#I think this man is a clown with his own clown car

[flowersforbucky]

oil & water

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 5.8k

prompt - "If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so."

shout out to @ellemj for her encouragement with this ♡

warnings/tags: SMUT, vaginal penetration, oral sex (female receving), face sitting, mentions of violence, description of blood & wounds, no use of y/n, reader is afab, hurt/comfort trope, bickering & banter, friends to lovers, forced close proximity trope. 18 plus only!

“Roll your window up,” Bucky snaps at you as he turns down the music you had just put on moments ago. “The last thing we need is someone noticing the blood caked all over the entire right side of your body.” 

As if the lack of functioning AC in the twenty-something year old getaway car (an early 2000’s model Chevy Aveo is inconspicuous, according to Sam) wasn’t stifling enough in the south Georgia summer, the annoyance radiating from the brooding super soldier sitting next to you adds an extra ten degrees. 

Sure, Sam. Inconspicuous is the right word to describe a six foot, two hundred plus pound man with a metal arm cramped behind the driver’s seat of the equivalent to a clown car. Bright fucking cherry red and all. 

“It’s 103 degrees outside.” You glare at him from the passenger seat, where you’re using a tattered handkerchief found in the glove compartment to put pressure on the knife wound on your shoulder. “I’m going to have a heatstroke.” 

“You’re not going to have a heatstroke,” he rolls his eyes at you. “That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck.” 

“Ha-ha-ha,” you say under your breath, reluctantly rolling up the manual window with your still bleeding arm. “I got the fucking intel, did I not?” 

You remove the USB drive from its secure location in the cup of your bra and flash it at Bucky. “Though we’ll be lucky if this thing still works after being drowned in boob sweat, since you won’t let me keep the window rolled down.” 

“And nearly got yourself killed in the process.” He grabs the flashdrive from you and grimaces. “We’ll be at the safehouse in less than five minutes, if you can please just refrain from stroking out or bleeding out in the meantime.” 

You glance down at the once white handkerchief clutched in your hand. “I’m not making you any guarantees.” 

You're welcome for saving your ass, by the way, you resist adding. 

Jokes aside, the energy exerted in bringing down over a dozen HYDRA agents in combination with the July heat and the substantial blood loss from your shoulder wound has you feeling woozier by the minute. Factor in a few potentially fractured ribs and a dislocated knee and you're in pretty rough shape. 

As promised, just under five minutes later Bucky parks in front of a small trailer just outside the city limits of Valdosta. It's seen better days, but you don't mind as long as it has semi-functioning air conditioning. 

Bucky is opening your car door and offering you a hand up before you can take in your surroundings. You force yourself out of your seat, ignoring his outstretched hand and attempting to stand on your own, doing your best to ignore the borderline blinding pain radiating from your right knee. 

“Thanks, but I think I can–” 

Your vision goes fuzzy as you stumble forward, right into Bucky's chest. Your hand instinctively clutches the fabric of his shirt as you attempt to regain your balance.

“Let me guess. You're capable of stitching up your own shoulder, too?” 

He gently loops his arm around your waist, slowly walking the two of you to the front door of the trailer. You try to focus on keeping pressure on the gash on your shoulder and not the feeling of his toned body pressed against you. How does he smell so good after hand to hand combat and sitting in that sauna of a car? You're sure you probably smell like a wet diaper that's been left in the sun for–

Bucky opens the door and guides you inside. The interior of the safehouse is surprisingly homey and clean. It's still uncomfortably warm, but offers a nice reprieve from the violent mid-day sun. 

Bucky leads you into the small living space before maneuvering you out of his hold, where you all but collapse onto a suede sofa.

“I guess you do have some amount of good luck, after all,” you mumble, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand. 

“What are you talking about?” Bucky glances at you from over his shoulder as he flicks on the AC. 

“That happening would indicate that I have any amount of good luck,” you quote his sarcastic comment from the car ride. 

“Ha-ha-ha,” he fake laughs just as you did. He rummages through a few cabinets and drawers of the small kitchen before finding everything he’s searching for, then makes his way back to where you are on the couch. 

“Drink this.” He hands you a bottle of water that you hadn't even noticed him grab. For once you don't object to his instructions, uncapping the bottle and gulping down the contents as quickly as you can. 

“You're not having a heatstroke,” he assures you. “But you are going to have to let me stitch up this crater on your shoulder and pop your knee back into place.” 

You sit forward, removing the now fully soaked cloth that you've been holding to your shoulder for the last half hour. 

