire pups.”

Charlotte stopped, her face flushing with mortification.  Why had the boys’ father not prepared Dean for this?  She kept working Dean’s knot, squeeze and release.  No help for the cramps in her fingers, if she let go before the knot deflated the swelling would tear more stretch marks, maybe get bad enough to rupture something.  It used to happen more often, until plastic support bands were invented.

Dean stayed with his face buried in the curve between Charlotte’s neck and shoulder.  His wet arms came up to loosely circle her shoulders, like a monkey baby.  His body jerked and another drop of seed spilled every fifteen seconds or so.  A little at a time, he relaxed.  Pups were always as much victims of their own mating instincts as masters for the first year or so.  Charlotte hummed, shushed, sang a little Beatles.  Dean’s arms tightened a little, and Charlotte pretended she didn’t notice his tears.

Charlotte’s hands closed as Dean’s erection shrank away and his knot deflated.  He slumped back into the tub, semiconscious.  “Good,” Charlotte praised, inspecting Dean’s soft sex organs for bleeding or signs of rupture.  “You did good, Alpha.  You were so good for me.  Catch your breath and let’s get you cleaned up.

Wiping away Dean’s spilled seed made Charlotte feel sick.  Well, she thought as a cramp gripped her dormant womb so hard her spine bent, sicker.  A touch to his forehead found a fever still burning.  Apologizing, Charlotte emptied the bucket of ice into the tub.

That brought Dean around.  “Oh my fuck--!”

“Language,” Charlotte scolded.

“Sorry,” he whispered.  Back in the land of the living enough he was realizing fully what happened.  What Charlotte had done to him.

Charlotte smeared numbing gel on Dean’s deflated knot, slipped on the silicone support band and set it just snug.  “Leave this on until your rut passes.  It’ll keep your knot from getting sore.  Stay in the tub for as long as you can stand it.  You’ll run a low fever for the duration, but it’s nothing to worry about unless it gets much above a hundred degrees.  Take the suppressants according to the package directions, take the Tylenol as you need it, and use the scent blocker.  Don’t go to school tomorrow.  When your father gets back, have him come to the office.  My husband will want to talk to him.”

Back in the office, Charlotte dismissed Sam as quickly as she politely could, with instructions to make sure Dean rested and drank fluids and for both of them to read the booklet included in Charlotte’s little red box.  As the door shut behind him, Charlotte darted to the bathroom.  Dean’s Alpha scent clung to her skin, crowded up her nose, worked on her brain.

Where it met Billy.  Billy her husband.  Billy her mate.  The parts of her that belonged to Billy howled in rage.  Charlotte dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and threw up everything in her body.  Her abdomen and back cramped.  She moaned in pain.  You belong to your mates! thundered Pastor Edwards from her memory, preaching to a living room full of young Omegas.  You will be Bonded and will never be torn asunder!  The blood will rise in riot and the body purge the sin!

Charlotte breathed as fast as she could, driving the strange Alpha scent out of her lungs.  She grabbed Bill’s shaving towel from the towel bar and breathed him in.  Loamy soil and peppermint, brewing coffee, sawdust.  The scent of Mate and belonging, clearing the Other away like mist in a wind.  The cramping eased.

Charlotte stripped, scrubbed herself raw in the shower, and dressed.  The clothes she’d been wearing went into a trash bag for separate washing.  Malik arrived right on schedule, and Charlotte spent the rest of the night on her knees, praying over her marriage bed.

---

“Char-char?  Babylove?”  Billy came inside, stamping snow off his boots and unzipping his snowsuit.  Charlotte helped him out of his snow things and into his house slippers.  Her heart lifted to see him safe.  But when he took her in his arms she stiffened and turned away, hanging her head.

Billy frowned.  “Charlotte what’s the matter?”

She didn’t answer,  She didn’t even look him in the eye.  Instead she slunk to the bedroom.  Bitter medicine is best taken in one swallow, her mother’s advice.  When you’re in debt you pay it off fast, afore the interest mounts up, from her dad.

She could hear the scowl in her mate’s voice.  “Explain yourself, Omega.”

“One of the kids in 120 popped his knot for the first time yesterday,” Charlotte gave the lines she’d spent all morning practicing.  “His father was gone and his brother didn’t know what to do.”

Her sweet, gentle husband turned aside for her Alpha.  Charlotte could smell his rage catching fire.  “Did you let him knot you?”  Billy grabbed the nape of her neck, pulling her face to his.  “DID THE LITTLE WHELP KNOT YOU?!?”

“No!” Charlotte cried.  “I had to lay hands on him to get him fixed up properly!  Then I came home and got sick!  It wasn’t his fault.  He was in pain,” Charlotte started to cry.  “Billy please, you’re my Alpha, I love you.”

Billy took hold.  Raw anger receded.  He nodded.  “And did you pray on your sins and ask the Lord for forgiveness, Omega?”

“Yes Alpha,” Charlotte said, hiccupping back tears.

“Do you accept my right as your mated Alpha to chastise you?”

“Yes Alpha.”  Charlotte already had the strap laid out on the bed, a two-inch wide strip of thick leather with a loop at one end for Alpha’s fist.  She unbuttoned her dress and let it drop to the floor.

Without another word Billy threw her on the bed and whipped her with the strap.  Charlotte, no stoic when it’s just her and Billy, broke into sobs.  As though she needed a reminder of her place.  As though every cell in her body didn’t belong to Billy.  As though she would ever entertain the thought of another Alpha.

Charlotte shut down those blasphemous thoughts, horrified.  God watches and knows your Omega heart, girl.

Billy hung the strap back in the closet.  He lay on the bed and Charlotte burrowed into his arms.  “Shhhh, ‘Mega, it’s okay now.  It’s over,” he whispered, gently stroking her back.  He tipped his head and Charlotte put her nose near his Alpha gland.  She breathed in Billy’s scent and let herself fall apart.

Billy held her until her tears ran dry, the tender man he actually was back in control.  He cleaned her face with the handkerchief he always carried in his seat pocket.  “Charlotte?  Baby?  You okay now?”

She nodded.  “Alpha, I’m so sorry.”

“Shusha now, Omega.  It’s over.  The Lord sees your repentance and forgives your sin.”  Billy crooked a finger under Charlotte’s chin and lifted her eyes to meet his.  “And so do I.  I love you.”

Sniffling, Charlotte asked, “A hundred million bunches?”

Billy kissed her.  “Plus one for luck.”

---

Three days later, Charlotte hung up her coat on the hook.  Singing a little under her breath, she took the CHECK-IN STARTS AT TWO, PLEASE WAIT sign off the desk, turned, and jumped halfway to Heaven.  The sign clattered to the floor at her feet.

“Hey hey hey, it’s okay!  It’s me, Mrs. Fiedewa!  It’s me.”  Hands held out empty, placating.  Next to him, glowering, dark brown eyes glittering in the low light, stood his father.

Charlotte sighed.  “Boy, you scared the almighty Jesus out of me.”

Dean lowered his hands.  Charlotte scented and there he was, a pleasant but unenticing mix speaking softly of leather and baking spices.  The sharper smell, by far, came from his father.  Whiskey, drunk hours ago and seeping from the skin.  “I’m sorry.  Ma’am.”

Billy came in from parking the truck.  “Honey did you take the shower presents out of Suzyanne’s car--” he put his head back and sniffed.  Catching sight of the other Alphas, he scowled and moved himself in front of Charlotte.  “Get inside Omega.”

“Alpha--"

“Hall closet, now.”

“Mr. Fiedewa.”  John, that was his name, Charlotte recalled.  Maybe fifteen years younger and broader through the shoulders.  “I understand your wife helped my boys when Dean was in trouble.”

Billy turned red.  “If by ‘trouble’ you mean having to lay hands on an Alpha she don’t belong to cuz his father never bothered to take him to a doctor and get him fixed up properly, then yeah, she helped.  And she’s already been properly humbled of it.”

“What?” Dean blurted

“My wife’s a good Omega and she knows her place,” Billy said.  “She’s not yours to discipline because you didn’t do your duty by your boy.”

“Wait a sec-- you beat her?” Dean demanded.  “That’s not fair!  She was just trying to help!”

“Be quiet Dean,” John ordered.  His shoulders slumped a little and he looked down at the floor.  “I just wanted to thank her.  Sammy told me Dean was damn near delirious.  If there’d been a breeding Omega nearby, Sammy wouldn’t’ve been able to stop Dean from doing something stupid.”

“Yeah, everybody’s a knothead at that age,” Billy agreed.  “That don’t excuse anything.  If my Charlotte wasn’t a good Omega something might’ve happened there’s no forgiving for.”

“I know, and that’s my fault,” John said.  “I was away on business, and I missed the signs.”  A shadow of pain crossed his eyes.  “I’m not ready for my boys to be so grown up.”

“Really,” Billy said.  “How old’s your boy?  Thirteen, fourteen?  How in the Lord’s name did he get to be that old without knowing how to take care of himself?”

“You’ve made your point,” Charlotte said, putting her hand on Billy’s thick arm.  From the red creeping up the other Alpha’s neck, John wasn’t going to stand still for much more chastisement.

