#Barbs Burgers

[egosarchive]

Introducing

Barbara ‘Barb’ Belcher

Lindsey Belcher

Ginny Pesto

Ursula aka ‘Teddy’

[fieriframes]

[Invented barbed wire.]

[g4zdtechtv]

THE PILE PRESENTS: X-Play - Time is Running Out for Mr. Tumnus | 12/27/05

Another installment of the show you’ve entered a tumultuous love/hate relationship with.

[fierifiction]

Invented barbed wire. There is a lot of information out there about this. The video on the left (left) shows what happened last night on September 5th in the city of Los Angeles. It shows the video of an undercover cop walking into the building and talking to a witness he saw walk across. Here's one of the videos the cops have posted showing the whole building.

[hollybell51]

Don't bet on it

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Castiel x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 9.6K (I'm shocked too dw)

Summary: I have no idea how to describe this I'm so sorry it's just smut. There's also some morning-after shenanigans. Believe me if I could I would but thinking of a title was hard enough.

Content: Just... pretty much 9.6K words of shameless Cas smut because I love him. Only one bed, porn with a plot, friends to lovers (sort of), little bit of hurt/comfort and first aid (?), Cas is a bit of warning honestly. Smut: Cas is a virgin, first kiss, making out, hickeys, blowjob, handjob, vaginal sex, unprotected sex (yikes), fingering, very very light dirty talk, very loving very gentle sex, sharing a bed. Dean is a bit of an oblivious idiot, Sam is less oblivious.

Notes: I wrote this while trying to fall asleep at my friend's house and didn't proof read. I've also only known Cas for six episodes (almost seven), so most of the characterisation for him is based of gifsets, incorrect quotes, and other fanfics (so is the lore/plot because I'm not that far into the series yet but I was impatient so just ignore any mistakes or plot inconsistencies if you find them, although I did try). Hence it's probably bad. But oh well, this wouldn't leave my brain until I wrote it and like I said I'm impatient and also I'm a little bit proud of the smut alone and he's fucking hot I mean come on. Dean Winchester is a better man than me because god damn I would've jumped his bones the second he looked at me and I have no idea how he didn't. Be nice.

Cas was watching you. Again. It wasn’t like you minded, but something about his cool eyes following your movements from across the booth made butterflies swirl in your stomach. You were acutely aware of every single bubble in your glass of lemonade, every clink of the ice cubes, every slurpy noise it made through the straw you were sucking on. You probably looked a bit stupid, hunched over your drink and the plate that had contained your burger, the huge shirt you’d borrowed from Sam while the one you’d packed for yourself dried rolled up to your elbows, hanging off your shoulders way too much to ever be considered cute. Not that you wanted to look cute, and not that it mattered, but…

“There’s a pharmacy down the street,” Sam was saying. “They’d probably have more of that antiseptic, right?” 

There was a pause in which you snuck a glance at Cas. His gaze was fixed on the bubbles clustering on your straw, mildly interested as they formed and floated away, formed and floated, again and again in an endless cycle. You’d never found bubbles so fascinating, but now that you looked – and you knew he was looking too – there’d never been anything so beautiful. 

“(Y/N)?” 

Right, yeah, antiseptic. The cut on your shoulder seemed to itch at the thought, prickling under the carefully applied dressing. You’d done it on a barbed wire fence that had barred the entry to a nest of vampires, and a day later Sam was still worried it would get infected. It wasn’t exactly a clean cut – the fence had been filthy, and your assurance that yes, you were up to date with tetanus shots had stopped him driving you to a hospital. You appreciated the concern, but really, you were sure it would be fine. 

“Mhm,” you answered, leaning back in your seat. “D’you think it’ll still be open?” 

Beside you, Dean frowned, looking around for a clock. “It’s not that late, right?” 

“There’s an open sign in the window.” All eyes swung to Cas, who shrugged, pointing. “It’s lit up,” he added. 

“Oh, right,” you said faintly. “Thanks Cas.” 

He smiled, a tiny twitch of his lips that had no right to make your heart speed up as much as it did. “That’s ok.” 

You smiled back. Your face seemed determined to ignore your brain and grin like an idiot, and it was a damn struggle to keep it to a normal expression. 

“Right,” Sam said, clearing his throat and bursting the little bubble you could have sworn you’d been stuck in. You would have liked to stay there, where it was just Cas smiling at you. But no, you were being silly. 

“Right,” you echoed. There was a slightly awkward silence, in which you swirled your straw around idly, watching Cas watch the movement of ice cubes and bubbles. When you’d first met him, you hadn’t really believed he was an angel. He seemed so… ordinary. Shabby, even. But the longer you were around him, the surer you’d become that he was the real deal. Strange, not what you’d expected at all, but a real honest-to-goodness angel nonetheless. Even now that he was human, there was still definitely something otherworldly in Cas. Something that, despite the grime and rust of the lives all four of you lead, was almost pure, precious to you, and a little unnerving all at once. 

“Do you want some?” you asked, gesturing to your drink. 

Cas’s eyes snapped up, almost guiltily. 

You smiled. “Lemonade.” 

He nodded slowly.

“Here.” You pushed the glass across the table, leaning your chin on your hands and watching as he moved the straw around, then sipped it. You’d been having way too much fun plying him with new things to taste, since food now actually tasted like… food. As opposed to molecules. Apparently. 

He wrinkled his nose, drawing back and staring at the glass. Then he leaned forward again and took another sip. There was something in his near-childlike wonder that made your heart ache, the appearance of innocence and naivety so profound that it was hard to remember he was – had been – a soldier. A divine soldier of God. Watching him made you want to reach across the table and just… Well, you didn’t know what it made you want to do. Grab him, maybe? It didn’t matter. 

“Any good?” Dean asked, watching Cas mildly. 

“It’s very sweet,” he reported. “And sticky.” 

Despite yourself, you laughed. 

Cas surveyed you, then gave another of those little smiles you’d come to treasure. He took another sip, his eyes never leaving your face. 

You cleared your throat, suddenly hyper aware of exactly where you were and what you were supposed to be doing. Not staring at – “mooning over” Dean had teasingly called it not even three days ago, a thought that still plagued you – Cas, that was for sure. You slid out of the booth, since you were the one who needed the antiseptic and you were on the edge. “I’ll go across, meet you back at the hotel.” 

“You sure?” Sam asked, watching as you dropped some money on the table. Enough to cover your burger and a small portion of the tip. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.” You turned towards Cas, shooting him a small smile. He looked a little confused, and you couldn’t deny the pang of guilt that tugged at your insides. “You can finish that off,” you told him, “if you want.” 

“Thankyou,” he said after a moment. 

“Yeah, sure.” You nodded to Sam and Dean, the former of whom was staring between you and Cas with a look of what could only be described as incredulity plastered across his face. You were going to ignore it, you decided. “Seeya later,” you said, and left. 

You stood before the motel room, shopping bag in hand, staring at Sam’s text. Had he and Dean done this deliberately? Was this some kind of conspiracy between the two of them? 

“Room 09,” the message read, “you’re sharing with Cas.” And then, shortly after; “Don’t worry, it’s a double.” 

Well, you thought, at least you wouldn’t have to share a bed, and at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the guilt of Cas taking the couch – even though he insisted he didn’t mind, and refused to let you do it. 

Just as you raised your hand to knock, the door swung open and there stood the former angel, still in his beige trench coat, tie and all. He hadn’t even taken his shoes off. 

“Hi,” you said, slightly breathless. There was something stupidly endearing about the way he just stood there, looking at you. 

“Hi,” he repeated. “Do you want to come in?” 

“Uh, yeah.” Awkwardly, you squeezed past him into the dully lit room, switching on the light with your elbow. Had he just been sitting in here by himself, in the dark? You hoped not, but at the same time, it was exactly the sort of thing you could imagine him doing. 

You deposited your groceries – the antiseptic, a new packet of dressings, painkillers, and a twix you’d grabbed at the counter. You’d figured you could share it with whoever your roomie was, and now you were glad you’d had that foresight. You turned, surveyed the room, then did a double take. Surely not. There had to be something you were missing. 

But no, on closer inspection, your eyes were not deceiving you. There was only one bed. A double bed, sure, but still only one bed. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you muttered, already reaching for your phone. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, a concerned wrinkle appearing between his brows. 

“Sam said this was a double,” you told him. 

“It is.” 

“Yeah, but there’s only one bed. I always feel bad kicking you to the couch.” 

“I don’t mind. And besides,” he added, “you’ve never kicked me.” 

“No it’s–” you broke off, catching his smile. “Yeah, alright” 

The smile widened. He was a little too proud of himself for your liking. 

You looked away, hoping to hide your own grin as you dialled Sam’s number. “You said it was a double,” you accused before he could even greet you. 

“Yeah, hi to you too,” he snorted. “It is.” 

“There’s only one bed, Sam. Does your room have only one bed?” 

“No, we’ve got two singles.” 

“Lucky you,” you practically spat. “Now I’m gonna have to live with the guilt of knowing Cas is on the couch.” 

“So?” You could almost hear the frown in Sam’s voice. “He doesn’t mind.” 

“I know, but–” 

“Share the bed with him if it bothers you that much,” he cut you off. In the background, Dean was saying something. Sam shushed him. “I’m sure he’d be happy to.” 

“What’s that supposed to–” 

He interrupted you again, all too cheerful. “You’ll sort it out.” 

You stared at the phone, “call ended” flashing up at you. “Fuck you, Sam,” you sighed. 

By the door, Cas frowned. “Is something the matter?” 

“No,” you sighed again, grabbing the dressings and antiseptic and taking a seat on the end of the singular bed. Through the gap in the curtains, the sky was darkening from the pale purple it had been at the diner to a deep indigo. “Just… Sam.” 

Cas nodded solemnly, as if he knew exactly what you meant. 

You tried not to pay too much attention to him as you unbuttoned Sam’s shirt, sliding it down off your shoulder to bare the current dressing. You’d had it on all that day and the night before, so you figured it was time to change it. Gently, you peeled back the adhesive, hissing as the air brushed over the cut. It wasn’t as bad as it had been, mostly scabbed over and less raw-looking than when you’d first applied the dressing, but it was still tender. It was awkward to reach too, running from your shoulder along your collarbone, stopping just shy of the centre of the sternum. Stupid, you’d cursed yourself when you’d done it, and you cursed yourself again now. 

“Would you like some help?” 

You looked up, meeting Cas’s eyes. Soundlessly, he’d crossed the room and was now standing directly in front of you. 

He gestured to the cut. “It looks hard to reach.” 

“Uh, yeah, it is.” You shifted over, making room for him beside you. “Thanks.” 

“You’re welcome.” He sank down beside you, his weight tilting you towards him. Your stomach lurched. 

Determinedly dismissing it, you turned slightly to face him, one leg dangling off the side of the bed, the other folded under you. Almost immediately you wished you hadn’t done it, because now all you could see was him, bent over you, his face impassive and focused to a fault. 

He took the antiseptic from you, gently dabbing it along the edges of the scab. 

“Is that alright?” he asked when you gasped softly. 

“Mhm,” you nodded. “Just… stings a little.” 

Guilt flashed across his face. “Oh, I’m sorry.” 

“No, no, it’s not you. You’re fine,” you assured him. “It’s the antiseptic, it’s normal.” 

“Should I keep going?” 

You nodded, your heart racing. His skin was cool where it brushed yours, the shitty lighting somehow playing tricks with the colours in his eyes, making them appear even more startlingly blue than usual. Those eyes were fixed on your cut, like it was the only thing that mattered in the world. 

“I wish you’d taken me with you,” he said as he reached for a dressing pad. 

“Hm?” You frowned, unsure what he meant. You’d gone alone, which wasn’t why you’d fumbled crossing the fence, but it certainly hadn’t helped. Sam and Dean had been after a demon in the next town over – it took precedence over vampires, you all knew that – and Cas had been with them. You’d been convinced you’d be alright to tackle such a small nest, it was only three, barely a nest at all, and had insisted on it. But still, you’d been a bit more wired than usual, and that was probably to blame for your bungled entrance. It didn’t matter now, you were fine. They were dead. 

He shrugged, smoothing the dressing over your skin more gently than you’d ever thought possible. “On the hunt. I wish you’d taken me with you.” 

“Nah,” you shook your head, trying to dispel the ache his action caused inside you. “You had other stuff on. You don’t need to be wasting time running after a nest of vampires, demons take priority.” You smiled. “You’ve got more to worry about than a silly little hunter who can’t jump fences.”

Cas looked up, that little wrinkle reappearing on his forehead. “That’s not true,” he said, “I’ll always have time for you. I’ll always worry about you.” 

You froze, taken aback by the… intimacy of the words. You’d mentioned before that you liked when people just said what they meant (“Even if it hurts you?” he’d asked, frowning. You’d said that you’d rather that than be left searching for double meanings and hidden clues, and he’d seemed to find that acceptable.), and since then he’d indulged you in that regard. But this felt different, it felt more real than anything he’d ever said to you before. He’d always have time for you, he worried about you. 

“Really?” you asked. “You mean that?” 

He nodded, his eyes sincere where he held your gaze. There was something here, you knew, something tingling in the air between you. You’d half thought you were imagining things when you noticed him looking at you. You’d chalked it up to him being, well, Cas, and hadn’t allowed yourself to dwell too long on the glimmer of hope that it was more than that. And he’d been an angel for Pete’s sake; divine, untouchable, totally out of your reach. But here, now, with his hand resting where it had settled on your thigh and his face inches from yours, the dimness of the motel somehow illuminating every dancing fleck of colour in his eyes, every beautiful shadow and line on his – human – face, you weren’t ignoring it any longer. 

His voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke. “You’re important to me, (Y/N).” 

Oh. Oh. There it was.

He was still looking at you, but there was a hint of what you would have said was nervousness, maybe apprehension, mixed with the sincerity and lingering concern in his eyes. It was so… raw. You felt strangely vulnerable, while at the same time like you were seeing something you weren’t supposed to. 

Involuntarily, your eyes flicked down to his lips, your breath hitching in your chest. Fuck it, you thought, then closed the few inches of space between you and pressed your lips to his. 

He was completely motionless, and for a wild moment you were convinced you’d grossly misread something and had just made a massive mistake. Then it was like he was coming to life beneath you, pushing back against you, his lips parting under yours, his free hand finding its place cupping your cheek. His mouth was soft, impossibly soft. His tongue, when you brushed against it with your own, tasted like your lemonade. 

It was near dead silent in the room, the ticking of the clock on the wall and the distant thrumming of traffic outside the only noises. Then, as you slid your hand up over his leg, fingers squeezing gently at his thigh, Cas made a sound. 

It was halfway between a sigh and moan, tiny and restrained, and you could feel him hesitate in the kiss. This is new, it said. This is nice. You let your lips curve into the smile they’d been trying to, squeezing again. It’s alright, you told him with your hand, you’re alright. 