Bucky winces at the sight of it, handing you a dishrag before opening a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “You might want to bite down on–” 

“I know the drill.” You sigh before putting the rag between your teeth. 

He hesitates for a moment before pouring the clear liquid over the wound. You groan against the rag, your eyes squint shut in pain. You've had your fair share of broken bones and black eyes working in this field, but you don't think you'll ever get used to the pain of getting stitches without the comforts of saline solution and anesthesia.

“I'm sorry, sweetheart,” he murmurs, dabbing the cut dry with a paper towel. 

Your heart skips a beat at the nickname. “It's part of the job. I've come out of missions worse than this before,” you shrug, squeezing the dish rag he gave you until your knuckles go white as he makes the first incision. 

“Never because of me.” 

You glance at him, taken aback by the sudden shift in his tone. His gaze doesn't leave the thread and needle that he's using to close up the gash on your arm - his normally plump pout set into a hard line. 

“You know this isn't your fault, right?” You keep your eyes locked on him. “I saw that guy coming at you out of nowhere and I panicked. I wasn't watching my own back. That's my fault, not yours,” you say earnestly. 

“If you say so.” He glances up for a split second, giving you a tight-lipped smile that doesn't reach his eyes. 

“Is that why you've been such a grouch? You're blaming yourself for me not being careful enough?” 

“Maybe,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I just hate seeing you covered in blood for any reason.” 

You freeze at the bluntness of his words. You and Bucky have been partners on more missions than you could count at this point - you know that he would have done the same for you if the situation had been reversed; in fact, there had been times where he had taken the brunt of the fight in order to protect you. 

All of those instances suddenly flash through your mind. 

The time he used himself as a human shield when there was a bomb set off during a recon mission at a warehouse in Tokyo. Or when he football tackled you out of the direct line of an incoming dagger during an operation in Portland. Not to mention the time he left a job all the way in Prague unfinished because he merely suspected you had a concussion. 

You had always chalked it up to “that’s what partners do,” but the pained expression on his face as he refuses to meet your eyes has you questioning if there could possibly be more to it. 

No. You’re his partner. He’d do the same for anyone else. He wouldn’t want to see anyone on his team covered in blood if he could prevent it. 

The two of you sit in a thick silence while he finishes stitching you up. 

“There,” he says at last, clipping the excess suture thread with scissors. “Not quite as good as your stitch work, but I think it’ll hold you together.” His voice isn’t as strained as it was moments ago, though you can't help but notice it sounds forced. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, ignoring the way your cheeks warmed the tiniest bit at his compliment. “Now for the really fun part,” you add, staring at your throbbing knee. 

“You’re in luck,” he says, perking up a bit. “I’ve popped my own knees back into place an embarrassing amount of times, so this should be a breeze.” He repositions himself to have better access to your leg, moving off the couch to perch on the edge of the coffee table in front of you. You attempt to pull the tight fabric of your tactical pants up enough to give him unhindered access to your knee, but it’s too restrictive, immediately causing you to wince in pain. 

“Fuck,” you huff. “I’m going to have to take these off.” You pop the button at the top of your pants and begin to push them down your thighs before insecurity can get the better of you. You try not to think about the fact that Bucky's never seen you in such little clothing - pants now pushed down to your calves, only your underwear and the bra and thin tank top you wore underneath the tactical vest that you took off as soon as you were in the safety of the getaway car left to cover you. 

Hesitation flashes across Bucky’s face for a brief moment before he scoots over slightly, moving directly in front of you so that he can position his hands on either side of your kneecap. You’re painfully aware of the polar opposite feeling of his right and left hand - his flesh hand is warm and so much softer than you’d expect, his metal one icy and smooth. You aren’t sure which causes the visible goosebumps that now litter your skin.

Maybe it’s not his touch at all. Maybe it’s the way his eyes haven’t left your thighs since you exposed them.

Maybe it’s the fact that if you parted your legs just a few inches, he’d be nestled between them. 

Chill out, you berate yourself. He's just relocating your knee for Christ's sake. 

“On the count of three,” he starts and you brace yourself. “One, two–” 

“MOTHERFUCKER.” You yell out at the same moment your knee creates a loud cracking noise that echoes off the walls of the small trailer. “You said count of three!” 

“Would that really have made it less painful?” He shrugs, but doesn't move from where his knees brush against yours. “I think what you mean to say is “thank you, Bucky, you're a lifesaver and I'm now in your debt.” 