“Look, I don’t get it,” Dean said.  “I was the one popping a boner in front of your wife--”

“Watch your language boy,” Billy growled.

“Enough,” Charlotte said, wishing -- and not for the first time -- that folk listened good to Omega voice the way they did to Alpha.  “It doesn’t matter, young man.  Anything outside a Bond’s a sin and my Alpha was right to correct me for it.”

“’Correct’ you?  That’s crazy!”

“Dean Michael Winchester that is enough,” John ordered, in an Alpha rumble so powerful even Charlotte trembled.  “Get back to the room and pack up Sammy.  I get the feeling we’re not welcome here any more.”

“Leaving your pups alone for damn near a month?  Now I was brought up to believe a man’s family’s his own business but that’s neglect by any reasonable standard.”  Billy squared his shoulders and laid it down.  “You got until tomorrow night.  Then I’m calling the law.”

“Understood.  Sir.”  John took Dean by the elbow and marched him out the door.  Something heavy went out of the air as they did, and Charlotte joined Billy in a sigh of relief.

“Crime-a-nilly, Char-char,” Billy said.  “Why didn’t you go get the shotgun like I told you?”

“Because I didn’t want to make a bad situation worse, Alpha.  The father there had a gun.”

Billy did a double-take.  “What?  Where?”

“Back waistband.  I saw it when he first stood up.”  She hugged Billy, kissed him softly.  “I don’t wanna be visiting you in the County Jail.  Or the morgue.  Not over some stupid knothead doesn’t know how to take care of his pups.”

Billy nodded.  “Damned shame.  They seem like fine boys, just a little wild.”  He brushed Charlotte’s forelock back.  “Forget about it honey.  Let’s make some chili dogs and watch the game.  How’s that sound?”

 Charlotte smiled.  “Heavenly.”

---

Some Years Later

“Billy?” Charlotte called.  “Where are you?  I need help!”  That was all.  The world had collapsed to their bedroom, a door that wouldn’t open, and no Billy.  Charlotte called again, and again, unaware she was screaming so hard her throat bled.  “BILLY!!!”

Suddenly the bedroom was gone.  Charlotte heard . . . voices, a crazy off-tune symphony of whispers and cries.  She was in pain, so much pain.  Surely not even the pits of Damnation could inflict such agony.

“Son of a bitch,” a strange voice said.  Charlotte heard it, despite having no ears to hear with.

“Grammy-ma?”  This voice, Charlotte knew.  “Can you hear me?”

The agony was gone, as though someone had flipped a switch.  Charlotte found herself on the snowy ground, dressed only in her nightie.  She looked up and saw a strange men standing beside her granddaughter, Katherine.  But that wasn’t right.  Katherine’s hair was too long and she’d grown an inch and filled out.  “Katie-bye?”

“Oh thank the good Lord.”  Katherine swallowed.  Petie, her daddy, did the same thing whenever he had to do something he didn’t want to do.

“What are you doing out in the middle of the night with a strange men?”  Charlotte scented.  “And an Alpha too.  Your father’s going to blister your butt when you get home young lady.”

“Mrs. Fiedewa?” the strange man said.  Odd, for just a second he wasn’t a man.  For just a second he was a skinny strip of a thing, all bones and wiry muscle and carrying a scent of apples and leather.  Charlotte looked down at herself in her silk nightgown and blushed.  Billy was going to have her hide--

Billy.  “Where’s your grandpa?” Charlotte asked Katherine.  “I gotta find him.  Where is he?”  Katherine hesitated.  “Katherine Elizabeth Fiedewa where is he?!?”

“Grammy where do you think you are?”

“What?”  Charlotte looked around and the world did that queer double thing again, like looking through a pane of painted glass.  One moment she was standing in the bedroom, the next she stood . . . nowhere, just a hump of snow next to an empty road flanked by winter-bare trees.  “What’s happening?  Where’s Billy?”

Sniffling, hiccuping back tears, Katherine said, “There was a fire, Grammy-ma.  The fire department thinks someone didn’t put out their cigarette before they threw it in the laundry room trashcan.”

Charlotte felt everything inside her disappear, leaving cold fog.  She peered around, as the Apostle Paul must have after the scales fell from his eyes.  But instead of the light of the Good News, all Charlotte could see was darkness.  Her family business, and her home ever since her pups grew up and moved away . . . nothing left except one charred wall and a snow-covered sign.  Plowed snow blocked off the driveway.  The only sign of human presence were two sets of fresh tracks leading to where Katherine and the strange man stood.

It all came together and Charlotte lifted her hands to cover her mouth.  She wanted to scream but the breath wouldn’t come.  “Where’s Billy?” she whispered.

“When he got home from work that night he saw the smoke and he went inside to try and get you out,” the strange Alpha told her.  “By the time the fire department arrived on the scene, it was too late.  The roof was caving in.  There was nothing they could do.”  A look of pity crossed the stranger’s handsome face.  “I’m so sorry Mrs. Fiedewa.”

Charlotte said her mate’s name, her world almost disappearing in a wave of pure agony.  Billy, the center of her world, her gift from the Almighty--

A memory stabbed through her, of Alphas screaming her name as they ran through traffic, into walls, slamming themselves into any obstacle in their way, anything to reach and rescue the trapped Omega.  “Merciful Jesus,” Charlotte said.  “All those people--”

“Hey!” the strange man said sharply.  “None of that was your fault, Mrs. Fiedewa.  When spirits get stuck and can’t move on, they get irrational.  They lash out.”

Charlotte did a double-take.  Something in the strange Alpha’s body language, his tone, his scent, it tickled a memory, something that danced on the tip of her tongue.  A scent of sweet apples and earthy spices.  “Dean?”

“Yeah,” the Alpha confirmed, smiling.  “It’s me.”

“What in the name of the Good Lord Jesus are you doing here with my granddaughter?”

“Looking for you, Grammy,” Katherine said.  “We’re blood-kin.  Dean showed me how to do a summoning ritual.”  Katherine cleared her throat.  “We need to know if there’s something that survived the fire.”

“Normally, ghosts are tied to this world by their remains,” Dean explained.  “But that can’t be you because your body burned in the fire.  Something’s keeping you here.”

“Like what?  Everything we had in the world was here.”

“Not everything.”  Dean pursed his lips.  “You’re a good person, Mrs. Fiedewa.  You need to move on.  You don’t belong here.”

“I don’t belong anywhere Billy isn’t,” Charlotte said, her heart breaking and crumbling to nothing.  She could feel it now, the aching psychic wound of a broken bond.  Broken?  Torn out, uprooted.

“All right that’s enough,” Dean said, exasperated.  “You’re an Omega, not a damn slave.”

“Language,” Charlotte chided.  “In front of my granddaughter you will behave like a gentleman.”

Dean hung his head.  “Yes ma’am.”

Charlotte looked more closely, at the promise of adult handsomeness fulfilled.  Tall, broad shouldered, square jawed, those devastating green eyes.  She wasn’t surprised to see Katherine sneaking looks from the corner of her eye.  “Are you mated Dean?”

“No Mrs. Fiedewa.”

“When you find your Omega, you’ll understand.”

“Please Grammy,” Katherine said.  “Can you think of anything?  Like baby teeth or something with your DNA on it?”

Charlotte shook her head helplessly.  Something in her was coming unstuck, like a house being swept away by a cold tide.  “I . . . um . . .”

Moonlight winked over Katherine’s heart and Charlotte’s mind made the connection.  “The locket,” she said, pointing at Katherine.  “It belonged to my mother.  She gave it to me when I had my first pups.  It’s got a piece of my hair in the case.”

“That would do it.”  Dean held out his hand.

Katherine covered the silver pendant with her hand.  “This?  You gave it to me when--”

“Katie-bye,” Charlotte said, “give Dean the locket.  You don’t need it to know how much I love you.  Billy’s waiting for me, and we’ll both be there when you come to us in Heaven.”

Tears spilling down her cheeks, Katherine took it off.  She kissed it, and handed it to Dean.  “I love you Grammy-ma.”

“I love you too baby,” Charlotte said.  The world wavered and she could feel the desperation rising, the need for Alpha’s rescue and his caring and Billy--

Dean turned to a huge black car parked by the side of the road.  He opened the trunk and, with an efficiency that spoke of long habit, built a small fire using a ceramic pot as a crucible.

“It’s okay.  Go.  Tell your dad and your uncles I love them,” Charlotte told Katherine.  Weeping, Katherine left.

Fire on fire, the fire of her death and the fire as her spirit burned away.  Charlotte held in her scream as she clung to Billy.  She vanished with his name on her lips.

---

Dean held Kate as she sobbed.  Hundreds of angry spirits under his belt, most of them so far beyond humanity it wasn’t right to think of them as people.  This was different.  This was known.

And Dean felt like a pissant piece of chickenshit.

She’s killed four people already, Dad had said as he loaded up the truck.  Off on another case, one he insisted had to be done solo.  Doesn’t matter how nice she was when she was alive.

He was right, of course.  But still.  This was different.  Mrs. Fiedewa had been kind, even if Dean had . . . mixed feelings as to her kindness.  The thought of her mate chastising her still made him angry.  Wasn’t her fault he’d skipped out on the Alphas Only part of sex ed in fifth grade. 