You drew back momentarily, sucking a quick breath as Cas chased you, his hand on the back of your neck pulling you closer and closer and closer and closer and impossibly closer until your chest met his. Then you were shifting into his lap, swinging your leg over his and straddling his hips like it was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was. It sure felt like it. 

“Cas,” you breathed, breaking away properly this time and raising your hands to cup his face. “Castiel.” 

“Hm?”

You moved your thumb in a soft arc over his cheekbone, smiling as he closed his eyes and leaned into your touch. His lips found your hand, peppering your palm and wrist with featherlight kisses. 

“Can I?” you asked, reluctantly freeing a hand to push at the trench coat he was still wearing. 

He looked up, frowning. “What?” 

“Take it off,” you whispered, then heat rose in your cheeks. “If you want to, of course. If you want this. You don’t have to.” 

He shook his head, pulling back to shrug off the heavy piece of clothing. The blazer followed. He loosened his tie, then seemed to think for a moment before undoing it altogether. It was the first time you’d seen him without it, and he looked… different. Unguarded, almost. Then he was reaching up and unfastening the buttons of his shirt, torturously slowly. He paused, meeting your eyes. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You smiled, nodding. You’d been staring, you realised, watching his deft fingers work at the material so intently that you hadn’t been thinking about what would show on your face. You took over, finishing off the last few fastenings and pushing the shirt back off his shoulders. You didn’t know what you’d expected his body to look like. You’d had the vague notion that it would be nice, that it would somehow match the rest of him, and you hadn’t been wrong, but now that he was in front of you that same disconcerting feeling of unearthliness haunted the back of your mind. This was Cas, Castiel, and that made it somehow hallowed – irony aside. 

“Are you alright?” He was peering up at you, apprehensive. 

You nodded. “Are you?”  

He echoed your gesture, his fingers running along the collar of your own shirt. A question, a request, testing the waters. 

Careful of your still-tender shoulder, you reached for the hem of your shirt and pulled it smoothly over your head, then undid your bra and cast it to the side. Cas’s eyes snapped to your chest, interest and a sort of hunger mixing on his face. Hesitantly, slowly, his hand inched up your waist to your ribs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He paused. 

“It’s ok,” you breathed. When he still seemed wary, you reached down and took his hand in your own, guiding it to your breast and giving a gentle squeeze. His breath hitched, his tongue darting out between his lips. 

“I’m…” he broke off, swallowing hard. He shifted, a hard bulge pressing against your thigh. You smiled.

“Hm?” 

“I’m… I’m kind of…” He stopped again, floundering. 

“It’s alright, Cas. You’re alright.” 

He looked up, something close to nervousness dancing across his face. “I haven’t done this before,” he whispered. “I don’t know…” 

Oh. Right. Why hadn’t you thought of that? It made sense, you supposed. Despite Dean’s best efforts, Cas hadn’t picked up the other guy’s… habits, at least not yet. You’d wondered about it briefly before coming to the conclusion that it had to be an angel thing, a choice on his behalf. You knew some people didn’t want that with just anyone, which you could understand. What you couldn’t understand was a world where nobody was interested in Cas, but then again, you might have been biassed. 

You bit your lip. “Do you want to? It’s ok if you don’t.” 

“I do,” he said, his hand still resting on your chest. “I really do, (Y/N). But I don’t know… what to do.” 

“I’ll help you,” you assured him, affection blooming in your gut. And alongside it, an odd sort of pride. Cas was trusting you here, enough to admit he didn’t know what to do. It was more than any guy you’d ever been with had been willing to give away. 

“We’ll go slow,” you continued. “You tell me what you like, what feels good. If you wanna stop, you say so, ok?” 

He nodded. 

You took his face in your hands again, running your fingers over the rough stubbled coating his jaw. “Can I touch you?” 

“Please,” he murmured. 

You trailed your hand down his neck, along his collar bone, over his chest. His skin was soft, smooth. It wasn’t scarred like Dean or Sam’s or your own, and suddenly you wondered if that was somehow a turn off for him. He’d been an angel, immortal, eternal, unblemished even now. If he hadn’t done this before, or even if he had with a normal human, he probably wouldn’t have encountered the kind of skin a hunter such as yourself possessed. Would it bother him? 

Then his chest heaved under your hand, the flesh twitching as your touch crept lower, sideways, up again, mapping the expanse of his torso. He moaned softly as you pressed a gentle kiss to his temple, fingers splayed over his heart. Again, you swept down the centre of his body, all thoughts of your own imperfections dashed from your mind as you revelled in the little hums of pleasure you were coaxing from him. 

Carefully, slowly, you inched lower. You passed his belly button, the light trail of hair that led down from it, finally encountering his belt buckle. You paused, tracing aimless patterns over the skin just above the waistline of his pants, pushing your fingers below the material after a moment. 

“Is this alright?” you asked, watching his face. His eyes were closed, his lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed. 

“Mhm,” he sighed. “Yes.” 

You smiled. God, he was beautiful. “You wanna take ‘em off?” 

At that, his eyes snapped open, the pupils so wide they almost obscured the blue of his irises. “My pants?” he asked. 

You nodded. “You don’t have to, but…” You ran your hand lightly over the increasingly noticeable bulge you could feel. “I can touch you? Here.” 

He stared. “Do you want to?” 

You gave a little huff of laughter, nodding. “Only if you do. I can keep touching you other places if you want, I can kiss you…” You stopped as he deftly reached down and undid his belt, button and fly in one fluid motion, lifting his hips momentarily and kicking off his pants. It was very fast, impressively smooth. And underneath… 

Your mouth watered at the sight. The outline of his cock straining against his underwear, a small wet patch already forming. You usually didn’t indulge the mantra of “bigger is better”, especially not when it came to penises, but there was no denying that your pussy was already aching at the thought of the stretch Cas’s would cause. Not that it was a behemoth, far from it, but he was certainly well endowed.

His voice snapped you from your reverie, jerking your gaze away from his dick and back to his face. “Is that…” he paused, searching your gaze anxiously. “Is it alright?” 

Your heart melted. “Oh, Cas,” you sighed. “It’s perfect. You’re perfect. Just perfect.” 

A sound that could only be described as whine slipped from his still kiss-bruised lips, sending a bolt of heat shooting down your spine to pool between your legs. Before the request had formed on your tongue, he shed his underwear too, leaving himself bare to you. 

“Have you touched yourself?” you asked, jerking your gaze from his cock. Fuck, you’d never wanted to lay hands on a dick more in your life. 

Cas looked away for a moment. “No,” he said. “Should I have?” 

You shook your head. “It’s up to you. I’d like to, if you’re ok with it.”

“Touch me?” 

“Mhm.”  

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then nodded.

“Ok.” Dammit, you thought. If this was his first time, you wanted him to feel good. Would he tell you if he didn’t? You thought he would, he was always honest when you asked him to be, and he clearly wanted this. But it was that same want that made you wonder if he’d just keep going no matter what, and you didn’t want that. 

You quickly spat into your hand, stretching up, placing a kiss on the corner of his mouth. Then, on second thoughts, you licked softly at his bottom lip. His breath rushed against your skin, the kiss hot and messy and barely even a kiss at all. It was more you licking into Cas’s mouth, Cas experimenting with his tongue in yours. After a few tries he found a rhythm, soft and supple, gentle and careful. Wonderful. 

It was then that you reached down with your spit-lubed hand, wrapping your fingers around his throbbing length, coating the whole thing with moisture. There was already a little precum beading on the tip, and you used that too, your hand sliding easily. The skin here was smooth too, apart from the thick veins and swell of the head, the slit that you ran your thumb over, causing Cas to moan – really moan – into your mouth.

“Like this?” you murmured, moving your kisses away from his lips, over his stubble-roughed jaw, down to his neck. You sucked gently at the hollow under his jaw bone, hot and wet, leaving a red mark behind. You moved further down, over his jugular, more and more hickeys blossoming in your wake. 

“Ah, (Y/N), yes–” Cas gasped. “Oh, just like that, please.” 

You hummed softly, his breathlessness coupled with the words themselves like fog clouding your mind. All you wanted was more. More of his ragged voice, more of the desperate pleading, more of his hips jerking up into your hand and as your fingers slid smoothly over his cock. Your mouth paused at the base of his throat, made more apparent by the strain in his neck – the Plender gap, you thought it might have been called. You could vaguely picture that word with an arrow pointing to the spot on a medical diagram, although you weren’t sure why – and sucked a particularly dark hickey into the skin there. His collar would cover it in the morning. 

His hand, which had been flitting about your waist, suddenly found its way to your hair. His fingers tangled in it, pulling your head back up so he could kiss you again. You smiled, your own free hand squeezing at his thigh just as you had before. 

He moaned again, deep in the back of his throat, the sound reverberating through your whole body. How had you waited this long? If you’d known it’d be like this, you’d have jumped his bones the second you laid eyes on him. Hell, you’d wanted to. 

“Can I use my mouth?” you asked between kisses – they still weren’t really kisses by any stringent definition, too messy for that. 

“You are, hm, using your mouth,” Cas pointed out. 

You laughed. It was so… matter of fact. “I mean down here,” you explained, giving his dick a gentle squeeze. “I can keep doing this if you want, but…” 

“But?”

“I wanna taste you, Cas,” you smiled. 

His mouth fell open, his cheeks colouring. He hadn’t been lying when he’d said he was new to this, you supposed. “Taste me?” 

“Mhm,” you nodded, ducking forward to nip at his lip. “Wanna feel you in my mouth, wanna choke on your cock. I’ll make you feel so good, Cas, I promise.” 

“(Y/N).” His voice was even more gravelly than usual, roughened by the raw desire glinting in his eyes. 

“Mhm?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“That’s sweet,” you laughed again. “I’m sure, Cas. Remember you can stop me whenever you want, though, yeah?” 

“Yeah, alright.” 

“Alright?” 

He kissed you again, more gently and with more precision than before, then nodded. “Go ahead.” 

You felt a grin break across your face, your mouth already watering. You didn’t waste time, giving Cas a quick peck on the cheek before sliding off the edge of the bed and kneeling between his legs, your arms resting comfortably on his thighs. You ignored the slight pull of your cut, taking his cock once more in your hand and pumping it gently, once, twice, three times before you lowered your head and kissed the tip. 

Cas’s stomach twitched, his hand going once more to your hair as his breath caught in his throat. 

“Alright?” you asked, your own breath ghosting over the sensitive area, raising goosebumps. 

“Yes,” he sighed. “Keep going?” 

You smiled. “Magic word?” 

“Please,” he practically growled. 

Alright then. You slid your lips over him, relaxing your mouth as you sank as far down his length as you could. What wouldn't fit in your mouth was taken care of by one hand, the other busy holding his hips down. He nearly whined when you moved, bobbing your head back and forth slowly at first, but faster by the minute. 

“Oh,” he panted, “oh, (Y/N), yes–” 

“Good?” you mumbled, but it didn’t come out sounding like the original word at all. Still, Cas seemed to get the point.  

“So good, feels so good. You feel so good, (Y/N), you have no idea.” 

The praise went straight to your panties, pooling with the rest of the hot wetness that had been gathering steadily. You’d wanted to take your time, be as careful and gentle as he’d been with you. But now, breathing in the smell of him, feeling the weight and the heat of him, you were losing your composure. 

“Oh,” he whispered again as you sped up, your hand moving in tandem with your mouth. He dick was slick with your spit and only getting messier, the saltiness of his precum mixing with the lingering sweetness of your lemonade. 

You moaned, the vibrations jolting Cas’s hips despite his best efforts to stay still, as well as your hand attempting to hold him down. You gave a tiny huff of laughter out your nose, lowering your head even further until the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat, relaxing completely. 

“(Y/N),” he panted. “(Y/N).” 

“Hm?” You glanced up at him, your eyes watering slightly. He made a sound you’d thought only existed in pornos as his fingers tightened in your hair. 

“You look… ah, so…” He paused, the words choked by another moan as your tongue swirled around his cock. “So beautiful.” 

For the second time, your heart felt like it was melting in your chest. You smiled, your enthusiasm doubling. You were gonna make him cum in your mouth, you were determined. And after that – if he wanted, of course – you’d spread your legs for him and let him fuck you senseless. 

He was close, he was so damn close, cock twitching and fingers clutching desperately at you despite his best attempts to be gentle. “I’m–” He broke off, gasping. “So much, (Y/N), it’s so much.” 

You wondered if you should stop, if you should pull back and ask if he was ok. If he’d never done this before and hadn’t touched himself either, it was unlikely that he’d ever experienced an orgasm. Maybe you should reassure him. You ran your free hand down his thigh, squeezing gently. It’s alright, you tried to say with the gesture, hoping he’d understand. I’ve got you, you’re alright. 

Then he was groaning deeply, his head thrown back and his eyes closed, thighs shaking under you and hot saltiness shooting down your throat. His skin shone with sweat, his chest heaving, his hand gripping your hair so tight it almost – almost – hurt. But it couldn’t have, not when your throat was working to swallow every drop of what he was giving you, not when he looked so beautiful laid out bare above you, not when you could see the pure, raw pleasure painted on his face. 

As gently as you could, you drew back and licked him clean. You rested your head on his thigh, placing a soft kiss there, then drew back and sat, waiting. 

Finally, Cas opened his eyes and looked at you. He took in your swollen lips, the flush you could feel dusting your cheeks, the tears that had leaked from your eyes, the bird’s nest that was your hair. And he smiled, reaching out a hand to help you up. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, settling back on the bed beside him. You took his hands, holding them close to you. “It wasn’t… too much?” 

“It was wonderful,” he said solemnly. Then he looked away. “Can I…”

“Yeah?” you prompted. “Can you…?” 

He turned back, meeting your eyes. “I want to make you feel like that, too.” 

Your stomach did a flip. “Oh.” 

“Will you show me?” Cas’s eyes searched yours, curious and sincere. And how the hell could you say no to him?

You nodded, unbuttoning your pants and casting them off – admittedly with much less grace and efficiency than Cas. After a moment’s hesitation you did the same to your underwear, dropping them carelessly over the edge of the bed. You could hunt for them in the morning. 

He was watching you the whole time, eyes following every movement you made in that way that was so him. You’d been unnerved by it before you’d gotten to know him, but now it just turned you on. 

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out and ran his hand over your stomach, up, up, up until he reached your breast. He didn’t stop as he had before, his thumb skimming your hard nipple, making you suck in a harsh breath. 

“Is this alright?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Mhm.” 

“What about this?” He slid lower, past your belly button to where your leg joined your hip. It sent tingles running through your whole body. 

“Mhm.” 

“This?” Lower still, over your thigh, along the inside of it, so close to where you wanted him most. 

“Yeah, Cas, you don’t have to ask.” 

“I want you to feel–” 

You stopped him with a kiss, brief and gentle. “Whatever you do is gonna feel great, ok?” 