“In your fuckin’ dreams,” you scoff. “I'm going to wash all of this blood and sweat off of me.” You move to push yourself off of the couch, tugging your pants back up as you stand. You can feel his eyes trail up your body as you do, making you feel woozy all over again. You turn away from him, heading towards the hallway that the bathroom is likely located down. 

“I could have done that through your pants, by the way.” 

You freeze mid-step, glancing back at him over your shoulder. “What do you mean?” You snap at him. 

“Your knee,” he clarifies, a hint of undeniable mischief in his expression. “I could have popped your knee back into place through your pants. If you wanted to take your pants off for me so badly, you could have just said so.” 

Just when you thought the safehouse was starting to cool down, your entire body heats up a thousand degrees. You're racking your brain trying to think of a retort when Bucky's ringtone starts blaring from the kitchen countertop. He ignores it, his eyes not leaving yours for what feels like an eternity. 

You finally break the silence. “That's most likely Sam wanting to make sure we're not dead. Should probably answer it.” 

“Probably should,” he smirks, and at last gets up from the coffee table to answer the phone.

You scurry the rest of the way to the bathroom before he can look back at you again, ignoring the sharp pains that radiate from your ribcage and the now dull ache that spreads from your knee. 

You turn the water to cold, and don't get out until you've started to shiver. 

— — — — — 

When you exit the bathroom and step back into the connected bedroom in only a towel, you see that Bucky has done you the kindness of bringing in the bags that had been stored in the backseat of the getaway car. 

You dig through your backpack, pulling out a fresh t-shirt and pair of leggings. From the next room, you can smell the aroma of whatever non-perishable food that Bucky has scrounged together. Despite your growing hunger pains, you take your sweet time combing through your freshly rinsed hair. The thought of looking Bucky in the eye after your last interaction nearly makes you lose your appetite. 

What was I thinking? Oh right, I wasn't thinking at all, otherwise I wouldn't have just pushed my fucking pants down right in front of–

“Your five course dinner is getting cold.” Bucky raps his fingers against the bedroom door, startling you from your thoughts. 

“Be right there,” you call back to him, swiping some deodorant under your arms. You take a glance at yourself in the bedroom’s small vanity mirror and immediately wish that you hadn't – you're cleaner than you were by miles, at least no longer covered in your own blood as well as the blood of HYDRA agents – but your cheekbone is lightly bruised, there's a slit on your bottom lip, and the bags under your eyes make it look like you haven't had a decent night's sleep in a month. 

You take a deep breath and then walk back to the one room that makes up the kitchen, dining area and living room. 

“Beef or shrimp ramen?” Bucky asks as you climb onto one of the barstools on the opposite side of the counter from where he's standing. 

“Hm,” you contemplate, not meeting his stare and instead occupying yourself with another bottle of water that he's placed where you now sit. 

Fucker probably wouldn't fluster me so bad if he wasn't being so damn thoughtful.

“I'll go with shrimp,” you answer, remembering that beef is his favorite.

He slides the bowl across the counter and then hands you a fork. You finally get the nerve to look up and meet his stare that feels as if it weighs two tons. 

“So, what did Sam say?” You try to go for light conversation, twisting the fork around your noodles. “Are we free to get out of here once it's dark out?” 

“Not…quite,” he hesitates, now seeming particularly interested in his own food. “The car battery kind of died.” 

“What do you mean the car battery kind of died?” 

“While you were in the shower, I tried to move the car behind the house so that anyone driving by wouldn't immediately know that someone's here. It started fine, but as I was driving it around back it just.. stopped. Had to push it the rest of the way.” 

You let out a dramatic groan as he continues. 

“I called Sam again and he said the earliest they can send someone to get us is in the morning.” 

“Well,” you exhale, blowing a raspberry with your lips. “We can flip a coin to see who gets the bed?” You ask lightheartedly. This isn’t the first time that you and Bucky have had an overnight mission together, but it is the first overnight mission where the two of you haven’t had your own motel rooms or at least a safehouse with two beds.

He looks at you quizzically, furrowing his eyebrows. “You really think there’s a chance of me making you sleep on the couch? In your condition?” 

“My condition?” you laugh. “I’ve got a few stitches, I’m not dying of cancer.” 

“You don’t think I’ve noticed the way it’s uncomfortable for you to inhale and exhale? You’ve probably got a couple fractured ribs with the way you landed on that cement. If not fractured, then at least heavily bruised. You’re not sleeping on the couch.” 