And yet, she’d burned away screaming his name.

“Thank you,” Kate sniffled, as she pulled herself together.

“Come on, I’ll take you home,” Dean said.  He tried not to notice her shy glances, her mouthwatering scent.  On top of being jailbait, hitting that would be just wrong.

Below his zipper certain parts made it known he’d have to hit something in the near future.  Even the best suppressants couldn’t completely take away rut.

“Do you think she’s okay now?” Kate asked as Dean stopped a street over from her folks’ house.

“Yeah sure,” Dean said.  “Mrs. Fiedewa was a good person.  She’s in Heaven with your grandpa.”

Kate nodded.  She leaned over and kissed Dean on the cheek.  Then she opened the door and disappeared between two night-dark houses.

Picking up his phone, Dean hit one on the speed dial.  “Dad.  The granddaughter had a locket with a piece of hair in it.  We torched it.  The spirit’s gone.  On my way to Leticia’s, she thinks she’s got a Rawhead in Vincennes.”

His eyes fell on the second option on the speed dial.  “Don’t do it, Dean,” he muttered.

He did it anyway.  “Hi, you’ve reached Sam Winchester’s cell phone.  Leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

Dean smashed the Disconnect button, snapped the phone shut, and whipped it into the footwell.  Oh that was awesome, maybe someday you’ll grow a pair and actually leave a message.  Happy fucking birthday to me.

He sat there a long moment, Baby’s engine growling gently.  “I need some booze, some sex, and about six hours of sleep,” he told the car.  “In that order.”

---

AN2: Okay, one of the things I figured out when I was writing 'Detour' was I had things I wanted to say about ABO as a concept, and that kept being true after I finished it. So I got to working through what the first time “popping a knot” might actually be like, and how ABO dynamics might work as a system of privilege/marginalization. How it would work at keeping Omegas oppressed, how it poisons even loving relationships, how the system harms Alphas even while exalting them. I thought about how Dean’s early experiences with sex would shape his personality-- mistrust of The Way Things Are and rejection of what’s expected of him as an Alpha.

[antaxzantax]

Umbrella Pharmaceuticals - Chapter 45

Summary:

Alexander Ashford and Alexia land at the Antarctic base.

I

Turbulence shook the plane as if it were going through a wormhole. One of the jolts spilled Alexander's unscrewed thermos. He and Jonathan scrambled to clean up the puddle of coffee on the floor and the droplets scattered on the wooden folding table. Alexia lulled herself sleepily into her thick, hooded fur coat, indifferent to the slip.

Stress had kept her from sleeping more than two consecutive hours for the past week, and the lack of sleep sharpened her irascibility. Five days before take-off, Elizabeth insisted that her granddaughter not go to Antarctica. Alexia replied so aggressively that her grandmother was struck dumb with surprise. Alexander sat down with her on the bed in her bedroom and asked her to explain what had happened. Alexia refused to answer. Surrendered, Alexander left for a moment. Alone, Alexia activated the mechanism of the music box and sat back down on the bed to listen to Berceuse.

After the incident with Elizabeth, Alexia met Dr. Sarah Charleigh, her new psychologist and specialist in gifted children. They only met twice. In the first session, Alexia filled out a personality questionnaire. In the second, Charleigh delved into her dreams and expectations. For the third, Charleigh would contact her by radio to start working on stress management and her newly acquired insomnia.

II

Alexander wiped his coffee with the handkerchief Jonathan passed him, chalking the slip up to fatigue. The last month's preparations had exhausted him.

He had to approve several lists of employees drawn up by the Institute. A research team of young, competent, ambitious and open-minded scientists. A trusted cleaning and maintenance staff. And a cadre of subordinates who were promised a higher base salary in exchange for their confinement at the South Pole. In terms of transporting personnel and materials, Alexander cut the lower quintile's allocation to tighten the budget. Harman turned to the Wilson brothers to scavenge Newcastle's municipal rubbish dump for bunk beds and lockers. For extra pay, the Wilsons took chairs, tables, desks and kitchen appliances. For a second allowance, the Wilsons collected food from local suppliers and soup kitchens.

Alexander reinvested the savings in one last decision. He ordered Martin to fly to Antarctica to dismantle and seal that site. Martin returned with the last report of the Code: Veronica project and photographs showing the lab's demise. He had destroyed the machines and sealed off the two entrances with a thick layer of reinforced concrete. Alexander glanced at the report.

“My children.”

He felt a sudden unease, similar to that of the Spencer mansion. The words he reread choked him.

He threw the report into the burning fireplace. The flames disintegrated the document.

He would die keeping the secret for the memory of his father and to protect his family.

III

The airplane landed on a makeshift runway cleared by snowplows. With the engines shut down, the five crew members descended the ramp in a line. The cold froze the ends of their hair and flushed their cheeks. Alexia, hood up, led the group to the entrance. Alexander set the two suitcases he was carrying on the ground and helped his daughter pull the frozen latch. The metal sheet gave way, and they stepped inside a half-buried building: first, Alexia, chief researcher; second, Alexander, director of the base; third, Martin, security chief and bodyguard; fourth, Jonathan, assistant butler, domestic assistant and cook; and fifth, Michael, pilot and staff supervisor.

It was hot inside. Alexia took off her hood. Alexander shook the ice from his beard and hair.

“Ready?” Martin nodded affirmatively. “Go.”

[smol4bluengine]

Sir Topham Hatt was at the Steamworks talking to Victor. They were currently looking at a table with many small snowplows resting atop it. "And you're sure the Steamworks nor the Arlesdale railway have anything smaller than these"? Sir Topham Hatt asked. "I'm afraid not sir, these were the smallest the Steamworks and the miniature gauge engines could find." Victor replied. "Bother." Sir Topham Hatt said. The Fat Controller had been busy over the last few days looking for a new snowplow for Gordon. His old one was obviously too big and heavy for the engine in his current state and needed a new one for his much smaller form. However, it was easier said than done, as Sir Topham Hatt had spent the last couple of days looking for a suitable replacement with no luck. Sir Topham Hatt turned to Mrs. Ramsfield. " What about Little Tykes? Surely they must have snowplows small enough for baby engines." Sir Topham Hatt asked. "While Little Tykes does carry snowplows, I'm afraid they're only for show sir. Even with an operable snowplow, the baby engines aren't strong enough to push past the snow." Mrs. Ramsfield said. Sir Topham Hatt looked down trotted. "Poor Gordon, it looks like he won't be able to go out on the rails this winter."

[cooking-pol-martin]

Lasagna Cordon Bleu

One of my formative experiences with food fads happened when I was a young girl, probably sometime in the early 80s, when I was staying with my grandparents. I spent a lot of time with them in northern Minnesota. They were outdoorsy Scandinavians, so I spent a lot of time out of doors running around in the woods getting really hungry. Now, Grandma's cooking was really traditional in a lot of ways: she always baked their bread, used a lot of local ingredients like wild rice and lake fish, and maintained a lot of Old World food traditions like lefse or krumkake. She was also susceptible to health food fads to often not great results.

This particular time was just after being out sledding on the massive hill the snowplow made; if a kid were industrious enough, they could tunnel right in and make a fort. So my sister and I came back inside, and Grandma Dory asked if we wanted some hot chocolate. Would we ever! We divested ourselves of our wet outerwear, sat at the table in anticipation, and she set two steaming mugs in front of us. I blew on it and then took a right big sip. At which point the world did the focus-in dolly-out thing from horror movies.

Grandma hadn't made us hot cocoa.

She'd made us hot carob.

Probably most people reading this have never had carob, which is meet and right. Carob was part of a whole health food craze called the natural food movement* in the 1970s wherein people would take actual good food and replace it with something so terrible you didn't actually want to eat anymore. Chocolate was replaced with carob; butter with margarine; coffee with chicory; and so on. It's entirely possible that carob is just fine in whatever Mediterranean dish** it is traditionally in, but I will never know because a cup of hot carob when you are anticipating actual edible food is permanently scarring.

Food culture can be really faddish, and that is nowhere more evident than in health food or weight loss diets. You can chart the last couple centuries by the rise and fall of fad diets, from Victorians ingesting tapeworms or arsenic to the Keto and Paleo diets from the turn of the millennium. There are also foods that, due to novelty or whim, become associated with a time period or a generation -- the Jell-O and deviled eggs of the 1950s, all the fondue of the 70s, or the fermented foods of the last decade or so -- food that would have been more emblematic than widespread. Then there are the foods that end up being everyday essentials, the foods that, due to the vagaries of the supply chain or general zeitgeist, become the staples of food culture in any given span of time.

Which brings me somewhat long-windedly to cooking with Pol Martin. So far, just about everything I've made from Pol's cookbooks has transported me back to when I was a kid in the late 70s and 80s. Sometimes this is good; sometimes less so. My most recent outing "Lasagne Rolls" was the first time I could actually identify what it was about the recipe that invoked this involuntary memory. So, first things first, let's talk about the recipe.