“But I’m–” 

“Cas.” 

He fell silent when you placed your hand on his face, leaning into your touch. 

“Don’t worry,” you whispered. “I’m gonna help you, remember?”

He nodded, leaning forwards to press his lips against yours. He was getting pretty good at kissing, you noted. Not that he’d been bad when you’d started, but he’d figured out what worked with you. 

“Show me,” he urged, the hand that had been tracing over your leg finding yours. “Show me where to touch you.” 

This is it, you thought as he drew back, watching where his fingers twined with your own. He had officially smashed apart your standards for all men – and former angels – with just six words. You did as he asked, drawing his hand down between your legs to your now practically drenched pussy. 

“Here,” you murmured, a little shock going through you as your fingers brushed your clit. 

Cas’s eyes were wide, the pleasure-haze from his orgasm all but gone now. “Here?” he confirmed, pressing gently at the stiff little bundle of nerves. 

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice much less steady than you’d have liked. 

“Like this?” He slid his finger in a careful circle around it, his eyes never leaving your face. 

“Yes, Cas, just like that.” 

He did it again, then again and again. You sucked a harsh breath through your teeth, your hips twitching involuntarily. 

“Fuck,” you moaned. “Fuck, Cas.” 

“Is this alright?” he asked mildly. 

“More than alright,” you half laughed, half panted. You broke off in another moan as he moved his hand, sliding the tips of his fingers around your hole, his palm pressing against your clit. You briefly wondered if he was doing it deliberately or just experimenting, and if he’d heard something about how to finger girls somewhere. If so, you wanted to know where. But, you thought a moment later, who really cared when it felt so damn good? 

“Can I?” he murmured, watching your face carefully. 

“Yeah,” you nodded frantically. “Yeah, go ahead— please.” The word was torn from you in a way that made colour bloom over Cas’s face as he pushed his finger into you. The heel of his hand was still pressing on your clit, and you ground down on it in a desperate search for friction as he added another finger, your own fingers digging into his shoulders and your breath coming in short gasps. 

“Am I…” he started, then swallowed. “Is this good?” 

“So fucking good,” you replied. “How the fuck are you so good at this?” It was ridiculous, unfair. Most dudes who’d tried had lamely poked at you until you’d given up trying to show them and just moaned loudly, leaving them to grin smugly, convinced they’d made you cum. Cas, however, was well on his way to conjuring the real thing. 

He looked away for a moment, a small satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Good, you thought. He should be satisfied, he was fucking phenomenal. “I’m not sure,” he said. 

It was your turn to smile. “Well you are,” you said simply. Then he moved his hand again and all you could think was fuck, because he really was incredible. He was kissing your neck, sucking at the spot where it met your shoulder, his other hand resting on your hip as you rocked against him, his own soft moans mixing with yours.

And God, you wanted him to fuck you. 

“Hold on,” you panted. Much as his fingers were doing it for you, you couldn’t fight the shiver the thought of his cock buried inside you sent down your spine. 

Cas froze immediately. 

“No, no, it’s ok,” you assured him quickly. “I wanna try something else.” 

“Is this not–” 

“You’re doing great,” you interrupted. “I promise. But…” As before, you slid your hand gently down to palm at the already half-formed erection sitting between his legs. 

Cas frowned.

“Would you like to fuck me?” you asked tentatively. You hated how unsure you sounded, how small. 

His eyebrows shot halfway up his face. 

“Only if you want to,” you added quickly. But from the way his dick had visibly hardened at your words, you guessed he probably did. So, you continued, “I’d like it if you did.” 

Again, his tongue darted out over his lips. His voice was husky when he spoke. “I’d like it too.” 

“Ok, what are we waiting for?” You smiled, shuffling backwards and easing yourself back on the bed. When you saw that Cas wasn’t following, you reached over and took his hand, dragging him down on top of you. “Come on,” you encouraged. 

He gave a little “oof” as he crashed against you, quickly propping himself up above you. It looked uncomfortable. 

“Relax,” you said, wriggling into the mattress and running your hands over his arms and shoulders. “It’s alright.” 

“I don’t want to squash you.” 

You smiled, pulling at him to come closer. “You won’t, don’t worry.” 

“How do you know?” 

“I just do. Besides, I wouldn’t mind.” 

He snorted indignantly. “I would. Then whose lemonade would I steal?” 

You laughed at that. Castiel, former divine soldier of God, joking about stealing your lemonade while he was about to fuck you. If you’d gone back and told yourself from a year ago, she’d have slapped you in the loony bin. “You could just order your own,” you pointed out. 

“I could,” he conceded. “But I will not.” 

“Ok, I don’t mind.” You stretched up, capturing his lips with your own and drawing him down towards you. What you’d said was true, he really didn’t need to worry about squashing you. You liked the warm weight of him, the firmness and certainty that his body pressed against yours brought, his arms caging you to the bed. 

You smiled as his tongue slid along your bottom lip, opening your mouth almost immediately. Yeah, he knew what he was doing now. You hooked your leg over his, pulling his hips hard against your own. You were still tingling, still electrified with want and need from having deprived yourself of his fingers just minutes before, and almost without your conscious awareness you ground against him.

You swallowed the little moan that slipped from his mouth, rubbing your wetness over his hard cock. 

“(Y/N),” he gasped, breaking the kiss, his hips moving in time with yours. 

“Cas,” you echoed, equally as breathless. “Please?” 

He swallowed, his eyes dark. 

“I want you inside me,” you continued. “Please, Cas, I need you inside me. Now.” 

He cursed softly, so softly the only thing you caught was the tone. You wondered what angels cursed by. Not God, surely. But it didn’t matter, because he was taking himself in hand and lining up at your entrance, looking at you for permission. “Here?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, go ahead.” 

Gently, so gently, he pushed inside you. You gave a little whimper that might have been embarrassing in any other situation at the stretch, the delicious feeling of being filled up completely by him. Cas, on the other hand, didn’t make a sound. He wasn’t even breathing, just staring at the place where your body swallowed his, his eyes wide. 

“Hey,” you said softly, smiling at him when his eyes met yours. “You alright down there?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, running a hand reverently over your stomach. His fingers brushed over your scars, some silver, some a newer pale pink. Your earlier doubts fluttered to the front of your mind, but you determinedly pushed them away. Now was not the time. 

“You can move,” you told him, rocking your hips gently against his by way of demonstration. Then, “Please?” 

He nodded, one hand resting on your hip as he pulled out a little, sliding smoothly back in. He hummed quietly, did it again, then again and again and again, finding his rhythm. It was good, it was as gentle as everything else, firm enough to pull at that special place deep in your belly, steady and decisive. Most of all, it was Cas. Cas fucking you, Cas’s cock sending spasms of heat through your body, Cas’s hand steadying himself and you, Cas’s lovely gravelly voice mumuring your name. 

He leant further over you, bending his head to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the cut-free side of your collar bone, following it with another, more forceful one, then more until you were sure you looked like someone had spilt wine over your chest. You supposed it was only fair, given how many love bites you’d showered him with.  

“Shit, Cas,” you whispered, your hand coming up to run over the back of his head, fingers carding through his mussed-up hair. You’d always wanted to fix it, stroke it down, maybe make it worse. When you’d first met him you’d gone so far as to tell him to his face that it was “un-angelic”. He’d been amused by that. 

Now, he groaned against your skin. You smiled to yourself, stroking his scalp again and coaxing another wonderful little moan. You curled your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, lifting your hips off the mattress in time with his thrusts. His breath fanned over your neck, the muscles of his arm taut. 

“I’m so close,” you whispered, and you were. The tightness was building in your stomach, coiling and swirling into a dense knot of pleasure. Every movement Cas made had his pelvis hitting your clit, the bedhead hitting the wall behind it – you briefly felt bad for the next room’s residents – and Cas’s cock hitting deep inside you. The only sounds were the squeaking of the mattress – again, you felt bad – and the wet slap of skin on skin, peppered with your combined moans and sighs. 

“Fuck, Cas,” you gasped, your voice rising in pitch as you spiralled closer, closer… “Oh, shit, fuck, oh my God, Cas, Cas, I’m gonna cum, holy shit I’m gonna– Castiel!” 

You let go, your eyes screwed tightly shut, spine arching off the bed as the bomb inside you exploded. Sparks fizzed through your veins, every muscle in your body clenching as stars speckled your vision and you cried Cas’s name over and over like some kind of mantra. 

He hadn’t stopped, in fact he’d sped up, and when your mind finally crashed back into your body his hips were stuttering, his face buried in your neck. He spilled inside you, hot and thick as it had been in your mouth, a deep groan thrumming through you from where his lips still rested on your chest. He stilled after a moment, still holding most of his weight off you despite your arms wrapped around his back, whispering your name like it was a prayer. 

You wriggled sideways, smiling as he went limp and flopped down beside you. Well, sort of beside you. His head and the better part of his shoulders still rested over your chest, his lips ghosting over you in feather light kisses, his hand running up and down your arm. 

“We should get cleaned up,” you whispered after a moment. 

“Hm?” 

“Clean up,” you repeated. “We’re all sticky.” 

“Oh,” was all he said. Then, “alright then.” 

You extricated yourself, squeezing his shoulder gently as you rose and headed for the bathroom. You debated pulling him into the shower with you, but as your eyes settled on the folded washcloth by the sink you scrapped that idea. This would be quicker and easier, and you were tired, dammit. There’d be other opportunities — at least you hoped there would be. 

You wiped yourself down, turning to find Cas standing in the doorway. The flickering yellow neon strip of illumination above the mirror cast weird shadows over his body, still shining with exertion. Beautiful, even with the medley of hickeys on his neck and the mess of his and your cum around his crotch. 

You beckoned him closer, spongeing away the sweat and other spunk coating his skin. Occasionally you’d look up, without fail meeting his eyes. The usual interest had been replaced with something more; something whole and warm and just for you. The thought made your heart skip a beat. 

When you were finished, you stretched up and kissed him again, just once. Then you took his hand, heading back towards the bed. 

He hesitated, and you turned. He was looking at the couch, indecision marring his face. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked. 

“I assumed you’d want the bed to yourself,” he shrugged. “You usually don’t share”

Oh, ok. “Usually, yeah,” you replied, as casually as you could. “But I wanna share with you.” You looked down at your still joined hands, pulling gently. “Stay?” 

After a moment, he nodded. 

It took longer than it should have to sort out the stupidly layered sheets and blankets, but finally you were both finished wriggling and shifting around, comfortably facing each other. You smiled at him, taking his hand again. 

“I wondered what it would feel like to lie beside you, while you slept. You looked so… at peace.” He leaned forward the few inches between you, his lips cool against your forehead. “Beautiful.” 

Your voice was quieter than you’d meant it to be, and breathier. “You watch me sleep?” 

“It’s hard not to.” It may have been your imagination, but he sounded a little guilty. 

You laughed, leaning forward to whisper, “That’s a little creepy, Cas.” 

“Should I not have?”

“I don’t mind,” you said after a pause, “but maybe try not to mention things like that. Most people would find it weird.” 

“You don’t?”

You shook your head. “Not when it’s you.” The hand that had been holding his was free now, sliding up to cup his face almost of its own volition. You pressed your lips to his, softly and slowly, sweet as syrup. You shifted closer still, draping your arm over him. 

“Because I’m important to you, too?” he asked when you drew back. His eyes searched yours in the dimness, sincere and open. God, he was just… so much. 

You smiled. “Yeah, Cas, you sure are.”

You woke to a hand running over your shoulder, the rise and fall of a chest beneath your cheek and the steady beating of a heart. Cas’s heart, Cas’s chest, Cas’s hand.

“Hi,” you whispered, sitting up. His hand ceased its movements, his lips curling into a gentle smile. 

“Hello.” 

You dipped down, kissing him softly, your finger tracing the outline of his lips when you drew away. “Sleep well?”

He sighed deeply, staring at the ceiling for a moment before his gaze found yours again. “Better than I ever have before. Thank you, (Y/N).” 

“That’s alright.” You looked away, heat rushing to your face. “It was my pleasure.”

“I can see why you – humans – like it so much.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “Hm?” 

“Sex,” he explained. “I think I get it now.” 

“Oh,” you laughed. “Well, that was pretty good sex. For someone who’s never done it before, you were amazing.” 

“Really?” He leaned back, surveying your face carefully. 

You nodded. “And anyway,” you went on, “it usually feels better when it’s someone who’s…” 

He waited, watching you stumble over your words. 

“You know…” You paused, swallowing, half wishing you’d just left it at telling him he was good. “Someone who’s special to you,” you finished lamely. 

“Well,” he said after a moment, “then I’m glad it was you.” 

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, so you just smiled and kissed him again. It was slow and lazy, his bare chest silken under your own, nothing but the soft rush of breath and tiny hum he gave, the rustle of the sheets, the ticking of the motel room clock. Then your phone rang. 

“Fucking hell,” you muttered as you broke away, giving Cas a final apologetic peck before making your way to the table where you’d dumped it. Sam’s name flashed on the screen. 

“What do you want?” you growled. 

“Breakfast,” he answered. “What’s up your ass?” 

“I was sleeping” you answered smoothly, then, “I don’t like being woken up.” 

He snorted. “Yeah, alright. Meet us outside in, say, twenty minutes?” 

You glanced at Cas, who was now sitting up and, you guessed it, watching you. You squished the phone to your chest. “Breakfast in twenty?” you asked. 

He nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. You couldn’t help staring just a little as he went about getting dressed, drinking in every rapidly disappearing inch of skin like some kind of sexually repressed Victorian maiden. 

“Sure,” you said to Sam, then hung up. The problem that you hadn’t thought through last night was the hickeys. You had a scarf, you could button your shirt over your chest, and thankfully Cas had shown more restraint than you had. The most problematic mark sat right in the hollow under his jaw, two love bites blending together. It wasn’t even hickey-shaped, really, but you didn’t think that’d fool Dean and Sam. 

“What’s wrong?” Cas asked, fastening the final button on his shirt. 

“Nothing,” you sighed. “But Dean’s gonna give us endless – and I mean endless – shit.” 

“You’ve killed demons, (Y/N),” he smiled. “And you still can’t deal with Dean’s endless shit?”  

“Oi! I can, I just don’t want to.” You crossed the room, poking him square in the chest. “And you’re gonna be dealing with it too, so don’t get cocky.” 

“We’ll deal with it together.” It was tentative, almost a question. 

You smiled, taking his hands. “Castiel and (Y/N) vs Dean Winchester’s endless shit. I can work with that.”

Things were a little strange over breakfast. Sam and Dean kept glancing at each other, having their annoying silent conversations that consisted of raised eyebrows and side-eyes, the occasional jerk of the head or twist of the mouth. Self consciously, you re-adjusted your scarf, pointedly not meeting anyeone’s eyes. You’d almost made the call not to sit next to Cas, but then he’d looked up at you from his spot by the window and you didn’t stand a chance. You were grateful for your decision when the food came, it made sharing with him a lot easier. 