Between his tone and the look on his face, you know it isn’t up for debate. You throw your hands up in faux surrender. 

“Serving me instant ramen and letting me take the king sized bed?” you say teasingly. “Keep it up and I'm going to think that you're soft on me.” 

His gaze on you is heavy as he takes a long sip of water from his own bottle. “Wouldn't that be a shame?” 

— — — — — 

The rest of the afternoon is spent with you lounging in bed, resting your injuries and reading some cheesy western romance novel that you found in the drawer of the bedside table. 

Bucky keeps to the living room, where you hear a violent sounding movie playing from a TV that has to be as old as you are. 

You tell yourself that you're staying in the bedroom because you need to take it easy and relax, but truthfully you feel suffocated by the tension that has been escalating between you and Bucky since you arrived here. 

A certain level of tension had always been there, you knew deep down. From the first time the two of you met almost two years ago. 

Bucky had been formally introduced to the team just a few weeks prior, and it was his first official mission. An undercover mission - just the two of you. 

Posing as an engaged couple at a party thrown at the estate of a notorious crime boss in order to obtain intel. Pretty straight forward - it was far from your first undercover mission. And then it was sprung on you at the last minute that the man who you'd only met once, less than a month ago, was to be your fiancé for the evening. 

The bastard even went as far as to slip the fake engagement ring on your finger himself. 

“Natasha picked this out. She said it needed to be a princess cut, because that's what you like.” 

You chuckled as he went to slide the rock onto your ring finger. “What? You're not going to get down on one knee?” 

The mission went shockingly smooth, you and Bucky were in and out with the needed intel in just a few hours. But those few hours replayed in the back of your mind more often than you care to admit. 

The way his arm stayed wrapped securely around your shoulder or waist the entire hour that you mingled as guests. How he pulled you into a slow dance to discuss the plan for sneaking into the study on an off-limits floor. The musky smell of his aftershave and the spearmint on his breath. 

And especially the way he referred to you as his “bride” when introducing yourselves to people, on more than one occasion throughout the night. 

“And who is this absolutely beautiful young woman on your arm?” an elderly man with eye boogers and booze on his breath asks Bucky. 

“This is my bride,” Bucky introduces you, giving him your undercover name. “She is beautiful, isn’t she? Most beautiful woman here, if I do say so myself.” 

Saying that Bucky played his part well that night would have been an understatement. Saying that he played his part scarily well would be a more accurate assertion. 

After grabbing the intel and fleeing the scene, neither of you ever mentioned that mission again. Not the lingering touches, smoldering stares - not even the way he shoved you up against the wall of a corridor, cupped your face in his large hands, and kissed you senseless for half a minute when you came close to getting caught sneaking into the private office by security at the very end of the evening. 

“Do you think that was believable?” he asks nervously, his hands still clutching your face as he looks around the hallway for any lingering guards. 

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter breathily. “As believable as it possibly could be.” 

There’s a light knock on the partially open bedroom door that draws you back to the reality of the safehouse. You realize that you’ve been staring at the same paragraph in your book for the last half hour. 

"Yeah?” you answer, bringing yourself to a sitting position. 

Bucky peaks his head around the door, opening it further so that you can see what he is carrying. 

“I’m tired of watching old James Bond movies,” he sighs, glancing between you and the stack of board games in his arms. “I found these in the TV stand.” 

“I kicked your ass in Battleship last time we played,” you remind him. “Do you really want a rematch of that?” 

“How about we make a bet?”

— — — — — 

Half an hour later, you've eaten your own words, now owing Bucky a large meat lovers pizza from his favorite parlor in Brooklyn and two weeks worth of laundry duty when you return to the compound. 

“How'd you get so good?” you demand as he makes the winning attack. “You were so lame at this last time.” 

“Maybe I just let you win last time,” he shrugs with a shit-eating grin. 

You just shake your head in defeat, wincing as you stand up from where you had been playing on the shag area rug in the living room. 

“No,” you declare firmly. “No, I don't believe that. There's no way you'd willingly let me win anything. I've learned that the hard way during hand to hand combat training way too many times.”  

Bucky belly laughs from where he still sits on the floor, his gaze trailing after you. 

You walk over to where he has piled the board games on the coffee table, trying to find something you were confident you could win. 

Monopoly isn't fun with only two players, Risk takes too long — 

Your eyes lock onto a card game peeking out from underneath the Sorry! box. 