I chose "Lasagne Rolls" because it seemed slightly unusual, but not so unusual I was going to end up dumping it out for the chickens. Also, it's from one of my new acquisitions, A Guide to Modern American Cooking, which sounds like such an auspicious topic for a cookbook penned by a French Canadian.*** Basically, instead of layering lasagna noodles, a meat or veggie filling, and whatever sauce to make lasagna, you roll up the fillings in the lasagna noodles and then pour a white sauce over everything.

Making the rolls was pretty straightforward, not so far from what I would normally do to make a pan of lasagna. (And I make the most ridiculously good pesto lasagna, so I know what I'm doing.) Of course, there was some signature Pol weirdness: the filling called for ground veal, natch, because Pol ❤️s veal so much. I subbed with Italian sausage. The filling also calls for diced ham, which is weird but fine, you're the boss, Pol. It was when I hit the white sauce that things got David Lynch.

The recipe calls for 4 cups of white sauce (basically a béchamel), so I duly peeled back to the separate white sauce recipe. (Having a recipe span pages is a pet peeve of mine, because there's a non-zero chance I'll miss that I'm supposed to have something ready ahead of time, and the recipe is now borked.) First he had me make a roux of flour and butter, then pour in hot milk and bring to a simmer. So far, so good. Then he had me put nutmeg and whole, uncut onion studded with a single clove to float in the sauce while it simmered. I mean, what the actual fuck. But I did as instructed, poured it over the assembled rolls, and slid it in the oven.

When it came out, we all tried it with some trepidation, but it was fine. Weird, but fine. The nutmeg in the white sauce was especially strange, but it made me remember that my mom's scalloped potatoes recipe -- which is probably from this era -- also calls for nutmeg. Everything about this recipe felt like it was made of things that were real baseline in the early eighties: tons of ham, a white sauce, a Swiss cheese. It was more or less Cordon Bleu, a dish I associate with that era, rolled up in lasagna noodles. (And like most casseroles and soups, it was significantly better the next day.)

The strange nostalgia effect of his recipes on me isn't because he's making recipes emblematic of the era, dishes like Chicken Kiev or Cordon Bleu, which set designers put in period pieces for verisimilitude. More it's because of the aggregate effect of various ingredients and cooking styles. I've been joking about how if you fed all of Pol's cookbooks into an LLM, it would spit out recipes with veal, mushrooms, and Gruyère, all slathered in a white sauce. Some of this is probably just stuff Pol likes -- such as his beloved veal -- but some of it is more the spirit of the age, such as it is.

It's been neat to pick apart these recipes to find out what makes them dated, and also makes me wonder what signature combo we're subconsciously using in contemporary cooking. Probably something like Tide pods and a brick with glue on it.

*I'm not being entirely fair here. The natural food movement was about getting away from packaged & processed slop, and spending some care on how our food is produced. Yeah, a lot of practitioners were and are insufferable, but I'm actually amenable to making the food supply chain more sustainable and equitable, both for the people eating the food and those producing it.

**It turns out carob is traditionally used as animal feed and only eaten by humans when they're starving.

***The one and only Goodreads review: "I have been a cook for a long time and it is pretty bad when I don't save a single recipe to try. This one was not for me." lol

[lucygraysboy]

billy prides himself in being very observant and empathetic, which means that the second his pale blue eyes spot the frown on lucy gray’s olive features, his heart sinks. “hey,” he gently elbows her, winking to let her know that he’s doing okay now. besides, he kind of did deserve that depressive episode, for how he’d treated her. “what’s your go to song when you’re sad? any new bangers that can end up on the shower cry fest playlist?” it’s meant to be a joke, followed by a light chuckle, but it makes him feel horrible, knowing she most likely spent some time crying because of him. “two talented best friends, how often does that happen? we’re a rare duo, aren’t we?” but then the brief moment of sadness passes, his chest expanding as he pulls her back into him once the dance is over. he’s danced with other girls before, but it’s lucy gray who fits against his body like a glove, who seems to know exactly what he wants to do next and allows him to lead without the awkward pushing and stepping over each other’s feet that sometimes happens to people who are by no means professional dancers. she’s so graceful, floating in the air as she twirls. god, being with her feels like heaven. there’s no place he’d rather be. 

“what? there’s what exactly?” getting distracted when a child runs past them and out into the parking lot, billy instinctively turns his head around just to make sure the mother’s following and is okay with the possibility of her offspring getting squashed like a fly by a snowplow or a truck. clearly, she must be, pushing a toddler in a stroller blindly and without a care in the world as her eyes remain focused on whatever’s happening on the screen of her phone. billy lingers in the doorway a little longer, holding the door open for her, too. he wants to shake his head, but refrains. not his place to judge. “that one’s past savin’, babe. you can’t take back what you said. it’s settled. i’m your horsey and you ride me. it’s perfectly natural to be havin’ these thoughts. no need to be ashamed, love,” he teases, lowering his voice as the door closes behind them. before he can add something, a waitress catches his attention by saying, “hello, welcome to waffle house.” he easily returns her smile and breathes a cordial hi, his fingers finding the small of lucy gray’s back and gently moving her past the center of the counter area and towards a booth near one of the windows, figuring she doesn’t want to sit on a bar stool any more than he does. 

“huh?” it’s his turn to blush furiously, taken aback by her question. how does he explain why he knows this could work? he takes off his beanie and unzips his jacket so that he can remove it as well, pale blue eyes glancing anywhere but at lucy gray, acting as though he’d never been at a waffle house before. he shrugs, figuring if he doesn’t give her a direct answer, she’ll drop it. “why not both?” he quickly realizes that the best way to avoid having the spotlight on himself is directing it right back at lucy gray. the rosiness of her cheeks, the way she stutters and gets all shy — it’s his favorite thing in the world and he’ll milk it if given the chance. he stifles a smirk and slides into the booth, his forearms resting on the table as he leans closer and lowers his voice, “you could have one hand on the wall or headboard, and one in my hair. you know, to keep me from pulling away or guide me where you want me… stuff like that. it’s not acrobatics or —” before he can get into details, they’re interrupted once again by the same waitress who’s greeted them earlier. she brings two laminated menus and asks whether they’d like something to drink.

“oh, okay. i get that.” about being in different moods for different songs, but the part of him listening to always while he was sad does make her frown in sadness of her own that’s what he was doing when they were apart. “thank you, darlin’. and so are you.” smiling sweetly, hugging his arm before eyes fall downwards at him rolling up his sleeve. “that’s one the best compliments in the world.” she brightly smiles in disbelief at seeing the chill bumps on his arm her finger runs over, but pulling his sleeve back down so he doesn’t get cold. lucy gray hugs his arm tighter, it was beyond surreal putting goose bumps on people’s skin when to her she just sung averagely. it meant a lot to her that her voice could affect people so emotionally that way, then. then after letting go, she’s having a lot of fun twirling and dancing around in the snow with him. laughing and smiling until her cold cheeks hurt, in that moment it was like winter time could’ve easily been the best season of all even when spring was her favorite. just because of how caught up she was in the magic of him.

“a-ha. mhm. there it is.” lucy gray hums, no informative knowledge is given to him on what exactly it is she’s found. the built-in nasty boy side to his brain she KNEW lived somewhere in him. the part where he said he’s been looking at her panties her whole life that she didn’t forget should’ve told her that, he’s just a secret little pervert. “well, it ain’t. what else do i call it? CARRIED? my horsey is carryin’ me. i need my pony to have hair, to hold onto him with while he CARRIES me? maybe the specifics is what’s it.” she fumbled for the next words to say, did he just put her, riding and HIS face in the same sentence? “what—?” bambi eyes widen, heat and embarrassment rushing up her back to be shivering to death out here. “my lord. how do you even know this?” of course she wants to know, secretly. but she rather have one of her girl friends to tell her, not him. with him she’d just choke on embarrassment, looking at him in the face while he’s just unashamedly telling her about how to BE there on his face as she already was doing because he was casually saying he doesn’t mind her genitals THERE. god. “i mean….guess i would’ve thought the girl hangs onto the wall or— headboard. i don’t know. i just can’t see…hands in the boyfriends…hair from that…angle. i don’t know.” doe eyes wandered off awkwardly, extremely embarrassed on the inside as the smell of sugar, eggs and maple hits her in the face. THANKFULLY. since they can’t talk about vaginas on faces here. or she thinks.

[gmmcoindia]

Mastering the Backhoe Loader: A Deep Dive into Applications

Within the bustling symphony of construction sites, where heavy machinery orchestrates the chaos, two standout performers take center stage - wheel loaders and backhoe loaders. Comparable to the dynamic duo of construction, each brings a unique set of skills to the table. In this exploration, we shine a spotlight on the versatility of backhoe loaders, uncovering their common and diverse applications across modern projects.

Before unraveling their applications, let's grasp the foundational components of a backhoe loader:

Loader Bucket: Positioned at the front, it skillfully scoops and lifts materials like soil, gravel, or debris.

Hydraulic Arm and Excavator Bucket: Situated at the rear, this component executes digging, excavation, and trenching tasks with precision.

Chassis: Providing mobility and stability, the chassis, equipped with wheels or tires, enables seamless movement around the job site.

Now, let's embark on a journey to unveil the multitude of uses that backhoe loaders bring to various industries.