“Dude,” Sam said suddenly, twisting to face his brother and nearly taking out his glass of water. The eyebrow raising and eye-widening had gotten more intense in the last minute, and clearly they’d hit a boiling point. 

“It’s not a hickey!” Dean protested. “It’s not even hickey-shaped!” 

You froze, fork halfway to your mouth. 

“What?” Cas voiced your thoughts, frowning over the cup of coffee he was nursing. 

Sam sighed. “Cas, look out the window for a second.” 

“Hey–” you started, but you were too late. Both Sam and Dean’s eyebrows shot halfway up their foreheads, and Cas was dutifully peering through the glass. Why did he choose now of all times to listen to Sam? 

“That’s a hickey,” the younger man was claiming triumphantly, nodding to the stain on Cas’s neck. 

Dean whistled softly. “That’s two hickeys. It’s like… a Siamese hickey.” 

“Gross, Dean,” you muttered, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. 

He shrugged. “It’s a beautiful, natural act, (Y/N), lighten up. Congratulations, Cas. Who’s the lucky girl?” 

Sam made a noise like he was choking. You studied your hands on the table in front of you. Dean grinned. Cas didn’t say anything. 

“Was it that waitress?” Dean asked, leaning forwards. “She was cute, man, I’d have tapped that.” 

“No, it wasn’t the waitress.” 

Dean frowned, then his eyes widened. “The hotel receptionist?” he whispered. “Dude, she was a milf. Nice one.” 

“Dean…” Sam started, looking between you and Cas. You glared. 

“What? He deserves a pat on the back. I gotta say, I wasn’t sure if you had it in you.” 

Sam sighed. “I don’t think it was the hotel receptionist.” 

“No? Who else?” 

Again, he glanced at you. You hadn’t moved, stiff as a statue and bracing for impact. You were so close to just spitting it out right there, biting the bullet and getting it over with. But you hadn’t discussed that with Cas, and you couldn’t exactly do so now. 

Dean was looking expectantly at Sam, who was shaking his head in disbelief. You couldn’t blame him. Then, as if in slow motion, Dean’s face fell and realisation dawned in his eyes.  

“No,” he said softly. “No, you didn’t.” 

It was your turn to shrug. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t get a little bit of a kick out of Dean’s absolutely horrified expression. Endless shit that was about to rain down on you and all. 

“You slept together? You,” he looked at you, “and you?” He looked at Cas. 

“Yes,” the former angel said stiffly. “It was nicer than the couch.” 

“No, I mean–” 

You raised a hand, stopping him. “Yes, Dean,” you sighed. “Just… get it out now.” 

“Aw, man.” He groaned, rubbing a hand over his forehead. “That was you guys?” 

“I told you,” Sam shrugged, looking all too smug. 

Cas frowned. “Told him what?” 

“We could hear you,” Dean muttered, his cheeks going a deep red. “I didn’t think we were sharing a wall, Sam did. Drew me a diagram of the motel layout and everything. I didn’t wanna believe it, I didn’t wanna know that… Aw, man!” 

Sam’s smile widened, and he extended a hand across the table. “Pay up.” 

“Pay up?” You glared at him, incredulous. “What the fuck do you mean, pay up?” 

“I mean he owes me fifty. Thanks for that, by the way.” With this, he nodded to Cas. 

You gaped. “Please don’t tell me you bet on me and Cas sleeping together. And please don’t tell me you bet for it.” 

“What can I say? I knew it’d happen eventually, the way you drool over each other. Not my fault Dean actually took me up on it.” 

You groaned, twisting to bury your face in Cas’s trench coat. Absently, he patted your hair. “Why can’t you guys just be normal about one single thing?” you lamented. “Who the hell bets on their friends sleeping together?” 

“Actually,” Dean said through a mouthful of bacon, “it’s a very normal thing to do.” 

“Mhm, back at Stanford–” 

“Back at Stanford,” you mimicked, cutting him off. “I can’t believe you two.” 

Dean held his hands up as if surrendering. “Hey, sorry, but I didn’t think either of you would have the balls to ever make a move. And it was fifty dollars, don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t take that.” 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna have to sit in the car all day with you.” 

“Me too,” Cas added solemnly. 

You sighed, taking his hand under the table and laying it between you, squeezing in full view of Sam and Dean. Cas squeezed back. 

“You’re not allowed to… do anything in the back of my car.” Dean said after a moment. “Especially not with me or Sam there too.” 

Defiantly, you shifted closer to Cas, fingers still entwined with his, firmly meeting Dean’s eyes. “Don’t bet on it.”

[levi-venn]

Accolades

500 Words Timeline: Pre-Order 66 Era Bad Batch Summary: Hunter turns official accolades into something more meaningful for his brothers.

Clone Force 99 never accepted accolades. It wasn't their thing. After all, they were created specifically for the missions no one else could do. Being rewarded for it seemed pointless.

And Hunter didn’t disagree…

…but when accolades were assigned, he always ended up sneaking out after his brothers had settled in for the night to speak to Commander Cody. 

The conversation was always the same.

“I’m sorry your brothers couldn’t make it…again,” Cody would say, handing the medals over.

“Yeah, well, they’re tired from the mission.” One of many excuses he had given Cody during this war.

“Tell them that, on behalf of myself and the generals, 'Keep up the great work, soldiers.'"

“Will do, Commander.” Hunter always said this with a smile. 

Cody returned that smile. They both knew Hunter wouldn’t relay the message. They both knew these medals weren't for his brothers, they were for Hunter.

Hunter had a painted box full of medals and ribbons for each of his brothers.

There was a digital skull skewered by a lightning bolt on Tech's box.

A bomb with a happy face for Wrecker.

And a skull with a crosshair vector over one eye for his youngest brother.

Recently, he added a box for Echo too. He went with a blue handprint for his newest brother, to honor Echo's old armor before the Separatists took nearly everything from him. 

With the exception of Echo’s box, Hunter had been filling these boxes since they were cadets. Their earliest medals had simple accolades from simpler times:

“Fastest Swimmer” - Tech. 

“Most Bullseyes in 60 Seconds” - Crosshair. 

“Feats of Strength” - Wrecker. 

“Leadership and Valor” - Hunter

The accolades shifted after graduation. They came from dangerous missions that ended in violence. Assigned to a bad batch of clones who were somehow expendable, yet the only ones who could survive these impossible situations.

This last mission had taken their toll on the whole squad. Too many clankers, not enough intel, they won the day, but throwing medals at them felt like an insult, even if Cody's appreciation was genuine.

Hunter wanted to turn those medals into something meaningful.

And so, Hunter sat on his bunk, a small laser tool in his bandaged hand, etching over each medal with his own accolades for his brothers.

Tech was awarded “Shooting the most clankers while slicing an AAT-1 and throwing barbed insults at Echo”.

For Crosshair: “The most WIZARD precision shot through a tank’s barrel while spitting a toothpick in a clanker’s eye”.

Wrecker received: “The loudest laugh while mowing down four dozen clankers and eating a hamburger simultaneously”. Hunter still didn’t know where he got that burger.

And finally for Echo, “The most somersaults during a stealth mission while throwing barbed insults back at Tech”

Hunter hesitated over his own medal, as he always did.

Giving himself accolades never sat right.  He could never think of anything, anyway.

So he wrote what he always wrote: “This medal is awarded to Hunter for being the proudest oldest brother in this Badass Batch. I love you guys.”

He tucked the medal away in his own box, a skull with cross-vibroblades beneath it, and tucked it under his mattress with the other boxes.

One day, this war was going to be over.

And on that day, Hunter planned to give these boxes to his brothers.

He couldn’t wait to see their faces.

[redhoodedangel]

“Safety in Pills, Y/N” - Arkham Knight! Jason X Reader

I’m not sure how many people who played or seen the Arkham Games also watched ‘The Walten Files’ by Martin Walls on YouTube cause that’s what this is inspired off of…

In essence, Y/N is Sophie Walten…

The premise is that Jason and Y/N were dating around the time he was Robin. Y/N did know about the identities of the others. When Jason is kidnapped and later killed by Joker, Y/N is left traumatized and heartbroken. She is then given meds in order to better cope with the loss. Unfortunately, this caused her to drift apart from the Bat Family and blurs her memories of Jason. However, around the time of Joker’s death, she starts having nightmares and dreams about Jason. Her meds then stop working and she rejoins the Batman Family around when the Arkham Knight makes an appearance.

Warning ⚠️: themes of torture, death and mental health, mentions of medical drug use, amnesia (sort of)

Y/N and Jason are the same age

~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~

‘Don’t forget your medicine, Y/N!’

‘Take your meds, kiddo!'

‘Safety in pills, Y/N…’

That’s all you’ve heard since you were seventeen. You were now twenty-one and no longer needed your meds that help you through your trauma. Or rather, the meds were not helping you at all, but were hindering you in a way you didn’t realize until about nine to ten months ago.

Your medication was blurring many memories of your childhood, teenage years and even early adult years. During the time you had started taking the pills, you had drifted apart from your late boyfriend, Jason Todd’s, family. Hell, you even lost many memories of him as well. All those good and happy memories you made together…

This went on for over three years… until the nightmares crept in around the time Joker had gotten sick and was dying…

The nightmares were horrific, like a home movie gone wrong. It showed horrible visions of what happened to your boyfriend while he was being held hostage by Joker. Those flashing images are what kept you up most nights.

You immediately made your way back to Bruce and the others after the death of the Joker. After explaining everything that happened, they welcomed you back with open arms. Bruce even started looking into your therapist, who prescribed you your meds. Her email showed many threatening messages from a Mr. Jerome V, ordering her to tamper with your meds or she and her family would die. Bruce then relaid to you that Jerome V was one of many of Joker’s old aliases he used during his early years of crime.

However, when Joker fell ill, your therapist took you off the meds that were blocking your memories. This, of course, is what led to your nightmares and varied dreams about Jason. Without the barrier keeping your past memories locked up, you were prone to regaining them.