You pick it up, turning back to face him with a growing smile on your face.

“Absolutely not,” he says firmly. “I'm over a hundred years old–” 

“What does age have to do with truth or dare?!” You exclaim, sitting back down on the floor once more. 

“I haven't been roped into a game of truth or dare since the 1930's,” he groans. 

“Scared of what you might have to do?” You tease, unboxing the cards. “Or what you might have to admit?” 

He stares at you for a long moment, pursing his lips. The disapproval doesn't quite reach his eyes - you can tell by the way they gleam that he's going to cave. 

“Maybe a bit of both,” he admits. He tousles his fingers through his hair and moves to cross his legs at the ankles. “Fine,” he relents. “One game.” 

You squeal like a kid in a candy store as you shuffle the deck of cards and lay them in a stack between you. 

“Elders first,” you motion to the pile. 

He rolls his eyes, drawing one from the top – dare. 

“Smell another player's armpit,” he deadpans. You're instantly thankful that you remembered to cram a stick of deodorant into your backpack when packing for the mission. 

“Well?” You lift up your arm. “I'm the only other player here and it's not going to sniff itself.” 

Bucky sighs, leaning across the game to put his nose directly next to the opening of your t-shirt sleeve. “Lavender,” he observes after inhaling, giving you an approving nod. “As far as dares go, I got lucky.” 

“Lucky that I showered earlier,” you mumble as you draw your turn, your cheeks warming slightly. 

Truth. 

“Who was your last kiss with and what was it like?” 

Your heart plummets to your stomach as you read the words aloud. Bucky waits impatiently as you fiddle with the piece of paper in your hands. 

“Might I remind you, you are the one who wanted to play this game so desp–” 

You hold up a finger and make a shushing sound, silencing him as he grins menacingly. 

“My last kiss was almost two years ago,” you answer honestly, looking back down at the card to avoid his stare. He can always tell when you're lying, why even try? 

“With a man I barely knew,” you continue. “We had to pretend to be in love for the evening. It was a shockingly easy thing to do. When he pushed me up against a wall and kissed me as a distraction to security guards, I had to remind myself that it was an act. We never spoke about it again. But now two years later, I'm telling him that I think of that kiss often.” 

When you finally look up, you can't decipher the look on his face. Long gone is the mischievous grin from just moments ago, in its place is.. shock? Perplexity? 

“And why exactly have you not kissed anyone else since then?” He asks quietly. 

“Nope,” you say, popping your lips on the p. “That's not how the game works, you don't get to add sub-questions.” 

His eyes don't leave yours as he draws his next card.

His turn for truth. He glances down to read his question.

“Have you ever wanted to have sex with any of the players?” 

Forget your cheeks feeling warm - your entire body feels like it's on fire as you wait for him to answer. 

He chuckles, tossing the card on top of the other two that had already been picked. 

“Every goddamn day since I kissed her almost two years ago.” 

You aren't sure which one of you snaps first. You lunge forward at the same moment that he's leaning across the splay of cards to grasp your face in his hands just like he did in that corridor two years ago. The same hint of spearmint on his breath, a bit more stubble on his jaw, and a sense of desperation that wasn't there before. 

He moves his hands to your lower back, pulling you flush against him as you both sit on your knees. Your own hands find the hem of his shirt, your fingers dancing across the skin of his waistline. 

“I asked you why you haven't kissed anyone since we last kissed,” he murmurs against your lips when he pulls away, both of you breathless. “You don't have to answer, but that..” his mouth moves to the side of your throat where he trails open-mouth kisses across the sensitive flesh of your pulse point. 

“That's why I haven't kissed anyone else, either.” 

A pathetic, small moan escapes past your lips at his admission. In a split second decision, you take control. You place your hands across his chest, pushing him down onto the shag rug that you'd been playing games on just moments ago. He lets himself fall back, pulling you with him. 

You straddle him, positioning yourself directly on his already evident erection. You drag yourself forwards, and then backwards, desperate for friction - he groans beneath you, jutting upwards. 

The fabric of your pants between you feels like a prison. 

You scoot back a few inches - just far enough to give yourself enough room to unbutton his jeans. 

“Wait, wait,” he stops you as you're about to begin pulling down his pants and underwear. You freeze, petrified that you've crossed a line– 

“I haven't stopped thinking about having your thighs wrapped around my head since I saw them earlier,” he says as he hooks his hands around them and hauls you up to his chest. “Take these off and sit on my face.” He tugs on the waistline of your leggings. 