Excavation and Trenching: Backhoe loaders excel at excavation and trenching, leveraging their robust hydraulic arm and excavator bucket. This prowess proves invaluable for digging narrow trenches required for utilities like water lines, electrical cables, and sewage systems.

Loading and Transporting: With a front loader bucket at their disposal, backhoe loaders adeptly scoop and load materials such as dirt, gravel, or debris. This versatility is a boon for tasks like loading trucks, backfilling excavations, and internal material movement within a construction site.

Site Preparation: A pivotal role of backhoe loaders is in site preparation. They contribute significantly by clearing land, removing rocks, trees, and debris, and leveling the ground to establish a stable foundation for construction. This initial phase ensures that the site is primed and safe for subsequent development.

Landscaping and Grading: In landscaping projects, backhoe loaders come to the forefront, shaping terrain, creating slopes, and digging holes for planting or installing drainage systems. Their precision in grading tasks ensures surfaces are even and appropriately sloped, crucial for landscaping and road construction endeavors.

Demolition: Backhoe loaders become powerful tools for demolishing old structures. With a robust bucket and hydraulic arm, they efficiently break down walls, remove debris, and contribute to environmental sustainability through material recycling.

Pothole Repair and Road Maintenance: Essential in road maintenance, backhoe loaders play a key role in repairing potholes and addressing damaged road surfaces. Their adaptability allows them to remove damaged asphalt or concrete, prepare the area for new material, and contribute to the creation of safe and reliable roadways.

Utility Installation: Indispensable in installing utility lines such as water pipes, gas lines, and electrical cables, backhoes efficiently dig trenches, lay pipes, and backfill with precision. This minimizes disruption to existing infrastructure and lessens the impact on the environment.

Snow Removal: In regions experiencing heavy snowfall, backhoe loaders equipped with snowplow attachments become essential for snow removal. They clear roads, parking lots, and driveways, ensuring safe passage during winter. The ability to switch between attachments enhances their versatility for municipalities and snow removal contractors.

Agricultural Applications: In agriculture, backhoe loaders prove to be versatile workhorses, handling tasks such as digging irrigation ditches, preparing fields for planting, and clearing land for expansion. Their agility allows them to navigate between crops and structures, minimizing damage to the field.

Land Clearing: Whether contributing to urban development or creating open spaces, backhoe loaders shine in land clearing tasks. They efficiently remove trees, shrubs, and vegetation, as well as clear rocks and debris. Specialized attachments like mulchers or stump grinders enhance their capability for more challenging land clearing tasks.

Foundation Work: In the realm of foundation work for both residential and commercial construction, backhoes play a vital role. They dig foundation trenches, remove excess soil, and create precise excavations to accommodate the structure's footings and foundation walls. This precision is paramount for ensuring the stability and durability of the building.

Utility Maintenance: Backhoe loaders frequently find application in utility maintenance tasks, including repairing water or sewer lines, fixing electrical issues, or maintaining gas pipelines. Their ability to access tight spaces and execute excavation and backfilling work makes them valuable assets for utility companies.

In conclusion, backhoe loaders stand as versatile and indispensable machines, contributing across construction, agriculture, landscaping, and utility work. Their capacity to perform a wide array of tasks, coupled with ongoing technological advancements and versatile attachments, positions them as indispensable assets for the demands of modern projects

[dankhausen]

Impact: Hard To Kill 2023 Review (January 13th, 2023)

Right off the bat, let me say this was overall a 10/10 show and I highly recommend checking it out- as such, no match spoilers here! Here's my thoughts:

Show opened with a heartfelt tribute to Don West, that was nice!

Really hype video package to kick off the show, I love it.

Bully Ray vs. Josh Alexander: Full Metal Mayhem was a BADASS title match, and one hell of an opener! It had a definite deathmatch feel (I've been watching way too much GCW, I guess), and there were so many awesome moments. Highlights include Josh FALLING OVER THE ROPES ONTO THUMBTACKS, Tommy Dreamer with an epic fakeout, Josh's wife (I didn't quite catch her name, I think it's Jen?) hitting a sick bulldog and Josh DIVING OFF A LADDER ON THE OUTSIDE TO PUT BULLY THROUGH A TABLE IN THE RING.

Victoria (or Tara as she's known in this company) was backstage with Mickie, it's cool to see her.

Ace & Bey vs. Motor City Machines Guns vs. Major Players vs. Heath & Rhino was a really good, fast paced match. Chris Bey and Heath really stood out to me in this one, and commentary had some major gold with the puns and relatable lines (I too follow too many people to know if I follow Cardona lol).

Surprise appearance by Frankie Kazarian, and a pretty good promo.

Excellent video package for Moose vs. Hendry

Moose vs. Joe Hendry was a pair of matches (both the original and an immediate rematch) that were really good, I will say the original finish shocked me. Hendry hit some amazingly impressive moves, like a walking suplex and a BRUTAL cutter that flipped Moose head over heels.

A surprise appearance by Santino Marella, who looks to be the new authority figure. Loving him in this role.

Masha Slamovich vs. Deonna Purrazzo vs. Taylor Wilde vs. Killer Kelly was a really quick paced, awesome match! Highlights included Taylor with a nasty top rope choke, Deonna with a deadlift powerbomb and Masha nailing everyone with a stacked Snowplow.

Steve Maclin vs. Rich Swann: Falls Count Anywhere was a somewhat long but still enjoyable match, loved the hardcore elements and Raven on guest commentary. Highlights include Swann with a cutter off the stairs and MACLIN WITH A POWERBOMB ON THE OUTSIDE, HOT DAMN.

Eddie Edwards vs. Jonathan Gresham was a brutal, hard hitting, fast paced match- possibly match of the night! I'm quickly becoming a fan of Gresham's work, I love how he works one limb the entire match and has so many smooth as butter transitions and moves out of nowhere. Also.... YOOOOOO, PCO IS BACK!!!!!!

Awesome hype up video for Rebellion, should be a great show

Mickie James vs Jordynne Grace... where to begin with this one? It was a phenomenal match, the right mix of hard hitting and high drama and I loved Mickie as the plucky underdog! Highlights include a *brutal* double stomp by Jordynne, Jordynne with a standing sidewalk slam, Jordynne with a delayed superplex into a jackhammer, Mickie James turning a Tombstone into a hurricanrana(?)... seriously, watch this if you haven't yet!

Again, I cannot recommend Hard To Kill 2023 enough- it's truly an absolute win by Impact Wrestling.

[impalas-r-important]

Branch Out - Chapter 2

Summary: Y/N left everything she's ever known, and Dean just wants to be left alone. With both of them trying to heal from heartache, they might just end up finding what they need in the last place they'd ever look.

Word Count: 6550

Pairing: Dean x Reader (eventually, maybe?)

Warnings: I don't think there are any for this chapter, but if you think i should add one, feel free to let me know!

Read Chapter 1

Branch Out Masterlist

My Masterlist

Saturday was a welcome break from work, but there was no sleeping in. A delivery truck brought your bed frame, a small kitchen table, and a coffee table early in the morning and you were over the moon about not having to sleep on the cold floor anymore. You figured the tables would be fairly easy to put together, so you left those for last. You emptied the box with the bedframe and did your best to carefully lay out all the pieces so they would be easy to find as you went along. Before you started, you grabbed your radio and shuffled through your CDs, deciding on The Eagles to be today’s soundtrack.

You threw half of your hair up in a bun to pull the small pieces from your face, rolled up your sleeves, and looked around for the instructions. You couldn’t actually remember seeing any kind of paper as you unpacked the pieces, so you dumped out the box. Nothing. You looked under every piece of wood, and in every corner of your tiny house, but came up empty handed.

“Fan-friggin-tastic…” You grumbled and stared down the lumber and hardware, trying to make sense of this now seemingly impossible puzzle.

Hours had passed, and you had only managed to put together a pathetic amount of the bedframe. The stupid bits and pieces that were strewn across the floor taunted you with every wrong part you picked up. Before any vital pieces ended up getting thrown into the fireplace out of frustration, you decided it would be best to take a break and make some lunch. You needed to make a run to the grocery store and stock your fridge and shelves, but you’d need to wait until you got your truck back, so you kept your fingers were crossed that Bobby would be able to get to it today.

You settled on a protein shake and a banana for your meal and were sitting on the kitchen counter when two quick knocks at the door interrupted your thoughts. You turned the music down a notch and wove your way through the maze of wood that had taken over your living room. You were expecting to see Sarah standing on the other side of your front door but were surprised to find Dean. One hand was slipped into his coat pocket and his shoulders were slightly rounded, showing that he didn’t really want to be here right now.

“Oh,” you did your best to not sound massively surprised but did a bang-up job, “hi.”

“Hey,” he cleared his throat, and a tuft of breath flew from his mouth in the cold air, “I just wanted to say sorry for being kind of a dick last night. I’m not really a people person and I’m definitely not used to having neighbors.” His eyes, which were glued to the ground made their way up to meet yours. “The bars were good though. I ate them all last night. I figured you’d want this back.” He extended his arm holding the plate you had placed the treats on to take over to him.

You tried your hardest to stop the smug smirk that was pulling at the corners of your mouth. “That’s actually a disposable plate.”