Joker wanted you to forget about Jason…

For what reason, you nor Bruce nor anyone could figure out…

And it was likely you never would find out…

~~~~~~~

Fast forward to now, Halloween night during Scarecrow’s big takeover. You were currently with Barbara in the Clock Tower, munching on some burgers you pulled from a fast food restaurant that was abandoned during the evacuation.

This whole situation had you on edge, especially in regards to Scarecrow’s new partner, the Arkham Knight. Much of the information you all had on him showed what he was capable of. He was young and skilled, judging by how he called Bruce ‘old man’. His true voice was disguised, but it felt familiar to you. You just couldn’t understand why…

You clutched at the oversized dark red hoodie you were wearing. It was big on you because it had originally belonged to Jason before he died. It was given to you by Alfred as a reminder of who you had loved and lost. It quickly became a comfort item to you, even holding the remaining scent of cologne, rainwater and smoke that was Jason’s.

“How are you holding up, Y/N?” Barbara asked with a tone of concern, still looking and typing away at her screens.

“I’m fine, Barb. This whole thing just has me in knots.”

“That’s not what I meant…” Barbara said softly, looking at you now for an honest answer. She then added, “How are you doing really?”

You sighed and took another bite out of your half-eaten burger. You chewed thoroughly before answering, “You remember that NCIS two-parter, ‘Hiatus’?”

Barbara thought on your response, “That’s the episode where Gibbs nearly gets killed in an explosion and loses years worth of his memories, right?”

“Yeah… well, I feel like Gibbs after that two part episode. My memory is still fuzzy… I screw up remembering certain people’s names… I remember a lot of things about Jason… our relationship and things like that… but I feel like there’s still some things I’m forgetting about… but I don’t know what…” You said solemnly, looking out of the clock face onto the rest of the city.

“I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I know this is hard for you. Jason’s death affected us all in more than one way. Just know that he really liked you, even loved you…”

You smiled at the redhead, a little more reassured than before. It was always nice to have someone to talk to and rely on during tough times.

After what was probably several hours, you and Barbara got a call from Batman…

“Barbara, you and Y/N need to get out there now!” He exclaimed through the comms. You immediately went over and grabbed your baseball bat before hiding behind one of the bookshelves.

The power then cut out and the elevator opened abruptly. Just then, the Arkham Knight and his men came in, barreling towards Barbara. Barbara fired off a few rubber rounds before being overpowered.

Another soldier came around your bookshelf and you immediately started swinging. You nailed him in the head and flipped him over the shelf. One more militiaman came over and you swung, shattering his left arm. He dropped his gun and you kicked him down.

The Arkham Knight immediately sprung into action, grabbing the bat in your hands in an attempt to disarm you. Knowing that punching him would be a death wish and a half, you immediately let go of the bat. Unfortunately, you lose your footing and hit the back of your head against a nearby bookshelf.

The impact from the fall sent pain shooting through your head. Your vision blurred the more you struggled to stay awake, your body fading away to unconsciousness. The last thing you saw before passing out was the Arkham Knight throwing your bat to the side and walking up to you. You could hear the click of handcuffs when everything faded to black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your whole body stirred as you groaned from the pain in your head. As your raised your hand to touch your head, you then realized that you were bound in handcuffs. You also figured out that your head was bandaged up.

You slowly sat up, trying to prevent any more pain or disorientation. Judging by your surroundings, you were locked up in a rectangular box of a cell. Nothing but a makeshift mattress under you and a table near the sealed door. The fact that you were so small compared to the room began to overwhelm you. Some of the anxiety was curbed on account that you were still wearing Jason’s hoodie, but you were still trembling.

Through the glass, you could see the soldiers guarding the outside your cell. You even spotted one of them, who looks at you and noticed that you were awake, began to call someone on his comm. You assumed that he was calling his boss, the Arkham Knight. It just seemed like the most logical explanation for what was going on.

This assumption was proven right as the man himself walked into the room…

He then came right into your cell, his men leaving to who knows where. He reached for his guns before placing them on the nearby table, where your phone and baseball bat were placed. This alone had you backing further into the corner of your cell.

“Y’know, you don’t have to be afraid of me…” The Arkham Knight’s voice was surprisingly gentle when addressing you, despite the harsh edge of the voice modulator.

“Isn’t exactly easy when one of the people responsible for Gotham’s takeover is in the same room as you…” you stammered, clutching Jason’s, now your hoodie.

The Knight then turned around, making his way towards you. You did your best not to panic and look afraid, but you were terrified. He soon swiped a piece of your hair softly, which you lightly flinched at. As if he felt it, the Arkham Knight slowly pulled his hand back. Instead, his gloved hand made contact with the crimson fabric of your hoodie.

“That’s oddly big on you… Someone gave this to you…”

Your eyes grew blurry as tears began to bubble to the surface. Abandoning all your promises of keeping your secret from strangers, you spoke…

“A friend of my late boyfriend’s gave it to me… it was originally his… before he was killed…”

The Knight took a moment to speak, as if your sorrow took him by surprise, “I’m sorry…”

“You got nothing to be sorry about. You’re not the one who shot him… it was Joker and he doesn’t feel remorse for anyone or regret anything for shit. He as hell didn’t regret when he forced my therapist to give me a memory-blocking antidepressant…”

The Arkham Knight cocked his head in question and confusion.

“The pills my therapist prescribed to me made me forget previous years of my life. Including when I was dating my boyfriend and everything we did together. I started taking my medication when he was killed to keep me afloat.”

“Why was he killed?” The Arkham Knight asked, sitting on top of the table next to his weapons coolly. You almost chose not to tell him when you realized that he knew almost everything about Batman and the others. So, who knows what else he might know…

“He was a Robin… the previous one before the current one. I only knew because he chose to tell me… to keep things honest and on the table…”

You took a deep breath as words became harder to speak and come up with…

“The Joker… he took him… tortured and broke him… I… I spent a lot of that time, wondering if he was ever going to come home… if everything was okay and go back to the way it was. But that video came up and…”

Tears overwhelmed you as you begin to remember that horrible year. Your whole body trembled as you recalled every gruesome and excruciating detail. You hiccuped and heaved on the sobs that escaped your mouth.

“H-He didn’t deserve any of what Joker put him through… he-… he just wanted to help others. Sure, he had a different perspective on crime compared to Batman, but… he was willing to take the risk… Hell, telling me he was Robin at the time was a risk… I just miss him so fucking much…”

“It wasn’t your fault. Never has been and never will be…”

“It should’ve been me…”

“Yeah, and then your boyfriend would’ve still gone after the Joker. Nothing would’ve changed except the timing…”

“How would you know?! It’s not like you’re here… in his cell…”

Silence cut the air like a hammer striking a nail once cleanly. You began to wonder what was going on in the Arkham Knight’s head. Why he hadn’t said anything yet or walk away with little care for what you had just said. However, you were not prepared for what he said next…

“Actually, I was…”

You looked at him in shock, wondering what he meant. Surely, he wasn’t insinuating that he was witness to the horrors that Jason was. Surely, he wasn’t saying that he was living in the same hell as your deceased love. What exactly was he trying to say?

Letting out what sound like a heavy sigh, the Knight reached for his helmet. He latched onto the sides of the mocked cowl and began to lift. You backed away further, almost as if you were trying to move through the wall. Suddenly, the masked was finally off…

“Oh, god…”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Part one done!

[munson-blurbs]

Hi! I love your Trope or Treat idea! May I please request a story with a Warhead OR an M&M (I love angst and friends to lovers, so whatever you feel like writing at the time) with a Butterfinger and Eddie Munson? Please and thank you 😊🍬🍭🎃

Unrequited love/Shy!Reader/Eddie Munson (also requested by @randomreader1999)

Warnings: angst, rejection

WC: 500

Divider credit to @saradika

He’s staring again.

You can see him across the cafeteria, nibbling on a pretzel while his eyes remain laser-focused on you. He’s been like this for the past week, ever since Mr. Ames assigned the two of you to be lab partners. Taking a deep sigh, you turn to Barb and Nancy.

“Can one of you tell him to stop?”

Barb offers a sarcastic chuckle, shaking her head. “Just…tell him you’re not interested.” She’s trying to be helpful, giving a straightforward and tactful answer, but you know it isn’t that simple.

“Ames told me that this is the first time he’s ever had Eddie show up to class more than two days in a row,” you point out. “And he said it’s, and I quote, ‘not a coincidence’ that it’s when he partnered us up.”

Nancy takes a brief glance in Eddie’s direction before looking back at you. “He’s really not a bad guy,” she reasons. “I interviewed him and his band for the paper once, and he was pretty nice. Intense, for sure, but sweet.”

“And therein lies the problem,” you counter, “I don’t do ‘intense.’ I don’t make tabletop cafeteria speeches, or confront Jason Carver at every turn, or tell teachers to ‘kiss my ass’ when they ask me to turn in my homework.” Your personality couldn’t be further from that if you tried.

“Incoming,” Barb mutters under her breath. 

Before you can scramble from your seat, you feel two fingers tap your shoulder. 

“Hey, partner,” Eddie says, giving a tight, awkward wave. “Did you, uh, wanna study tonight?”

Your brows furrow in confusion. “We don’t have a test.”

“Oh, right.” His cheeks tinge pink with embarrassment. “Would you wanna just grab some pizza? Or we can go get burgers at Benny’s?”

His little hopeful smile tugs at your heart. You almost say yes, desperate to avoid further conversation, but then you consider the prospect of him standing on a table at the diner. And what if you ended up in a relationship with him? Would he pull you up on stage at one of his shows? Kiss you in front of your locker where anyone could see your outright public display of affection? 

“Um, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” You can’t even make eye contact with him, keeping your gaze trained on the ground. When you still see his scuffed Reeboks next to your chair, you indulge him with an explanation. “We’re really different, y’know? I don’t know if it’ll work.”

“Opposites attract, right?” he tries, biting his lip when you still don’t agree. “O-Okay. Sorry to bother you, or whatever.”

Your voice is barely audible, just a tiny squeak, when you ask, “I’ll see you in chem later?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head with a terse laugh, “not really feeling it today.”

You, Barb, and Nancy watch as he walks back to the Hellfire table, utterly defeated.

“Well,” Nancy says with a shrug, “you sure made him quiet that time.”

--

[brimbrimbrimbrim]

The Seed of Human Kindness (The Ghoul/F!OC)

CHAPTER ONE/TWO/THREE/FOUR/FIVE/SIX

Summary: The Ghoul stumbles upon a piece of walkin' talkin' meat out in the Boneyard. Instead of eating her, he takes her on as his personal traveling chef. Only this chef is a smoothskin vaultie looking for the seed of human kindness, which is exactly what it sounds like, though comin' from a Vault of all women, she's gonna take some convincing on where to find it.Tags: Cannibalism, Sadism, Body Horror, Misandry, Dehumanization, Vault Experiments, Vault Dweller, Cunnilingus, Cum Play, Rough Sex, Power Dynamics, Breeding Kink, Explicit Sexual Content, Voyeurism, Non-consensual Exhibitionism, Sexual Awakening, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Male Character

A/N: This is nasty. Please heed all the tags for your fair warning before reading.

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

The Los Angeles Census Bureau looks about as inviting as it did in the seventies: a delightful courtyard of bones and failed dreams bordered by brutalist cement beds spilling with dead flowers. As he and his spurs jingle-jangle up the pavilion, a decayed hand staked between two dead bushes catches his eye. A blooming stalk of bleached bone, phalanges bent into a middle finger like some 'fuck you' posey straight out of the afterlife. Call him a presentist, but just the fuckin' sight of it makes his lip curl. 

'Fuck the establishment, indeed.'

The Ghoul's been following this endless trail for a while now; turning over these little slices of American bureaucracy is just another dot on the map, but a barbeque on the wind has urged his heels into a proper trot. Hungry as he is. Savory, smokey… mouthwatering, bringing to mind Saturday cook-outs with Barb and Janey, that ol' good boy Roosevelt at his heels, waiting for burnt hotdog tails and the stray charred burger as the martinis pile up. Those good times were lived by another man playing a good old American boy role. Those bygone memories come like a miasma: toxic. It's delicious in its own right, and he's just lucky the aroma seems to be coming from this building right here. A 'kill two birds with one stone' scenario, it would seem. 

He can hear the muffled commotion of chaos inside and the clatter of something heavy. Judging by the reverb, a bullet snaps concrete. It must've hit wiring too because the sign above those broken doors flickers—time-yellowed plastic covering a photon tubing of loops and flourishes. 

'The American dream…'

A broken, clipped shriek presses out the thin crack of busted glass and splinted wood ahead of him. 

'Oh, if life ain't grand.' 

What once were crying mothers standing in the breadline are mothers on the breadline, he thinks, some of that ol' Cooper Howard making a show again. He pushes that moralistic nuisance down and surveys the exterior once more, and… judging by the crude bullseye bloodstains on a single Brahmin skull, used creatively to keep the doors ajar (not to mention the smell)… they're cookin' folks on a spit inside. Fiends, most like…

Still, two hundred years later, the LACB is where folks get eaten alive every day.

Quiet-like, The Ghoul enters Feind territory, The Gun heavy front and center.

The aroma of fatty meat, both freshly shorn and sour, curls under his nasal ridge, drawing him through the decayed lobby. He steps carefully, spurs quite over toppled queue barriers, avoiding broken glass and crunchy piles of clothes. There's a burnt stroller with tiny bones and floral blankets he chooses to ignore, giving them and its mother's remnants a wide berth, focusing intently on the triangle of flickering firelight cutting from the ajar breakroom door. 

Silent as a corpse, The Ghoul leans into the doorway, The Gun raised, and takes in the gruesome scene he's seen a hundred times, both worse and better but never benign. Eventually, someday, he won't feel sick at the sight of such horrors. Who's to say whether that'll be a good day or not?

There's five of them, counting a naked woman hanging from a crude bleeding rail, 'cept she ain't being bled out, just cut down slow and sweet, as if the fear and pain is the finest marinade. Her body jolts, and another wail rattles his eardrums as a rail-thin Fiend saws off another strip of thigh meat from her bucking body, tits bouncing with delicate pockets of curvy fat jiggling deliciously. 

The Ghoul's stomach growls, and something else further south twitches, but his empty belly is more worried about being without food for much longer. Nothing but vials and rainwater means he's more inclined to find human flesh aromatic. Thankfully, the pretty rotisserie's screams are so fucking loud it makes his unceremonious entrance nigh fuckin' soundless. There's no reason to announce himself anyway—no reason to keep any of 'em alive for questioning since he's sure none of these boneheads have worked a computer system before, let alone know how to read logs.

The first slug blasts a hole into the back-head of the closest one: a suit-wearing twitchy son of a bitch sitting by the fire. Their brains spray across their friend's face, who yips as some chunky bits catch with a hiss in the fire. With the second one blinded by brain matter, The Ghoul turns at the hip and blows off the arm of a ratty-headed man still beating his own meat to dinner being sliced and spitted. A shot from his rotating revolver beneath the jawline into the brain puts that one down, even though chems seemed to have ruined it already. 

That leaves two left. 

The blind bastard's still swiping grey slop, blood, and skull chips from his eyes as his buddy rushes on The Ghoul's left with a sticky knife, leaving the girl to sway on her ropes, panting and cursing the Lord's name. This one's mean, sadistic… having enjoyed eating that smoothie alive. He's got janky teeth bared like an ape, poised and ready to take The Ghoul to his grave… again. 'Course, a quick backhand of The Gun stock puts him to the ground with a yelp, and two .357s to the chest keep him there. 