“If you wanted me to take my pants off for you so badly, you could have just said so,” you echo his earlier teasing. 

“I'm asking you now, sweetheart,” his voice has a strained edge to it. “Don't make me beg.” 

Though the notion of him begging has wetness pooling down your thighs, you're too eager to entertain it. 

You stand up, directly above him as he keeps his position on the floor. You shimmy your leggings down your thighs, this time completely removing them and tossing them somewhere behind you. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and throws it in the general direction of your discarded pants. 

With you still standing above him, he leans forward so that his face brushes against the inside of your thighs. He brings his hands to the band of your underwear, hooking his fingers and slowly pulling them down until they're at your ankles. 

You slip them off as he lays back down on the floor. A bit apprehensively, you sit so that your bare pussy is against his hard chest. 

“Just stop me if it's too uncomfortable or if you can't breathe or any–” 

He cuts you off by all but picking you up and hauling you up to his face.

“I wouldn't worry about that,” his voice vibrates against the flesh of your innermost thighs. He tugs you down just one more inch so that his mouth makes contact with your center. 

You gasp out in pleasure as his tongue begins exploring your folds. There's no restraint about it - he sets a brutal pace, alternating between fucking his tongue into your cunt and sucking on your clit. 

You're writhing above him, grinding your pussy against his mouth. You go to squeeze your breasts, pulling your t-shirt off when you realize it's the one clothing article you've yet to shed. 

When he realizes that you're now completely naked above him, he lets out an animalistic groan as he laps a thick lick up your center. 

The vibration, in addition to him now squeezing your ass with enough pressure that he's bound to leave behind fingertip shaped bruises, is enough to send you spiraling to your climax. 

You involuntarily squeeze your thighs around his cheeks, riding out your orgasm as he continues to wrap his lips around your throbbing clitoris. 

You go still for a moment, aside from your heaving chest, as you come back down to earth. 

You climb off of him, your jellified legs nearly causing you to collapse onto the floor next to him. 

He props himself up with one arm, looking down at you. His face is thoroughly glistening with your juices. 

You can't help but think he's never looked hotter. 

A proud grin begins to form across his features as you pull him down to you by the back of his neck. 

You kiss him with as much feverency as you can muster in your post orgasm haze, tasting the semi-sweet tang of your come on his lips and tongue. 

“It's your turn to get these off,” you demand, drawing back from the kiss to pull at the waistband of his pants. 

“Can I at least take you to the comfy bed before this goes any further?” he bargains. “You are still recovering from multiple injuries, you know.” 

“I can assure you that I've never felt better.” But you let him have his way. He stands before picking you up, lifting you so that you can wrap your legs securely around his midsection. His large hands planted firmly on your ass, he walks the short distance to the bedroom. Your nipples pebble as they press against his bare chest. 

He gently places you on top of the comforter before standing back, at last removing his jeans and boxers. His cock springs forward, slapping against his lower belly. 

Your mouth goes dry at the sight. If it had been a long time since you had been kissed, it had been even longer since you had been fucked. 

He crawls onto the bed, hovering above where you lay. You automatically open your legs to allow him between them. 

His eyes rake up and down your body, pausing on your breasts. 

"You're goddamn stunning.” 

Before you can respond, he's leaning down to capture one of your nipples in his mouth. Rolling it between his teeth, the sensation has you arching your back into his touch. You can feel the tip of his cock jutting against your core - teasing but not yet entering. 

He starts to line himself up at your hole, his eyes locking onto yours as he pumps himself in his hand. He brings his lips down to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth at the same moment he nudges his tip past your entrance. 

There's a blissful burn as he cautiously buries himself inside you - you're simultaneously thankful that he's going slow and needing him balls deep. He pushes in, inch by inch, until you're filled to the hilt. When he can't get any deeper, he pulls back - and slams back into you all at once. 

You swear you can feel him in your stomach. You look down at where your bodies connect, the sight of him sliding in and out of you enough to have you on the edge of climaxing again already. 

He brings his metal hand to knead your breast. 

"Do you have any idea how many times I've pictured having you under me like this?” He coos. You gyrate your hips to meet his thrusts, causing his eyes to roll back into his head. 

“How many times I've thought about what your little moans would sound like?” 

Your only answer is a gutteral moan of his name as you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails into the flesh of his back. 

“Your pussy feels even more like heaven than I imagined it would.” 