“Oh,” he looked down at it, “it’s one of the fancy plastic ones though, so I wasn’t sure if you wanted it back or not…” It was definitely not fancy, but the thought of him scrubbing the sticky blueberry mess off of a cheap plate was completely endearing.

“Well, good as new then.” You smiled and took the plate back from him, making a mental note to only give him paper plates from here on out if the situation arose. You stepped just inside the door and tossed the plastic onto the kitchen counter.

Dean raised an eyebrow as he snuck a peek at the mess that was you house at the moment. “Whoa, did a bomb go off in here?”

You looked around with a sigh. “No, but I’m about ready to blow the whole place up and just start over.” Stepping out of the way, you signaled for Dean to come in out of the freezing cold. He stomped his boots off on the front porch and stepped inside. “I didn’t bring any furniture with me when I moved, so I ordered some online. This mess,” you motioned vaguely around the room, “is supposed to be a bedframe but some genius forgot to put the instructions in the box.”

“How long have you been at it?” Dean stepped closer to the junk yard that had become your living room.

You really didn’t want to answer that question because you figured he’d just tell you what you were doing wrong. “Not that long.” Lying had never been something you were good at. Dean took one look at the guilty look on your face and saw right through it.

“So, all morning?”

“All morning.” You admitted and crossed your arms in shame. For a short second, you could have sworn that you saw a hint of a smile on Dean’s face. He was probably laughing at your miserable handy work.

“Well, for starters, you should put the bedframe together in the bedroom. Not the living room.” He walked around the wood pieces and began organizing them into piles.

“The bedroom is really small, so I figured it would be easier to put the big pieces together out here and then put the whole thing together in the bedroom.” You watched with some distain as he easily began to piece together the headboard. “You don’t have to do that, you know…”

“Do what?” He asked but didn’t look up from his crouched position on the floor.

“Help.” You shrugged. “I heard you loud and clear last night that you aren’t looking for friends.”

Dean paused for a moment. “Maybe I’m just staying for the good music.”

“You like The Eagles?”

“Who doesn’t?”

“One of my dad’s rules to live by is that you should never trust people who wear socks to bed or people who hate The Eagles.”

“Your dad sounds like a smart man.” There it was again, an elusive smile from the self-proclaimed loner. You were sure you saw it this time. “But I do have to say that no one beats the mighty Zep.”

You could respect a guy who loved the classics. “Wow, the good taste in music almost makes up for the crabby attitude.”

Dean knew you were teasing and gave you a fed-up look. “Do you have a drill?” He asked.

You picked up a screwdriver from the counter and held it up. Dean shook his head. “No, an actual drill.”

“I have a hammer…”

A chuckle escaped from Dean’s chest. “You were planning on hammering these screws into your new furniture?”

“I was working with what I had. Don’t judge me.”

Dean stood and amusedly shook his head as he made his way to the door, leaving it open while he walked to his truck and pulled a drill from the toolbox that was in the bed. As you watched, you noticed that your driveway had been cleared of the snow from last night’s flurry and couldn’t help but find that odd. You didn’t hear a truck outside your house this morning.

Dean skipped a few steps up the stairs and hurried inside, taking off his coat once he had shut the door after him. “Can I put this here?” He laid his it over the back of a chair that had been here when you moved in.

“Yeah.” You took one more peek out the window at the plowed path to your house from the road. “Hey, weird question, but you wouldn’t happen to know how my driveway got cleared, would you?”

“You ever heard of a snowplow?” His words dripped with sarcasm, but you were well versed in the language as well.

“A snowplow? Hmm, doesn’t ring a bell. What’s that?” You exaggerated every word, but Dean still looked up at you with furrowed brows before realizing that you were joking.

“I just didn’t realize the plows would come this far up the mountain. I promise I’m not as dumb as I look.” Kneeling a few feet away from him on the floor, you held the piece of wood his was trying to secure in place steady.

“The driver is a buddy of mine, He’s a good guy so he probably just wanted to help out the new girl.” Dean explained. You couldn’t help but feel lucky that you had found a place that was full of kind folks. The headboard was put together in a matter of minutes and Dean carried it into your bedroom with ease before picking out the pieces for the footboard.

“Thank you, Dean. I know this is probably not how you wanted to spend your Saturday afternoon.”

“I like to build things. I built my cabin, so a bedframe is a piece of cake.”

“I guess that’s pretty impressive.” Casually playing that off made Dean slightly smile again. You could tell he was feeling a little more comfortable.

“What are you doing up here all by yourself anyway?” He quickly wiped any traces of emotion from his face.

You shrugged. “I just needed a new start and this place fell in my lap, so I jumped. I might be a little in over my head, but I have to start somewhere, right?”

“Why’d you move?” You thought it bold of him to ask the hard-hitting questions but admired his straightforwardness.

You took a moment to carefully word your response. “Sometimes you just need to take yourself out of an unhealthy situation even if it’s the only thing you’ve ever known.”

Dean was surely picking up on your lack of details. “I can respect that.” His eyes fell to the bruise on your arm that he had first noticed a few days before. You self-consciously rubbed the sore spot and felt grateful for the phone ringing that stopped the conversation from progressing any further.

You looked to see that Bobby’s shop was calling and brought the phone to your ear. “Hey, Bobby.”

Dean watched as you slowly paced back and forth by the window. He had felt ridiculous this morning for washing a stupid plastic plate just so he could have an excuse to come over and apologize, but he was glad that risk paid off, even if you did think he was clueless.

As he put the last few screws in the footboard, Dean couldn’t help but overhear the conversation you were having on the phone. You sounded a little disappointed and Dean assumed that Bobby had called with bad news.

“How’s the truck?” Dean asked once you had joined him on the floor and began picking up the spare screws.

“Apparently my truck is an ‘old piece of crap’, and the only battery Bobby had that would fit ended up being a dud. He ordered a new one, but it won’t be in until Monday.”

While Dean agreed that your truck should probably be retired, he felt empathetic that you’d had so many problems with it since moving in. “I’ll give you a ride to work.” The words flew from his mouth before he really thought about what he was saying. That wasn’t normally something he’d offer to do. “If you want, that is.”

“Dean, I can’t ask you to do that…” You were sure at this point that he thought you were just some helpless stupid girl that didn’t know how to do anything for yourself.

“Well, you didn’t ask. I volunteered.”

“Still, you’ve done so much for me in the short time that I’ve been here, I feel like I’m just mooching off of you at this point.”

“I’ve barely done anything.” Dean brushed your statement off, but you knew you were right.

“You gave me a ride on my first day, fixed my battery, you’re here wasting your Saturday helping me put together furniture, and now you’re going to give me another ride to work on Monday. That sounds like mooching to me.”

“Your house and City Hall are both on my way to work. I haven’t been the most welcoming person in the world, so let’s just call it even.”

You could tell that he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, so you got up and went into the kitchen. You opened the cabinet and pulled out another plate of blueberry pie bars and took them to Dean. He gladly accepted.

After pulling back the plastic wrap and shoving a whole bar in his mouth, he mumbled, “Now we’re definitely even.” He rubbed his hands together to brush the crumbs off and finished his bite. “You had these the whole time and you weren’t going to share?”

“That recipe makes a lot. I figured I’d take half to you last night and the other half to work on Monday, but my co-workers aren’t here helping me put together furniture, so bon appetite.”

He put another in his mouth and nodded in approval. “You can keep the plate this time.” You couldn’t help but tease Dean. He stopped midchew and gave you a jaded glare which you did your best to ignore and instead focused on suppressing your laughter. Dean was still trying to hide his smiles, but you caught a glance anyway.

“It’s not a waste, by the way.”

You tilted your head in confusion.

“You said I was wasting my Saturday by helping you out. But I don’t mind.” He briefly looked up at you but continued before could say anything else. “Help me move these.”

After carrying all the pieces into the bedroom and putting them together, Dean helped you lift your mattress onto the frame, and you threw yourself onto the bed.

“So. Much. Better.” You closed your eyes and inhaled through your nose before giving a comfortable sigh. You knew your back would appreciate the little bit of give that the frame allowed. Dean was leaning against the door and you caught his eyes as you sat up. He quickly looked away when you noticed him staring.

“I saw two other boxes out there. Do they need to be put together too?” Dean almost seemed excited to dig into the next project.

“Yes, but if you have somewhere you need to be, I think I can handle it.”

Dean checked his watch. “It’d give me a good excuse to not go to Jo’s party tonight.”

“Jo, that’s Bobby and Ellen’s daughter, right?”

Dean nodded. “Yeah, parties aren’t really my scene.”

“I’m with you on that one.” You were quite the introvert yourself and could relate to the feeling of social dread. “Well, if you’re sure, then be my guest.”

You followed Dean into the living room, and he dragged the bigger of the two boxes over and began to pull out the contents. A growl from your stomach and a glance at the clock told you that it was dinner time.

“Are you hungry?”

Dean shrugged. “A little.”

You opened your cabinets and fridge as if there would be more food than there was earlier. “I’m low on supplies, but I’ve got stuff for turkey sandwiches. Is that okay?”

“Sounds great.”