'Three down. One to go,' he muses, cracking his neck with a grunt as the last one curses and snarls. Still blind but jet-fueled, his eyes open and swimming in red offal, the remnants of his hit still smoking out his mouth. He stands like some western cowboy at a sunset showdown. The man even looks the part with two bandoliers and some sweet cowboy boots. Cooper Howard smiles with his straight white chompers as the Fiend tries to unholster a gun that ain't there, spewing nonsense through his teeth, but Coop's dead and gone. 

"Ugghh—fuggin'ghoul, ruin'dinna!"

The Ghoul's grin turns ugly and strong. He's the gunslinger—the outlaw—death personified by time and decay—somethin' outta Hollywood again, just not the good guy. 

With a snap, aim, and trigger pull, the last little Fiend's no more than maggot-meal slumped over The Ghoul's first empty-headed victim. Their dinner has been officially ruined, well… more like taken over. With the barrel still hot, The Ghoul turns to the naked smoothie with a careful eyeful of flesh, ignoring the way her gaze squints in fear before surveying his efforts with frenzied understanding. She's either gonna die or she ain't, and it's clear which one she thinks is 'bout to happen.

"P-please… please. I-I can… I can-"

"Hush those tears now, sweetheart," The Ghoul cuts her off, wetting his lips for a dry whistle before holstering The Gun, "I ain't here to eat ya." Though he turns to the fire, drawn in by the smell of cooked meat and sustenance—the promise of a full belly and a level head for a time… it'd just take a half-pound of juicy, tender-

'No… not yet.' 

It takes a heaping spoonful of willpower to turn away, to look back at her without seeing a hanging steak, begging him to sink his fangs in, tear apart, and swallow hole. But The Ghoul manages, somehow. With a Cheshire grin, he thumbs his hat up, brim lifted to show off his radiated smile—proof he means no harm. And when her breath slows and her eyes shine over his chops, he's only slightly surprised to find her more curious than afraid.

"Welp, it seems your dinner guest's got a little too careless, leavin' the door open like that an' all. Could be anyone come walking through those doors."

He takes a step closer, daring her to scrunch her nose in disgust, though she just blinks… some old tears falling off her lashes. Minus some missing meat, a bloodied face, one shiner, and… maybe two weeks of constant immune system shock, she's too healthy lookin' to be anything but a Vaultie. A pretty little thing that only good food, shelter, and generational-bred naivety could create. The Ghoul already don't care much for her.

"You from one of those Vaults." He doesn't ask, all ambivalence and peckish know-how. His survival instincts lure him from her to the spit over the fire again, where it looks like some of her thigh meat is slow roasting. She's lookin' real fuckin' tender over the licking flames…

"S-seven," she pants, shock and pain makin' her sound small, "V-v-vault seven…"

The Ghoul makes a sound of understanding, though he couldn't give two shits these days about which of the Big Four's Vaults she came from, even less which fucked up experiment they ran down there. For some reason, her being a Vaultie makes him even hungrier…

He glances back at her over his shoulder and smirks, all crude oil and a lil' starvation there, too, no doubt. It's been weeks since he's eaten, and before that, it was expired cram and a soggy snack cake, and she seems to know it. The smoothie can see it—notes the look in his eyes and deduces quickly what he's thinking. At first, she yanks on the rope, choosing to struggle against her bonds, though that works as well for her as before he showed up… 'cept it gives him another free show of the goods usually hidden from his eyes. Her tits are perfect.

That southbound lurch kicks up his belly, threatening to confuse his ache for food for something else, so The Ghoul snaps his teeth and points a leather-bound finger her way.

READ THE REST OVER on AO3 HERE

[vodrae]

Batfamily going to do their public appeareance of the week, sitting at Wayne's 3 Michelin's stars restaurant. The restaurant is under siege rule. Brucie boy and the kids are coming.

Talia ordering for everyone :

"Hello. We'll have 50 beefs burgers, 50 with chickens, 15 vegans. 3 kilos of falafels. 11 omelettes with 8 whole eggs and 4 whites, made with butter. 5 pots of boeuf bourguignon without pork, blanquette and rabbit with mustard. Then 3 pots of each but your vegan version. 1 kilo of each of your salad. 2 plates of evything you have with fish. 13 vegan tacos and burritos. And 2 kilos of ice cream with this."

Beginner waitress with her pen: Hu..Hu...

Talia : Don't worry, dear. Already wrote it for you.

She says with a with and 5 fives hundreds with her papers.

Back at the table Bruce says.

"If anynone, nobody in particular, is sick, they'll be alone to clean"

Harley giggles

"When I have the headache I don't hear Harleen anymore !"

Ivy scolds.

"I was out for billionaire's meat tonight."

She says, planting her knife in the table, watching Bruce. He clears his throat. Harley adds.

"That's Talia and Kitty's dessert !"

Selina puts her hand on her forehead, Talia doesn't react.

Dick, Barbs, Jay, Tim, Steph, Duke, Kate : Oh my god shut the fuck up !

Cass : Want baby.

Bruce : Sweetie. Please.

Cass : Sister.

Talia : In nine months it's chrismats maybe Santa...

Bruce : No. Actually...

Damian : I'm the only blood children forever. And you can't change that, clown.

Harley : Well your daddy has a co

Bruce: ARCADES UPSTAIRS FOR EVERYONE.

Later

Dick, Barbs, Jay, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, Kate : Hungy.

Talia : I know.

Dick, Barbs, Jay, Tim, Cass, Steph, Duke, Kate : Hungy.

Talia : I know.

The 50 beefs burgers, 50 with chickens, 15 vegans. 3 kilos of falafels. 11 omelettes with 8 whole eggs and 4 whites, made with butter. 5 pots of boeuf bourguignon without pork, blanquette and rabbit with mustard. Then 3 pots of each but your vegan version. 1 kilo of each of your salad. 2 plates of evything you have with fish. 13 vegan tacos and burritos. And 2 kilos of ice cream with this arrived.

Bruce helping himself some falafels in his salad watching his kids and their plates already half empty.

Dick : It's

Barbs: weird

Jason: something

Tim : is

Steph: really

Duke: missing

Damian : inside

Cass : .

Suddendly, the secret weapon of the restaurant is coming. Elizabeth, boss of the dinner accross the street, she's pinching everyone's cheeks and says.

Elizabeth : A big kid like you needs to eat !

Kate : It's really better now ! Nom nom nom.

Bruce : How's Alfred ?

Elizabeth : Snoring in his potato, sugar.

Bruce : Perfect.

He can finally put a leaf in his mouth.

Dick, Barbs, Jay, Tim, Steph, Duke, Kate, Cass, Selina, Harley, Ivy : Is there more ? I finished.

Bruce :

Talia : Don't worry baby, I got this.

She says slapping his tight, black card in hand.

[scoops-aboy86]

We see a lot of chubby Steve/weight gain post-high school but I think it would be interesting to see some fics where he’s still in school. Maybe he has to give up sports due to the concussions or something?

You're right and you should say it!! I have a bit of that in my love spell no go AU, before Starcourt happens and Steve goes full trauma-fueled must be able to protect everyone I know mode. 

So... might not be what you were hoping for but I wrote an almost 3k addition to that fic, during the part where Steve is still at Hawkins High. Swim is over for the year (and Steve avoids his pool now), and while he's still on the basketball team he's also smoking weed (helps with the nightmares, getting enough sleep, better mood, etc.) and snacking more. He's in the starter belly stage but has no complaints.

Part 1, (YOU ARE HERE), part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11 of the love spell no go au

The weed he bought from Munson is a godsend, and Steve wonders why he hadn’t thought of it before… only to remember that Nancy wouldn’t have approved. (Although she’s not a priss, exactly, she had barely even touched alcohol since the night Barb died. Until Halloween.) But he can sleep through the lonely nights now, which is worth even that hurtful pang of realization—that maybe, Nancy hadn’t been very good for him. 

(Sure, she had helped him study. And his grades had improved. But sometimes, too, she would smile and say, “You’re an idiot, Steve Harrington.” It had been cute at first, before Barb, when the smile had still been real.)

Whenever he thinks about that, or feels particularly lonely, he digs into his stash for a quick smoke out his bedroom window—never by the pool, not anymore. He gets into the habit of snacking after, even if it’s while doing his homework, because even when he’s a little bit stoned it’s somehow easier to focus on shit when he’s doing something else at the same time, and chewing works. 

(Nancy hadn’t liked it when he’d fiddled with his pencil or a rubber band or a Rubix cube or anything while she’d quizzed him with flashcards, even though he’d tried to tell her it helped. She’d fussed at him about it until he’d just… stopped.)

Other times, he zones out in front of the tv while working his way through a sandwich or a bag of chips or a sleeve of Oreos. Or takeout, a lot of the time, because his culinary skills pretty much stop at sandwiches, up to and including scrambling an egg for a breakfast sandwich. But a man cannot live on scrambled eggs alone, he’s learned that the hard way, so pizza or burgers or pasta in cardboard containers it is. 

It’s not just the munchies. After a while Steve gets into the habit of just… eating. It's not like his parents are around to notice, and Dustin and the other kids he babysits sometimes (for all that Mike protests that they aren’t babies and don’t need a sitter; what they do consistently need, however, is rides) don't care as long as he springs for enough that they can have some too. No one at school would dare say it to his face, and somehow it still doesn't manage to fully tank his slightly flagging reputation, but Steve is definitely starting to put on weight. He doesn’t care. 

He starts going to parties again half for a change of scenery, half for a change of food options. Pizza still makes a frequent appearance, but there’s popcorn and flavors of chips that he doesn’t usually buy and various kinds of snack mixes. (His favorites are anything that include M&Ms.) Sometimes, there are even cupcakes or cookies. He doesn’t dance, doesn’t even drink all that much and sticks to just beer when he does, never the punch. Most of the kids who come to these parties are there for the booze and the makeout opportunities, but he turns up to people-watch, bopping his head in time with the music if it's a song he likes, and park himself by whatever food the party has to offer. Sometimes Steve buys from Eddie if he's there, offers to share joints with him that Eddie, still wary, turns down. When the food runs out, Steve leaves.

Tonight, though, Tammy Thompson just will not leave him alone and he’s at a loss for what to do about it. She’s been talking his ear off about wanting to move to Nashville and become a country singer the entire time he’s been working on this extra large pepperoni and sausage with black olives—not his first choice, but it’s still hot enough for the cheese to stretch whenever he picks up the next slice, warm tomato sauce and grease dripping down the front of his polo more often than he can always catch with a napkin. 

“Did you want some?” he asks at some point, to be polite and hopefully indicate that he doesn’t care that she’s trying to tell him something. 

He can tell immediately that it doesn’t work, because Tammy lights up from simply being addressed, even though her answer is, “Oh, no thank you, I’m a vegetarian.”

“Right,” Steve mumbles, and crams nearly half of his next slice of meat-laden pizza in his mouth. Maybe if he talks with his mouth full. “More for me, then.”

The words come out muffled, but she still beams and offers to grab him something to drink, jumping up and scampering off before Steve even has a chance to respond. He sighs, downs the rest of the beer he’s been nursing, and takes the new one she brings him without saying thank you. Between the next pieces of pizza he pops it open, chugs it, and belches; she puts a hand on his arm. 

For a moment, at that, Steve feels a faint stirring of interest. He likes his food, did even before dropping swimming and picking up weed, and well before it started to show. Now that it has, he feels comfortable in his softer body. Good. And maybe… maybe he could handle dating someone who doesn’t mind how much he likes it. He imagines Tammy running her immaculately painted nails over his skin, places he’s noticed have been getting more sensitive lately, and suppresses a shiver. 

“Could you pass me that bowl of M&Ms over there?” he asks, testing the waters. Yeah, he could probably reach it if he stretched, but he’s starting to fill up and doesn’t feel like putting the extra pressure on his stomach. He sits back a little in his chair instead, shifting to get comfortable and laying a hand on his belly where it bows out over the waistband of his jeans. “Sorry, just, you know. Big appetite lately.”

“Oh, that’s okay, I don’t mind,” Tammy says with a giggle as she fetches the bowl for him. “Besides, you’re an athlete! I’m sure you’ll work it off in no time on the court.”

And yeah, no, that vague interest curdles immediately. As far as Steve is concerned, the only parts of himself he wants to get rid of are all in his head—the heartbroken parts, the nightmare and trauma parts, the desperately lonely and needy parts. But he’s not so lonely that he’ll hook up with a girl who’s willing in spite of how he looks, because what else could she possibly be interested in? His personality?

He barely even has one. King Steve has always been bullshit, Nancy was right about that much. 

Through the crowd, he spots curly hair and a flash of dark leather—Eddie. Good, he’d been hoping to buy more tonight, and this is as good an excuse to exit this conversation as any. 

Steve grabs a handful of M&Ms to shove in his mouth and flips the lid of the pizza box closed, handing the bowl back to Tammy and taking the box with him when he stands. “Well, enjoy the rest of the party,” he blurts. “I’ve gotta go see a guy about some drugs. Bye!”

As he makes his escape, some girl that he thinks he might have class with or something just about shoulder-checks him, but he’s solid enough that she ends up stumbling from the impact instead. The glare she gives him could peel paint… which is actually kind of refreshing, after enduring Tammy’s simpering for the better part of an hour. 

To Eddie’s perpetual frustration, now that Steve Harrington has started buying weed from him he can never seem to be free of the guy. Case in point: the “Hey, Munson, wait up!” that follows him to the backyard of tonight’s house party slash business venture. 

He waits until he’s down the patio steps before whipping around, prepared to glare and snap an impatient what do you want, Harrington, but ends up staring at a pizza box that’s being shoved in his face. 

“Pizza?” Steve says. 

Eddie blinks at the box, then at the boy holding it. “This isn’t your party. Doesn’t that mean it’s not your pizza to offer?”

“It might as well be, I’ve eaten most of it,” Steve replies. “No one seemed to notice, that makes it fair game.” 

Once, Eddie had been selling at a party and been bitched out for touching a single cookie, because those were for guests. He wants to scowl, but then his gaze flicks down to the partly open box and sees that there aren’t many slices left, eyes fixing on the evidence dripped down the front of Steve’s shirt and the way it’s… tight, across his middle. “You ate all but three slices of an entire extra large?”

He’s not sure what answer he expects to get. Maybe something like Of course not, dickhead, or maybe just, What, like it’s hard? But all Steve says is, “Yep.” And keeps looking at him with those sweet hazel eyes that seem bight and not too clouded by alcohol. 

Still, Eddie is wary. “Okay… You first.” 

Steve just shrugs and pulls out a slice, taking a bite before Eddie snatches it out of his hand. “Hey!”

“Just making sure it wasn’t poisoned first, sweetheart,” Eddie retorts, sneering for the excuse to call a pretty boy sweetheart in semi-public, butterflies stirring in his stomach at getting away with it. “Don’t worry, the rest is all yours.”

“Who’s tried to poison you?” Steve asks in a perplexed tone, folding the last two slices together to make a pizza sandwich and tossing the empty box onto the deck. Still following Eddie, because of course this is Eddie’s life. Love spell was a spectacular failure, but he’s still got the boy of his dreams following him around like a lost duckling because he’s got drugs. Fucking fantastic. 

And Eddie doesn’t want to get into the whole thing—those rumors from when Eddie had been in seventh grade and Steve had been in sixth, for all that they’re both in the same grade now, about some kid who’d been sent to the ER from a bad reaction to itching powder. There were variations where it had gotten in his eyes and nearly blinded him, or on his food and made his throat swell shut, or in his underwear and turned his dick so red his balls fell off. In reality, he had only gone to the nurse with a bad rash and hadn’t even been allowed to go home, but it left a goddamn impression. 

He doesn’t want to get into it, not if Steve either doesn’t remember the rumors or hasn’t connected them to his present day self, so he just rolls his eyes and says, “Are you looking to buy or what?”

Steve immediately brightens a bit, like a golden retriever spotting someone holding a tennis ball. “Yeah, I smoked the last I had before coming here but it’s already worn off I think.” And takes a big bite of his two pizza slices. 

So Eddie leads him to a darker nook around the side of the house for the deal, trying not to stare at the way Steve’s cheeks bow out while he chews, like a damn chipmunk. It’s cute. He’s kind of angry that it’s cute, that there’s still a part of him that lights up when Steve looks happy, satisfied, content—and right now all of those boxes are checked. 