His praises send you over the edge - you're coming for a second time, clenching around him as his thrusts grow messy. He fucks you through your orgasm before he loses control himself, burying his face in the curve of your neck as he spills into you. 

With you still panting and limp beneath him,  his movements gradually come to a stop but he doesn't pull out - instead he flips you to your side and maneuvers himself into a spooning position behind you. 

He peppers soft kisses along the skin of your shoulder, being careful to avoid your stitches, and relaxes beside you. 

“Remind me to dislocate my knee more often,” you joke, processing everything that just happened. 

He snorts, then tilts your head up to meet his gaze. “Remind me to play truth or dare with you more often.” He captures your lips in his, this kiss slower than any of the ones before. 

“I guess it would be weird to make you do my laundry for two weeks now, huh?” He teases, earning a laugh from you.

“You do still owe me a pizza, but I'll be happy to share it with you.” 

♡♡♡♡♡

my masterlist

[kxsagi]

Hear me out

Blue lock boys with an F1 driver or sports car racer gf

I feel like some of them (Shidou especially) would def find that sick as hell

“𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫”

a/n: formula 1 and sports car racing in general is so hot i have no idea how they do it

ft. shidou ryusei, itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, isagi yoichi, nagi seishiro, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, barou shoei

shidou ryusei

this man is your biggest, loudest, and most chaotic fan. he’s the type to scream his lungs out during your races, banging on the barriers like an unhinged menace. 

calls your car "our baby", despite doing nothing but exist while you do all the work. 

absolutely insists on getting a ride in your car, and when you finally take him for a spin, he's cackling the whole time, completely unfazed. "faster, babe! c'mon, is that all you got?" 

if any other driver tries to mess with you on the track? oh, he’s barking from the sidelines, ready to throw hands. 

posts videos of you overtaking people with captions like "watch my baby smoke these losers"

definitely tries to bribe your team into letting him drive your car. they have to physically remove him from the garage. 

itoshi rin

at first, he's skeptical. racing seems dangerous, and the thought of you getting into an accident makes his stomach twist. 

but the moment he watches one of your races? oh, he's hooked. you being the best at what you do? yeah, that’s rin’s love language. 

watches every single one of your races with his arms crossed, eyes sharp. never misses a detail. he knows your lap times, your rivals, your strategies, everything. 

refuses to admit that watching you dominate on the track turns him on, but you can see it in his eyes. 

if anyone talks shit about you, he will humble them. “you think you could do better? funny.” 

absolutely hates when shidou tries to hype you up in his presence. their fights get worse because now shidou has something new to clown rin about. 

itoshi sae

"hm. that's cool." he says, watching a clip of you overtaking someone in the most insane way possible. he's acting all nonchalant, but his ears are red. 

your career actually reminds him a lot of his own. the precision, the discipline, the high-speed decision-making – it’s something he deeply respects. 

secretly loves watching you race. he's the type to stay up at odd hours just to catch live broadcasts, even if he pretends it’s “just on in the background.” 

never says much about it, but when you win, you’ll find your favorite snacks waiting for you at home. if you look closely, he’s watching you with the smallest, proudest smirk. 

the only time you catch him openly impressed is when he’s in the passenger seat and you take a sharp turn at high speed. “not bad.” (he's actually fighting for his life). 

kaiser michael

he's already got an ego the size of a racetrack, but you being a literal racing champion? yeah, that just boosts his pride even more. 

calls you "my speed queen". constantly. 

insists that he could totally handle driving your car, even though he has no actual racing experience. the second he gets in, he’s gripping the wheel like his life depends on it. 

“baby, let me drive it just once.” “you’re not touching my car.” “you wound me.” 

customizes his soccer cleats with your racing number. tells the press it’s for “a special someone,” knowing damn well they’ll all go crazy trying to figure it out. 

watches your post-race interviews just to smirk at how effortlessly you handle the media. if an interviewer ever tries to corner you with weird questions, he will make a scene. 

isagi yoichi

at first, he’s just in awe. like, holy shit, his girlfriend is a professional racer?? that's insane. 

gets super invested in your races. he watches them the same way he watches soccer – analyzing strategies, predicting overtakes, yelling at the screen like he's your personal coach. 

"SHE'S GONNA TAKE THE INSIDE LINE – YES!! THAT'S MY GIRL!!"

definitely asks you a million questions about your thought process mid-race. "so when you overtook that guy, were you already planning it two turns ahead, or did you read his movements last second?" 

big on post-race analysis. if you ever lose, he’s watching replays with you, pointing out moments where you could’ve gained an advantage. 

but when you win? oh, he's losing his mind. posting clips, hyping you up, grinning so hard his face hurts. "look at my girlfriend, that’s MY GIRL." 

lowkey nervous when he rides in your car for the first time. he trusts you, but he's gripping the door handle at least once. 