You threw together two sandwiches and Dean already had half the table put together by the time you were done. You handed his plate to him and sat down on the floor against the wall next to the fireplace. Dean shook the wood dust from his pants and joined you.

“So, accounting, huh? Was that always the dream job?” All of Dean’s questions were posed as if he was only making nonchalant small talk, but the way he intently listened told you that he actually cared about your answers.

“No, but it pays the bills, and I don’t mind numbers. I don’t always love it, but I really like the people I work with here.” Dean was still working on a mouthful of food and you figured it was your turn to ask the questions. “Did you always want to be a lumberjack?”

Dean scoffed. “I’m not a lumberjack!”

“That’s debatable. Sarah said you work at the sawmill, I’ve only ever seen you wear plaid, and apparently you’re the wood whisperer.” You motioned to the almost completed table.

“Well, yeah, but I don’t go prancing around the woods with an axe on my shoulder.”

“Whatever you say.” You figured if he wanted to share more details with you, he would.

“I don’t just work at the sawmill, I run it.”

“How is it being the head-honcho?” Although you did a lot of paperwork for you job, you didn’t envy the workload of a CEO.

“Awful.” His answer was blunt and straightforward. “My dad pulled me into the family business a few years ago and I took over when he got sick.”

“I heard about that. How is he doing now?”

“He’s good. I think he and my mom are hoping to move back soon.”

“What would you be doing if you weren’t working at the sawmill?”

Dean was a little caught off guard by your question. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you can’t go through life hating most of it. That’s just going to make you miserable.” You were speaking from experience.

Dean’s eyes examined yours as if he was trying to find an ulterior motive behind your questions. “I worked as a mechanic for a long time and loved it. I always thought I’d take over for Bobby when he retired down at the shop.”

“Maybe when your dad gets back you can switch over?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Dean’s hesitancy to open up when his dad was brought up told you to drop the subject.

After you both were finished eating, he stood and offered a hand to help you up. “Let’s get this thing finished so you don’t have to keep eating on the floor.”

You spent the rest of the evening handing Dean the hardware he asked for and listening to oldies. Maybe he wasn’t the most talkative guy in the world, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence that fell between you two. It was actually nice to be in the company of someone who wasn’t going to push for every detail of your life story.

After breaking down the empty carboard boxes that were the remnants of a long afternoon’s work, Dean pulled on his coat.

“Thank you for all your help today. The place is finally starting to come together.” Although you were still without a couch, your home started to look more livable.

“Don’t mention it. So, I’ll see you Monday morning then?” He asked before he reached for the door handle.

You nodded with a smile and handed him the plate of blueberry bars. He excitedly took it from you and gave a soft smile.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night, Dean.”

Monday morning slowly crept up after a Sunday spent mostly in bed. It had snowed most of the day and night so you bundled up as much as you could. A peek out the window showed that your small driveway had been plowed again. You put a reminder in your phone to get a thank you gift for the plow driver who was a guardian angel in disguise. Dean pulled up just a few seconds later and you hurried out to his truck.

“Mornin’.” He greeted.

“Hey yourself.” You buckled your seatbelt and extended your hands towards the vent like you had done the last time Dean gave you a ride. His truck was much newer than yours and the heater worked like a charm.

“What’s on your agenda for today?” He asked as he backed out onto the road.

“Expense reports. They’re as thrilling as they sound. And also, I’m covering the front desk solo. Sarah texted and said she woke up with a fever, so she’s taking a sick day.”

“I’ll have to ask Sam how she’s doing.” A few minutes passed as you slowly made your way down the slick road. “So, listen, it’s supposed to snow all day. I’ll come and grab you after work and take you down to Bobby’s place.”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that. It’s like a ten-minute walk.”

“It’s a good excuse to make sure I don’t get pulled into some long boring meeting at the end of the day.”

“Well then in that case you’re welcome.” You gave a cheeky grin which was returned.

Thankfully, the ride to work was short. Driving in the snow gave you serious anxiety so the sight of City Hall was a welcomed one.

“What time should I come pick you up?”

“I’m off at four, but I can stay later if you can’t get out that early.”

“Four is great. One of the perks of being the boss is that I can make my own hours.”

Ellen waved to you as she walked in, so you quickly said goodbye to Dean and joined her. Dean waited to make sure you got inside okay before taking off.

“Did Dean give you a ride today?” Ellen looked at you skeptically.

“Yeah, my truck is still in the shop, so he volunteered to drop me off on his way to work.”

“Hmm. That’s weird.” She took her hat off and shook the snow from it. “It’s been years since I’ve seen Dean socializing with anyone that’s not in his little circle.”

“Honestly, I think he just pities me because I’m new and clueless when it comes to snow.” Shrugging your coat off, you set it on the back of your chair and placed your bag underneath your desk.

“I never thought I’d see him speak to another girl after what Cassie did to him.” Ellen shook her head and raised her eyebrows.

“Cassie?” This was the first you’d heard of her.

“Yeah, she broke his heart pretty bad a few years back.”

Garth appeared from around the corner and called Ellen back to his office. You knew that Dean had a rough few years but hadn’t heard many details aside from his dad getting cancer, which was a hard enough situation on its own. While you wanted to know more, you didn’t want to dig for info where it was none of your business. If Dean wanted to tell you about Cassie, he would do it on his own time and you would just have to respect that.

Dean arrived at the sawmill and made his way to his office on the upper level of the plant. Not ten minutes after he began his day’s work, Sam entered and sat down in one of the chairs across from Dean’s desk.

“Where were you Saturday night? I thought you said you were going to Jo’s party.”

Dean shrugged. “I got busy and didn’t realize what time it was.”

“Busy with what? I’m sure there’s not that much to do up that mountain of yours.”

“Just busy.”

Sam was used to his brother’s antics at this point and knew it was futile to push for details.

“How’s Sarah doing?” Dean asked, hoping to delay the morning managers meeting as long as possible.

“She’s alright. Woke up with a fever, so she’s just going to sleep it off.” A lightbulb went off for Sam and he frowned. “Wait, how did you know that Sarah’s sick?”

“Crap…” Dean thought to himself. He knew he was busted. “I don’t know. I just heard it through the grapevine.”

“I didn’t tell anyone about her and I’m pretty sure the only people she told were the people at work…” Sam thought long and hard for a few seconds until he realized what must have happened. “Y/N?”

Sam had always been too smart for his own good and Dean had always hated it. “I gave her a ride to work while Bobby has her truck. That’s all.”

“Is that what you were busy with on Saturday too?”

Dean sent messages to Benny and Cas, instructing them to quickly come up to his office to start the morning meeting and hopefully get Sam off his back.

Sam took Dean’s silence as a yes. “What did you guys do all night then?”

“We had a pillow fight and painted each other’s nails.”

Sam had a special bitch-face reserved for Dean and was throwing it his way now.

“We put together furniture and ate sandwiches on the floor. There, now you know. Happy?”

Cas and Benny walked in together.

“Hey fellas, what’s the news?” Benny greeted.

Dean knew from Sam’s devious grin that the end of this conversation was nowhere in sight. “Dean wasn’t at Jo’s party because he was with the new girl in town.”

Cas quickly turned his head and looked at Dean as if he had lobsters crawling out his ears. “This Dean? Our Dean?”

Sam nodded and Benny laughed as he took a seat. “I heard she’s real pretty! It’s about time you find a good one. Nice job, brother.”

Dean groaned and rubbed his hands over his face. “Listen, I helped her out with one thing. I barely know her, so cut the crap or I will fire all of you asses.”

Cas, Benny and Sam all exchanged mischievous looks but dropped the subject to avoid Dean’s angry side coming out for the rest of the day.

The day was slow for you, but it gave you plenty of time to finish verifying payroll hours for everyone. Sarah’s energetic personality was definitely being missed as you began to feel drowsy around two thirty. The bell to the front door dinged so you stood to find Sheriff Mills and her son.

“Mom, you promised that you wouldn’t have to work today.” The little boy moaned.

“I’m sorry, honey. The Mayor just has to meet with me for a few minutes and then I promise I’m all yours, okay?”

“Hey guys! Can I help with anything?” You greeted.

“Y/N, hey. How are you settling in?” Jody gave a warm smile and did her best to ignore her son who was tugging at her sleeve.

“I’m finally getting everything set up, so I’d say pretty well. Who’s this handsome fella with you?”

The little boy blushed a little as you leaned on the counter and smiled down at him.

“This is my son, Owen. It’s technically my day off, but do I ever really get a day off as a Sheriff?”

Owen continued to pull at Jody’s sleeve and beg to leave.

“Hey Owen, do you happen to like hot chocolate?” You had always been good with kids and figured you try to help Jody out while she met with Garth. You were pretty much done with your work for the day anyway.

Owen nodded shyly. “Well, I don’t want to brag, but I make a mean breakroom hot chocolate. You want to help me make some while your mom meets with the Mayor? If that’s okay with her, that is.”

Owen looked to his mom for approval and she nodded. He ran behind the front desk and Jody mouthed a silent, “Thank you,” to which you smiled and led Owen back to the breakroom.