“Want to smoke a little now?” Steve offers, once he’s paid and taken the baggie one handed, popped the rest of the food in his mouth, licked his fingers clean, and pulled out a pack of rolling papers. And Eddie pauses too long before answering, long enough that Steve takes the lack of refusal as a yes. 

Which Eddie should correct, because he usually says no to that sort of thing, especially when he’s at parties specifically to sell. He’s turned Steve down before, even; it’s like the guy has a whole thing about offering whenever he plans on lighting up asap. Eddie knows better to fall into that trap. 

But it’s a nice night. The weather is mild for spring, business has been good, and Steve licks his lips to get the last traces of pizza sauce before his tongue darts out to wet the paper and finish rolling the joint. Nice and tight, like the denim hugging Steve’s ass and thighs tighter recently. So Eddie sticks around, breaks his rule and tries to keep his face clear of any evidence that he is fixated on the few degrees of separation between smoking and kissing, heart hammering the entire time. He tells himself it’s a one time only thing, but knows he might be lying. Recognizes how addictive this could be. 

“Thanks for being here,” Steve says after passing the joint back and forth a few times, his eyes glazed and drooping. “Really needed this tonight.”

“That’s what I’m here for, man,” Eddie replies. He’s leaning against the side of the house practically shoulder to shoulder with his crush, and the high washing over him is really taking the edge off the jagged yearning in his chest. Like, he still wants, but he’s happy just floating in the present moment, content with the indirect sharing of spit. And this is… This is okay. 

Surprisingly okay. 

It throws Eddie for a loop because it’s at odds with the whole King Steve image. The whole puppet master persona that isn’t a bully, but can with a few words cut someone down socially to where the bullies could reach them, if they so wish. Popular kids at Hawkins High walk around with their noses in the air like they’ve never smelled a fart and refuse to start now, but this is the guy they turn around and start brown-nosing. King Steve isn’t nice, he’s used to being waited on. Kings do not say thank you to the court jester for simply carrying out his profession. 

Just Steve, though, is different. Just Steve is chill and finished most of an entire huge pizza while mostly sober, is filling out his clothes even better these days in Eddie’s opinion, and currently looks the most at peace he’s ever seen a person. No walls, no guard… Just Steve. 

Okay, that one split joint had gone straight to his head, god damn. 

“Well, I’m gonna take off,” Eddie announces, and can’t tell if he’s said it too loud or not. He pushes off the wall with a shake of his head. “You snagged pretty much the last of my inventory, so I’ll just get out of here before someone starts handing out the torches and pitchforks.”

Steve chuckles. “Like any of those guys in there know how to make a torch,” he scoffs. He manages to say it in a way that almost makes Eddie lean in. Makes him feel like he’s been let in on some sort of inside joke, like they could but those losers couldn’t. 

Which is—Okay, so Eddie does in theory know how to make a torch, he’d looked into it for one of his earliest homebrew campaigns, but Steve Harringnton? The very idea of Steve whipping off his shirt, tying it to a branch, soaking the end in something flammable, and lighting it up is something out of fantasy. Out of specific fantasies that he has had. It snaps Eddie out of the hazy bubble of they that Steve had somehow created with just a few words, and holy shit. Was that one of the side effects of his wonky spell, or was that Just Steve?

“Yeah, sure,” Eddie scoffs back, putting more distance between them even though he does want to lean in, dammit, but he wants Steve to want it too. Even though it’s on the tip of his tongue to ask the guy if he has a ride home, or if he wants to swing by the mom and pop ice cream place on Main for desert or something; Eddie has been practicing swallowing down urges like that since he’d hit adolescence. “Find me next time you need to top up your stash, Harrington.”

He walks away fast enough that if Steve responds he doesn’t hear it, heading for the back gate that he’d left the house for in the first place. His van is parked strategically nearby for a quick getaway, just in case the party got out of hand and a neighbor called the cops. 

And if his dreams that night feature a completely relaxed Steve Harrington chewing on never ending slices of pizza and that blissful look of peace on his face, his lips shiny with spit and grease, it’s not like Eddie is ever going to tell anyone.

Tag list (comment to be added): @hotluncheddie @8em-em-em8 @anaibis @connected-dots @lawrencebshoggoth

[egosarchive]

Eugenia (or just Gina), Louis and… Daniel

[masiola]

Obey me brothers and datetables at the club 😛😛

Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos

Lucifer goes maybe once or twice a year with Diavalo, only to the VIP clubs.

3 bottles of demonus later, Lucifer can't form coherent words because he's laughing so hard.

Luci once went to a public club and so many demons were swarming around him asking to dance. Never again.

Diavolo mainly goes for Lucifer's sake so 'Lucifer can let his hair down' (is what he told Barbatos).

Also, to meet his favourite celebrities and get their autographs.

Barbatos accompanies Diavolo, when Lucifer can't. He makes sure Diavolo doesn't drink too much and does something stupid.

Barb usually just stands in the corner, but occasionally you might catch him tapping his foot to the music.

Mammon, Asmodeus and Beelzebub

Mammon and Asmo go together quite often. They play a game of who can get the most people to buy them drinks.

Asmo wins everytime because of his charm.

"What do ya mean I have plenty of charm too!"

Asmo sometimes visits the VIP clubs, but like most of his brother's prefers the public ones.

If Asmo is clubbing without his brothers, he's definitely leaving with at least two demons. Hoe life or no life.

Beel leaves half way through the night to get food from some burger place across the street.

If he sees someone who is too drunk to walk and on their own, he'll get them some water and help them call a taxi home .

Leviathan and Belphagor

The brothers convinced Levi to go once. He stayed in the bathroom for most of the night, playing games on his phone. It was too stressful and overwhelming for him so he never came back out. Probably snuck out the bathroom window.

Belphie didn't need much convincing. Beel asked to join him so he went.

He fell asleep at the bar, 2am, music blasting around him.

The bartender asked if he's okay, and the brothers said he's doing fine and to leave him be. Beel carried him home later.

Satan

Drinks a little too much and let's his sin get to the best of him.

Over time he got banned from most of the clubs in the Devildom for starting fights. Mammon recorded one of them and the video blew up on devilgram.

Solomon

He doesn't go often, but when he does it's because Asmo invited him.

Would try mixing the drinks like potions to create the most atrocious looking and tasting 'cocktails'. Dares Asmo to drink it.

Asmo says no? No problem he'll chug it himself like it's nothing. Would probably pass out for like 2 seconds and then get back up, ready to party some more.

Somehow immune to hangovers, maybe magic?

He's notorious for taking demons back to Purgatory Hall. Simeon and Luke watch them do the walk of shame in the morning, shaking their heads disapprovingly.

Simeon

As an angel, he does not indulge in drinking or clubbing culture.

Solomon once asked him if he wanted to go disguised.

"How could you suggest such a thing!" >:0

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

CHAPTER 2: THE WEIRDO ON MAPLE STREET

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: I accidentally deleted the original post. :( But we move! Here we have (again) another Eddie and Diana moment. Slow Burns FTW. What do you guys think about the Uptown/Downtown scene? Foreshadowing anyone?

Word Count: 3633

Masterlist

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V

CORNWALLIS AND KERLEY 

When I told Barb I was going to walk home, I really didn’t think about how far the walk would be, especially in the cold. I tuck my chin beneath my coat bracing myself against the wind. I have been walking through the neighbourhood for what feels like an hour but is probably only 20 minutes, based on the fact I passed Barb’s car not too long ago. The neighbourhood is quiet, apart from the wind rustling through the trees in the surrounding forests. I speed walk pass the large, extravagant houses with my hands bunched into tights fists inside my pockets. 

Tonight was a nightmare. I still can’t believe the way Nancy was acting in front of Steve and his friends. In front of me and Barb…to blatantly dismiss us like we were servants done with our nightly duties is so…I don’t have the words. To top it off, Barb still stayed behind to make sure Nancy doesn’t do anything stupid, meanwhile I’m walking all the way home in the middle of the night, at god knows what time. Will is still missing and whatever is out that may have taken him— A sudden gust sends a flurry of leaves spiraling upwards off the ground. I flinch, tripping over my foot. 

This is so stupid, Diana.

I push my legs to walk faster, nearing Benny’s Burgers. There are no police officers lingering around the premises anymore, but the diner is still closed. I slow down, lingering in front of the building wishing I could use the phone to call my parents to pick me up. It would take hours for me to walk back uptown. I take a deep breath and count down from five to calm myself down. I was stranded. Frustrated tears brim my eyes. I should’ve been home or actually at the assembly on the field for Will. I wipe my tears with my cold hands and continue to walk. 

Maybe this was karma for lying. 

Ten minutes later I am approaching the intersection of Cornwallis and Kerley. My ears perk up as I hear a low rumbling sound in front of me. A jolt ripples through me. I see a large van driving and I squint, covering my eyes at the headlights. The van stops at the stop sign before driving down the street behind me. I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and continue to walk. After a few minutes I hear the same low rumbling behind me. I turn my head and realize it’s the same van that passed me not too long ago. 

A tight knot forms in my stomach, but I push it down and walk faster. The van lights grow bigger and bigger on the pavement as it draws closer. I want to run but I would be foolish to think I can out run a moving vehicle. And where would I go to hide? There are no houses between here and the train tracks. I bite my lower lip hard to stop my chin from trembling. I hear the van drive up until its beside me. I pretend not to notice and continue walking straight. Maybe if I pay this person no mind, they’ll leave me alone. The lights turn off and I hear the window roll down. 

“Diana?” A voice says from inside the van. 

I let out a high-pitched scream and quickly cover my mouth. So much was happening in town, I didn’t want to add to it. My heart is beating so fast in my chest and so loud in my ears, I feel like I might pass out. 

“Oh, shit. Sorry,” the person giggles. Giggles! “It’s me, Eddie.” Eddie? 

I press a trembling hand to my chest as if that would do anything to slow my racing heart. Bracing myself, I take a cautious step towards the van. I peer through the open window. Sure enough, it’s Eddie, from Hawkins High. The boy I bumped into in the hallway yesterday. 

“Oh, h-hi, Eddie.” I sniff, wiping the tears from my cheeks.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, brows furrowing in concern. 

“I was on my way home.” 

“Home? You live around here?” 

“N-No,” I stutter. “I live on Dearborn and Maple.” 

“Are you walking to your car?” 

“I-I don’t have a car.” 

“So, you were—” Eddie stops. He licks his lower lip and rubs his chin. “You were going to walk all the way to Dearborn and Maple from here?” 

I shrug my shoulders, crossing my arms above my chest. “It’s not that bad.” It’s actually much worse. 

“Not that bad?” He looks at me like I’ve grown another head. I notice by his tone he seems…upset. “Do you know what time it is?” 

I pout shaking my head, feeling like I’m being scolded. I never checked the time when I left Steve’s house. It must’ve been after 10pm now. Eddie looks at me, dark brown eyes roaming up and down and side to side. If my cheeks weren’t cold from the wind, it would be on fire. I shift from side to side, biting my lower lip.

“You know what, never mind.” He says, shaking his head. “Just get in.” 

“No, really. It’s okay, I can walk.” 

“I’m not going to let you walk all the way home by yourself in the middle of the night. Especially with that kid missing.” He says reaching over to open the door. “Get in. I’m taking you home.” 

I slide inside the car closing the door behind me. I quickly roll up the window savouring the heat. The van is wide and spacious from the inside and I feel extremely small. I secure my seatbelt on, pulling my hood off my head. I shiver, defrosting under the newfound heat. 

“Are you okay?” Eddie asks. I nod my head, sniffing softly. “I’m sorry about the mess.” He says, putting the car in drive.

I look around the van. It looks pretty clean to me. The trunk had an array of pillows and carpeted flooring. It felt homey and personalized. 

“It doesn’t look a mess to me.” I say, quietly. “Thank you, for doing this.” 

Eddie nods his head and I lean back in the chair playing with my fingers. The van is quiet apart from the heater blowing. I’ve seen this van around in school—well I heard it before I saw it because of how loud it was. Never did I think I’d be inside the car with a boy I met 24 hours ago. 

“Where are you coming from?” 

“A house party.” 

Eddie wrinkles his nose. “On a Tuesday?” Exactly what I said. He takes his eyes off the road for a moment to look at me. “I never took you to be the partying type.” 

I’m not sure if I should take offence to that remark or not, but nonetheless, I shake my head. 

“I’m not.” 

“Why did you go then?” 

The question weighs heavy in my chest. From the embarrassment to the shock of what happened tonight. I don’t know how to answer Eddie. 

“I went for…” I think of the right words to use. “Moral support.” 

Eddie nods his head, leaning back in his seat. One hand remained on the wheel while the other stayed perched on the centre console. I envy how relaxed he looks while driving. I had to have two hands on the steering wheel at all times and I sat so close to the dashboard, Dad asks me if I’m trying to drive or go through the windshield. 

“Where was this party? I didn’t see any cars parked on the road when I was driving down the street.” 

I rub my lips together, sinking deeper into the chair. 

“Steve Harrington’s.” I mutter. 

“Hm.” 

I don’t know what’s worse. Telling Eddie I went to Steve Harrington’s house or Eddie’s response. 

“I-I honestly wouldn’t call it a party. It was more of a hang out.” 

“Did you have fun as at least?” 

I shake my head. Eddie snorts. 

“Figures.” He says. “Why not?” 

Everything that happened tonight flashes in a blink of an eye. I take a deep breath and speak. 

“Tommy H and Carol were there. I don’t feel comfortable around that group, but my best friend, Nancy does. At least I think she does—” I frown shaking my head. “I don’t know…it was all so bizarre. I want to be there for her. We both did, Barb and I, but I couldn’t stay there any longer.”  

“They’re still at the party.” I nod my head. The weight in my chest feels heavier. “Why would they stay knowing you felt uncomfortable being there?” 

The car is quiet again as we pass over the train tracks. I turn to Eddie; he’s looking straight at the road. Again, I don’t know how to respond to him. It’s a question I honestly don’t have an answer for. I swallow down the lump forming in my throat. 

“I don’t know,” I respond. My voice sounds hoarse. “It’s complicated.” 

Eddie shakes his head. “Doesn’t sound complicated to me. You didn’t want to go to the ‘party’ but did anyway to support Nancy. I’m sure she seen how uncomfortable you looked, but still decided to stay and left you to walk across town in the middle of the night by yourself.” He sounds upset again and I’m not sure why. 

“Well, I wanted to leave and Barb wanted to leave too. I know she did.” 

“If Barbara wanted to leave, she would’ve. With you.” He was right. Barb would’ve, but I don’t need to confirm that. 

“But then Nancy would be by herself.” I answer, with the same approach as Barb. 

Eddie glances at me. “Trust me. Nancy would not be by herself.” 

I frown at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“She’s with Steve Harrington.” He said, matter-of-factly. Though I know what he’s alluding to and I go over what he asked and how I replied. Did I suggest Nancy is having sex with Steve? 

“Nancy isn’t like that.” I defend.

“You don’t sound too sure.” Eddie responds. 

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t come. I close my mouth and look at the road. I feel like I’ve betrayed Nancy’s trust, even though I know I didn’t say anything. This is the first time I’ve spoken to Eddie and he’s managed to read my mind in the matter of minutes. Was it written all over my face? Or was I just that easy to read? I pout, removing my hair from inside my jacket. My waves fall down my front and the faint smell of coconut and vanilla lingers in my nose. I decide to change the topic of conversation. 

“Where are you coming from?” 

“The Hideout.” I arch my brow and Eddie smiles. “It’s a bar on Mulberry and Cherry Oak.” 

“Aren’t you too young to work at a bar?” 

“If you wanna get all technical, yes. But, it’s the only place in this town that’ll let me and my band play.” 

“You have a band?” I say, smiling. “That’s cool. Really cool actually.” He looks like he’d have a band. “What’s the name of your band?” 

“Corroded Coffin.” 

“Does it mean anything?” 

Eddie approaches a stop sign and looks at me. “It’s just metal, sweetheart.” He says softly. 

My heart beat picks up speed. Sweetheart. My mom calls me sweetheart all the time, but hearing Eddie say it, makes me feel airy and light, yet heavy and fast. I don’t know. Eddie’s eyes roam my face again and I wonder if there’s something on it. The back of my neck feels hot and I break eye contact, playing with the ends of my hair. 

“What instrument do you play?” I ask, breathless. Eddie continues straight. 

“Lead guitar. I also sing a little.” 

“Oh wow! Do you write your own songs?” 

“Not really. Just sing covers. Judas Priest, Ozzy Osbourne, Metallica, KISS. All the greats.” 

“I’ve never heard of them.” 

“What kind of music are you into? Actually, let me guess. Madonna. Cyndi Lauper. Billy Joel—” 

“You name these people like they make bad music.” I interject. 

Eddie wrinkles his nose, shrugging his shoulders. My jaw drops. 

“They all make good music!” I defend, sitting up. “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun? Holiday? Uptown Girl!” 

“Meh.” I gawk. 

“I bet your sister likes Uptown Girl.” 

“Sister?” Eddie queried. I suddenly feel cold. Eddie glances at me again and smirks. “Do you know something I don’t know? Find out I have a secret relative lurking around Hawkins.” 

“Oh, I-I thought the girl you’re always with was a relative. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.” 

“Ronnie?” Eddie makes a left turn on Cherry Oak. I nod my head. 

“You both look alike.” 

“Yeah, we get that a lot,” his eyes light up. “But no, she’s not my cousin. She’s my best friend, like a sister to me.” 

“She’s very tall.” 

Eddie laughs and my stomach feels like it’s full of butterflies fluttering all at once. “That she is.” 

“What’s wrong with Uptown Girl?” I continue. “A sweet downtown man trying to court an uptown girl. I think it’s romantic.” 

“It’s cliché. In real life, an uptown girl would never pick a downtown man.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

Eddie gives me a look. “If an uptown man was trying to court her as well, she’d pick him instead of the downtown man.” 

“You don’t know that either.” I counter. 

“Would you date a downtown man?” 

“If he was sweet and kind. Why not?” 

“Even if he couldn’t afford to buy you pearls?” He arches his brow playfully. I grin.

“So, you’ve listened to the song.” 

Eddie smiles back, his dimples appear on his cheeks. “I never said I didn’t.” 

I ignore the butterflies. “Admit it. You like the song.” 

Eddie shakes his head, but his smile remains. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. 

“I wouldn’t discriminate a person because of how much money they don’t have. It’s not about the money. It’s about love.” 

“It’s always about the money.” I shake my head. “You’d live in a box with a downtown man, all for love?” 

I scrunch my nose, shaking my head. “No…”  

“Exactly. It’s all a cliché.” 

“If I had a house, he’d just move in with me and the house will become ours.” 

The expression on Eddie’s face makes me wonder if he’s trying not to laugh at me or not. It reminds me of Erica yesterday at breakfast forcing herself to refrain from laughing out loud when Lucas teased me about my driving. 

“What about everyone else?” 

“What about them?” 

“Assuming you’re the uptown girl, what if your uptown friends disapprove of the downtown man?” 

“If the downtown man treats me well and loves me as much as I love him, their opinions won’t matter.” 

“Hm.” 

I don’t know if hm is a good or bad.

“So, what about you?” I ask. Eddie looks at me with a slight frown. “Would you date an uptown girl?” 

The frown smoothens between his brows and Eddie’s eyes roam my face again. I don’t know if I’m overheating or not, but my cheeks feel hot and I want to ask him to turn down the heat. His dark brown eyes linger on my lips for a split second before flickering to my eyes. I rub my lips together to feel if something were on them. I feel nothing. 

“If she’ll have me.” he murmurs. 

“Maybe she can buy you pearls.” Eddie laughs and I laugh too. 

“I wouldn’t mind. Enough about me though. Tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” 

“Um…Dance. Ballet to be specific, though sometimes I want to try jazz.” 

“Explain jazz to me. I only know it to be a music genre.” 

“Jazz is like…a mixture of ballet and modern dance. That’s the best way I can explain it.” 

“Are you going to do it? Jazz dance, I mean.” I shrug my shoulders. 

Transitioning from ballet to jazz was going to be an adjustment and a big step outside of my comfort zone. Sometimes before rehearsals, I’d watch the other classes of the girls and boys dance to funk and pop music. I am always in awe of the way they moved their bodies. It looked so…free and unrestricted. Less technical than ballet. I dance to Prince and Rick James in my room all the time and these classes immolated what I felt when I do. But telling my parents I want to switch over to jazz would be another hurdle to jump over. I will need to ease them and myself into that. 

“If you’re interested in it, I think you should.” 

“Maybe one day.” 

“What’s stopping you?” 

 “The Nutcracker season.” 

 “The Nutcracker?” 

Unlike Tommy H, Carol and Steve. Eddie didn’t make fun. He seems genuinely interested in what I had to say. And for the first time, I don’t feel…embarrassed to talk about myself. 

“Every year at my dance studio, we perform The Nutcracker. It’s a two-act play by Tchaikovsky and this year I got one of the leads in the second act.”  

“Congratulations.” He says with a smile. 

“Thank you.” I blush. “All my time and energy is put into the performance but with Will’s disappearance, classes are cancelled.” 

Just like that. All the light and life in the van disappears like blowing out a candle. I breathe deeply, sitting back into the seat. The car is quiet for a few minutes. I’m lost in my thoughts of Will, Lucas and the boys; Miss Byers and Jonathan. I need to talk to Jonathan tomorrow and check in with him. 

“Do you know Will?” Eddie speculates. 

“He’s my little brother’s best friend.” 

“I’m sorry.” I blink and glance at him. It’s the first time anyone said that to me and I realize, I never thought about how I’ve been affected by Will’s disappearance. 

“I just hope we find him.” 

“Me too.” Eddie murmurs and deep down inside me, I know he means it. 

I peer out the window just as we pass Dustin’s house. I pray I don’t see three boys on bikes riding down the street and tell Eddie to make a right on Elm Street and then another right on Gloucester. As we approach my neighbourhood, I begin to take my keys out of my pocket. 

“My house is just around the corner near the end of the cul-de-sac. Blue with white shutters.” 

Eddie eases inside my driveway. Thankfully the house lights are off which meant everyone was asleep. It would be easier to sneak in. I can’t believe I’m plotting how to get inside my own house.

“You don’t have to drive me to my door. I can walk from here.” I say, taking off my seatbelt. I don’t want to draw too much attention to the house in case my parents are awake for some reason. 

“I already drove across town to get you home, the least I can do it drive you to your front door.” 

“No, it’s okay. I’ll be fine.” I assure him with a smile. 

Eddie reluctantly puts his car in park and shuts off the car. I am surprised when he takes off his seat belt to twist his body to face me. It creates a little distance between us. 

“Why?” he asks, somewhat defensively. I don’t want him to feel like I’m using him so I tell him the truth. 

“I’m not supposed to be home,” I answer, sheepishly. “I’m supposed to be at Nancy’s house up the street but—” 

“You were at Harrington’s.” Eddie finishes. I nod my head. 

Eddie relaxes his stance, resting his arm on the steering wheel. He gestures to my front door. 

“I’ll wait here and watch you walk to your door.” 

“Thank you for driving me home.”

“Please don’t walk around at night by yourself again.” 

I tuck a loose curl behind my ear. “I won’t, I promise.” 

“I won’t leave until you’re inside. 

I open the door, stiffening at the cool wind blowing past. Closing the door, I begin to walk towards my front door. I am just passing the front of his car when I hear my name. 

“Yes?” I say, approaching Eddie. 

“Listen to “I Was Made For Lovin’ You” by KISS. It’s a hard rock song with disco influences. I think you’ll enjoy it.” 

I blink, not expecting him to say that. “Okay!” I answer with a smile. When he smiles back and his dimples show, I can’t help but grin and lean forward. 

“Listen to “Candy Girl” by New Edition. It’s my favourite song right now.” 

“Candy Girl,” he muses. I notice a slight flush in his cheeks and lean back. “Okay.” 

I bite my lip, tucking my hair behind my ear. I know I have to go inside, but part of me wants to stay with Eddie and talk all night in his van. I enjoyed our short conversations and how at ease I felt talking to him. 

“Thank you again, Eddie.” 

Eddie looks in my eyes this time and I force myself to keep eye contact. “You’re Welcome, Diana.” 

“See you tomorrow.” 

“See you tomorrow.” 

I feel his stare at the back of my head, as I walk to my front door. I quietly enter my house but don’t close the door all the way, peeking through the crack. As promised, Eddie pulls out of my driveway and even kept his headlights off until he was out. I close the door completely and lock my door, but instead of walking through the foyer, I linger, touching my lips. I can’t hide the smile on my face even if I wanted to. 

CHAPTER 3: HOLLY, JOLLY

[sesesimmi]

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[stories-and-chaos]

Tarnished pt 26

[Helluva Boss AU where Blitzø’s childhood theft from Stolas’ palace is discovered and major consequences ensue for everyone involved.]

[Part 26/?? Word count: 1575 Cw: language, mention of drug abuse]

—————

There was an extended silence as Blitzø absorbed this information. “Ohshitohshitohshit, what the fuck do I do, are you girls sure, holy fucking shit I wasn’t even sure she was alive.” Blitzø dropped his burger and grabbed the sides of his head. His eyes went huge as he stared into nothing. “You’re absolutely sure it’s her?”

Dina nodded. “Pretty sure. If it weren’t for the horns I’d have thought you snuck into my group.”

“She sounds like you too. Never thought I’d hear someone else cuss like that, besides you,” Loona added. “I heard her checking in, said her name’s ‘Barb Buckzo.’”

Blitzø stood up, still not really seeing anything. “Fucknuggets, that’s gotta be her. I haven’t seen her in decades. She might not even remember me now, we were just kids…” He gripped the back of his chair, claws making scrapes in the finish. “Wait… if she’s in your group therapy Dina…”

Dina took a sip of drink before answering. “Yeah. Sounds like she’s been through some shit. And um,” she hesitated before continuing what she wanted to say, “she mentioned her brother during the session. But…it wasn’t anything good Dad.”

He took a deep breath. “I think I can handle it.” Whatever Barb had said about him couldn’t be worse than the other crap that had happened in his life, right?

“She said her twin was a ‘traitorous royal cocksucker’ and that he ‘abandoned his family to be a rich boy’s pet as soon as he could.’” Seeing Blitzø stiffen as if he’d been struck made her wish she hadn’t said anything.

Hearing what Barb thought of him, it made the bottom drop out of his world. He hadn’t expected her to be thrilled with him, but this level of animosity wasn’t expected. What in the Seven Rings had Cash told everyone? Was that why Fizz never responded to his mail?

Did his mom hate him too?

“I’m sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything-“ Dina started desperately apologizing. The imp cut her off.

“Not your fault Di. You warned me too.” He shook his head harshly. “I- I gotta get out for a bit. I’ll be back later girls.” He scooped up his phone and keys as he dashed out the door.

Loona opened a window to yell at him, “No driving the accident-mobile Dad!” He’d been about to hop in the van; instead he slammed the door shut. “Goddammit Loonie, FINE!” He jammed his hands into his coat pockets and walked off into the darkening night.

Dina, still at the table, was hunched down with her ears laid back. “Loona? Is everything gonna be okay? Feels like we shouldn’t have said anything.”

Her sister plopped back into her seat. “Nah, Blitzø is always kind of a mess. He thinks he’s a hot mess. He’ll be back.” She ran her hand through her hair and tossed a fry into her mouth. “I know I wouldn’t have been able to keep quiet about all this shit. And he’s such a busybody that he’d keep prying until we blew up at him.” Dina sighed and they finished the meal in silence.

Loona cleaned up the dishes while Dina put away the leftovers. They each took a side of the couch but left the television off. Instead they chatted about a web novel Dina had started reading while at rehab. Loona was catching up on it now and the sisters enjoyed discussing the plot and characters.

Neither of them wanted to head to bed until Blitzø got back. Dina mentioned that she almost felt like the parent right now, waiting for their kid to come home. The hours crept by with no sign of the imp. Just in case, Loona sent a text to Stolas. She didn’t go into details but let the prince know Blitzø had left the apartment upset.

Stolas replied that Blitzø wasn’t with him and not to worry unless he wasn’t back by morning. That wasn’t terribly reassuring for the Hellhounds.

Both girls ended up falling asleep on the couch before Blitzø stumbled back in around two in the morning. He was drunk and had gotten into some sort of fight. The lights were mostly off so he didn’t see the pair on the couch. Neither hound woke up; not even when he flopped on top of them.

Dimly, Blitzø realized the couch was both lumpier and fuzzier than normal. Those facts didn’t really stick with him as he passed out.

—————

In Sloth, Barb got back to her dormitory. She was staying at a sober living facility for now. She didn’t really have any place else to be or anyone to be with. Most of her friends were addicts and none were trying to get clean. Barb knew if she spent any time with her current circle of acquaintances, she’d be right back to square one.

The imp didn’t know who was footing the bill for her rehab. When she’d gotten sober enough to question the money situation, she was politely informed that an anonymous donor was taking care of it. While that was suspicious, she wasn’t in a position to question it. And what would she do otherwise? If she insisted on paying herself, she’d be neck deep in debt or kicked out.

Barb was suspicious, but not stupid. If this demon wanted to pay for her recovery, let ‘em. If they came looking to collect later, she’d deal with it then. At least she’d be sober for whatever came her way.

She had been thinking about who it could be. Not Mammon, that was for damn sure. Maybe Fizz? But she was pretty sure he hated her guts now. Cash wouldn’t be; she hadn’t been able to find out if her father survived the fire. If he had, he’d disappeared. Not likely he’d be paying for her medical bills if he was alive.

Her mom… Barb gripped the choker that she wore, that had been Tilly’s. Her mom would have.

Maybe one or more of the hospital staff she’d interacted with during Fizz’s recovery all those years ago? That was a long shot.

Blitzo? She snorted to herself at the thought. The jackass and his douche prince would have the money, but her twin had shown how much he cared decades ago. He didn’t even know she was still kicking, from what she remembered of the mail he sent Fizz.

There were other demons she’d encountered over the years. She’d worked odd jobs to fund her habit, with the legality of said jobs being questionable. She didn’t think she had made a good enough impression on anyone to warrant this however.

It gave her a headache to keep thinking about it and without more information, she didn’t have enough to figure it out. Scrolling her phone, she pulled up the pics she’d sneakily taken earlier. The Hellhounds she’d encountered at group therapy.

Barb had snapped at the first girl for staring. At the moment she’d brushed the girl looking at her so intently as listening in to her rant. Then she saw the other young Hound woman in the meeting room. Dina, as she learned at the introduction round, tried to hide looking at Barb. But the imp kept feeling her glancing over during the session.

After they broke apart for the day, Dina trotted up to the Hound in the waiting area. Seeing them side by side, it was obvious they were siblings and maybe even littermates. The only difference between them was height and hair length. The pair was very much trying to not look at Barb. The imp’s spines were raised and she glared at them before heading towards the dorms.

But she doubled back once she was sure the girls weren’t following her. She caught glimpses of them as they walked away. Then the girls slipped into a space between two buildings and Barb saw colored lights glow from the gap. She ran to the spot as the glow faded.

No sign of either Hellhound. A portal? For a couple Hounds? Most magick wielding demons were royalty or working for royalty. Imps, Hellhounds, and Hellborn in general didn’t have much to do with magick. Succubi on assignment to Earth used portals and illusions.

Whoever these girls were, they likely had a connection with blue bloods. And they were interested in her. Barb doubted they were connected with who was funding her therapy. Both Hounds seemed like they didn’t expect to see her. Like they couldn’t believe their eyes.

She scribbled down her thoughts in a notebook she kept in her room. Maybe because of the years of drug abuse, but she had difficulty keeping track of things. She was getting in the habit of writing down whatever was on her mind, since her notebook had a better memory than she did. During the day, Barb typed stuff into a notepad app on her phone, then reviewed it at night.

She was not up for any fancy journaling. No decorated grids, stickers, different color pens and fancy tape between entries. The words were lucky if she followed the lines on the page. Anything particularly important got circled or highlighted so she could find it easily as she flipped through the pages.

The Hellhound girls were an odd enough occurrence that she circled and highlighted her bullet list about them. If Dina was still in her group next time, she could try to find out more.

—————

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