After making two steaming cups of hot chocolate, you took pushed together two empty desks and taught Owen how to play paper football. After showing him how to fold the paper and a few practice rounds, you began to keep track of points. The winner would take home a medal that you made from paperclips and an eraser.

Time flew by and before you knew it, over an hour had passed. You heard someone come in the door and looked over to see Dean. He had arrived a few minutes early and decided to wait for you inside rather than in the cold car.

“Am I crashing the party?” Dean leaned on the front desk.

“Dean!” Owen side-stepped the desk and ran to wrap his arms around Dean’s waist.

“You’re just in time for the final round of paper football. You in?” You held up the small piece of folded paper with a playful grin.

“Step aside, let the master show you how it’s done.” Dean ripped off his coat and set it on your desk. “What do I get when I win?”

You held up the eraser necklace and Owen excitedly added that he helped make it.

You and Owen were neck in neck in the first round, but you scuffed your last shot on purpose and made a big stink about it. Dean ruffled Owen’s hair as he knelt down at the end of the desk and lined up his shot perfectly. Owen held his own but missed his last shot and Dean knew that he could win if he made the next one. He set his paper up perfectly and you couldn’t help but giggle at the exaggerated sigh of concentration that he let out. Dean’s eyeline moved from the game quickly up to you as he gave a quick wink and under-shot his chance on purpose, giving the win to Owen if he made his next shot, which he did.

Jody paused before entering the room and watched from just out of sight as Owen jumped up and down in triumph. Ellen joined and leaned on the wall, watching as you helped Owen up onto the desk and presented him with the make-shift medal that you had thrown together. Dean put Owen on his shoulders and did a victory lap around the desks while squeals of delight filled the air.

“Are my eyes deceiving me, or is Dean Winchester acting like he’s been properly socialized?” Jody tilted her head to look at Ellen who was smiling knowingly.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him like this. Ever since a little bird flew into town, he’s seems to be a little less crotchety.”

Jody and Ellen watched the smile that you and Dean shared once he put Owen down.

“Mom!” Owen ran over and proudly showed off his medal.

“That’s great, hon!” Jody looked up as you and Dean approached. “You guys are lifesavers; I really owe you one.”

“We had fun, huh?” You nudged Owen with your arm causing him to blush and avert his eyes. You smirked and turned to Dean. “I’ll go grab my stuff and then we can head out.”

Dean knelt down and held his hand out for a high-five. “Good game, kid. That’s well-deserved.” He pointed at the eraser hanging around Owen’s neck.

“I like Y/N. She’s fun… and pretty.” Owen whispered to Dean. Jody instructed her son to grab his coat and said goodbye to everyone.

Dean was leaning against your desk when you came out from the back.

“Ready?” He asked.

“Ready.” You smiled in response.

Once you were in Dean’s truck, you asked, “how do you know Owen so well?”

“When my parents moved away, Jody kind of took me and Sam under her wing and made sure we were taken care of. We were over at her house for dinner a fair amount, so Owen and I are pretty good buddies.”

“Jody seems sweet. I like her.”

“She’s one of the good ones. A lot of people here are. Ellen has always been a surrogate mom to me as well. My dad and I don’t always get along, so Bobby and Ellen kind of adopted me when I was pretty young.”

“I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Don’t be. We all have our issues.”

Dean pulled up outside Bobby’s shop just a few short minutes later. “I’ll come in with you and make sure everything’s working okay. I gotta talk to Bobby anyway.”

You and Dean rushed inside out of the cold and Jo looked up from the front desk. “Hey Dean!”

“Hey, Jo. Your dad around?”

“He’s on the phone but should be done soon.” She turned her gaze to you. “You must be the new girl.”

“Yeah, I’m Y/N. It’s nice to finally meet you.” You offered a smile to Jo, which was not returned.

“We’re just here for her truck. You got the keys?” Dean picked up on Jo’s attitude and tried to hurry the conversation along.

She shuffled through the box of keys that was on the desk and pulled one out, reading the tag to make sure it was the right one before tossing it to you. You caught it easily and thanked her.

“What do I owe you?”

“We’ll send you the bill.”

“Oh, okay. I guess I’ll just head out then.” You turned to Dean. “See you around. Thanks again for the ride.”

Dean nodded with a shy smile and watched as you got in your truck and left. He wasn’t sure why, but part of him was hoping that the truck wouldn’t start up, so you’d have to ride back with him, but he knew Bobby was too good of a mechanic for that. The rumble of your engine starting up signaled your official exit and Dean hastily made his way back to Bobby’s office to avoid Jo’s impending interrogation on why he had ditched out on her party.

You had gotten to work a little early the next day and were at your desk when Sarah came in.

“Hey, how you feeling?” You had texted her the night before to see if she needed anything, but she said Sam was doing a great job at playing nurse.

“Much better. I think it was just one of those twenty-four-hour bugs. How was yesterday?”

“Slow and quiet. It was weird without you here. Jody brought Owen in and we had a paper football tournament, which was pretty fun though.”

“I’m sorry I missed out!”

Ellen walked out from her office and sat at an empty desk next to you and Sarah. “Are you still good for Thursday, Y/N?”

“You bet!”

“What’s Thursday?” Sarah wondered.

“Ellen, Garth and I are heading to Baker for a convention on the new tax regulations for this year. We’ll head down Thursday morning and come back up on Saturday night.”

Sarah’s face dropped. “No, not this weekend! Saturday is Dean’s birthday and we’re throwing him a surprise party down at The Salty Hunter. I was going to invite you both today!”

“Oh, shoot…” You felt bad that you’d miss Dean’s birthday when he’d been so helpful to you lately.

“Well, maybe we can try to be back for the party?” Ellen suggested. “We’ll head out as soon as we can.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” Sarah pointed a finger at you both.

“What’s The Salty Hunter?” You wondered.

“That’s the bar on main street. Rufus, who owns it, used to be a hunter so he named it after himself. He’s a character but a good guy.” Ellen explained.

That night after work you went grocery shopping and then headed home to make some dinner and watch something stupid to unwind before bed. You changed into pajamas and a t-shirt and settled down at your new table. Before you could take a bite of your pasta, someone knocked on your door. You peeked through the curtains to see who it was and saw Dean standing outside, shaking his leg to try and stay warm.

You unlocked the door and the wind helped it open. “Get in here, it’s freezing!” You ordered and Dean gladly complied.

“How’s the truck working?” He rubbed his hands together to thaw his fingers.

“Like a charm. Bobby really knows his stuff.” You grabbed the blanket that was slung over the back of a chair and wrapped it around yourself as you sat and offered Dean the other chair at the table.

“So, uh,” he traced the woodgrain pattern on the floor with his eyes as if he was afraid to look at you, “I don’t know if you have any plans on Saturday, but some friends and I are getting together down at the bar if you want to get to know a few more people. It’s nothing big.”

“This little gathering wouldn’t happen to be for your birthday, would it?” You raised a knowing eyebrow. “Sarah told me about it today.”

Dean chuckled. “Yeah, but it’s not really a party or anything. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of this tiny cabin. I’m not even supposed to know about it, but Sam told me.”

You were surprised that Dean went out of his way to invite you, and the gesture made you feel even worse that you might not be there.

“I’m going to try my absolute hardest to be there. Ellen, Garth and I are actually going to be at a tax thing from Thursday until Saturday but we’re making it our goal to be back in time.”

“Like I said, it’s not a big deal, so don’t stress about it.”

“Birthdays are a big deal, so don’t play it off all casual. Plus, I already have the perfect present picked out for you, so it would be a shame if you didn’t get it.”

An inquisitive look lit up Dean’s emerald eyes. “The perfect present, huh? You sure you know me that well?”

“I am one hundred percent sure it will be the best present you’ve ever gotten from me.” Considering that you’d never given him a present before, you weren’t wrong.

Dean pushed his jaw slightly to one side and pressed his tongue to his canine while fighting a grin. “You’re funny, you know that?”

You scrunched you nose and stood from your chair. “Have you eaten? I’ve got extra.” Before he answered, you were already dishing him up a plate of spaghetti.

“No, I just got off work. Late day at the office.” He dug right into his food when you set it down on the table. “Are you planning on getting a couch or something?” He looked out into the barren room.

“No, I think I like empty, minimalistic look. It’s very modern.”

At this point, Dean had a pretty firm grasp on your dry sense of humor and just shook his head. He scarfed down his food and went back for a second plate while you cleaned up the kitchen a bit. He washed his own plate when he was done and placed it in the drying rack.

“Well, I didn’t mean to interrupt your night. I would have just texted you to invite you, but I don’t have your number.”

You held out your hand and Dean reached into his pocket and gave you his phone. It was an old, sturdy Nokia flip phone and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Look at this dinosaur. I haven’t seen one of these since… I don’t know, middle school?”

“It’s not that old.” Dean tried to defend himself. “I tried the fancy smart phones, but I hated them. Who needs a phone for more than just calling and texting?”

You flipped it open dramatically and saved your number before handing it back to him right as it began to ring. “It’s Sam, I should probably get this. Thanks again for dinner. I didn’t mean to intrude.”

“You didn’t. I always make way too much pasta anyway.”

Dean gave a grateful smile and a small wave as he answered the phone and left.

Chapter 3