“this is... fast. yeah. really fast.” nervous laugh 

totally has a custom jersey with your racing number on it. wears it to your races like the supportive bf he is. 

100% the type to dream about you winning a championship and running into his arms like athletes do in sports movies (he will deny this if you ask).

BONUS: will send death threats to anyone harassing you.

nagi seishiro

first reaction? “ehh, that sounds like a lot of work.” but the moment he watches you race? he’s mesmerized. 

loves watching replays of your overtakes in slow motion. something about the precision and reflexes you have makes him think "ah, that's kinda like soccer and games, huh?"

the type to fall asleep in your lap while you're watching old race footage. mumbles "you're so cool" before passing out. 

if you let him ride shotgun, he’s totally unfazed. doesn’t scream, doesn’t flinch, just vibes like he’s on a casual sunday drive. 

but don’t let that fool you, he brags about you constantly. “my girlfriend’s job is literally speedrunning in real life.”“huh? my driving? nah, i just let her take the wheel.”

definitely asks you to pick him up from practice in your race car at least once.

bachira meguru

oh, he's obsessed. you drive fast? he thinks that’s the sexiest thing in the world. 

if you let him ride along, he's laughing the entire time. “woohoo! go faster, baby!” 

gets way too invested in your rivalries. “ugh, i hate that guy, he cut you off last race. lemme fight him.” 

definitely forces you to teach him how to drift in an empty parking lot. 

will 100% challenge you to a mario kart race and then sulk when you absolutely destroy him. 

chigiri hyoma

finally, someone who understands the need for speed! 

he loves how both of your sports are all about acceleration and precision. he’ll actually analyze your races like he does soccer matches. 

insists on stretching with you because “reaction time is everything, babe.”

if you take him for a ride, he's cool about it, until you really push the speed, and then he’s gripping the seat. “okay, okay, i get it, you’re fast – holy shit.”

lowkey loves how fierce you look in your race suit. 

barou shoei

"hmph. a sport where all you do is drive? easy." 

then he actually watches one of your races and sees how intense it is, and now he has respect. 

refuses to admit that seeing you dominate on the track is attractive, but he gives you that one approving nod after a win. 

if you let him ride in your car, he crosses his arms and acts unimpressed, but his grip on the seat betrays him. 

threatens to crush anyone who even thinks about cutting you off in a race. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[brucedefender4eva]

Thoughts on the magical powers of the bat-cape, shielder of many a Robin throughout the decades? It's one of my favourite images of all time: Hulking Batman with his baby birds literally hidden under his wing. MY HEART 💖💖💖💖🙏🙏🙏

Magic cape is always for the win!!!

Whether or not Bruce understands that his cape is magic doesn’t matter. I think it would be hilarious if he just, denies it lol. Like it’s doing its thing making him look fucking insanely creepy but Bruce is like “what are you talking about, magic doesn’t exist”

It could happen over a course of time. As he patrols and protects Gotham more throughout the years suddenly his cape seems to have a mind of its own (kinda like sentient Gotham giving her knight a better weapon.) Or maybe it was like that from the beginning and since Bruce was a lot more lax back then he kinda just accepted it with a shrug.

It’s big, it’s dark, it’s warm, and it always strangely smells like vanilla and cinnamon. The perfect place for birds to hide.

Dick did it once to hide from a criminal and it was like his eyes were opened. It is the one and only thing required to be passed down by all Robins, no matter how much you hate the new one. Required.

Unless it’s a high stress situation and being under the cape is for safety, any of the batboys fall asleep immediately.

Being in a safe place right next to their dad? Whether they like it or not Jason their bodies immediately relax and lose all tension

If there’s only one of them, instead of letting them sink into the liminal space that exists in the cape, Bruce will hold them. He will make any excuse to hold any of his children.

You can always tell when this happens, not because Batman’s stoic face changes at all, but because there is an air of ease and contentment around him

It only works for the batkids and Bruce has to be the one wearing it. If it’s not Bruce, then it just a regular cape, but once Bruce puts it on, it opens up just for his birds

Obviously, since Bruce has to be wearing it for it to appear, he’s never been inside. But he can reach into it and pull out a kid by the scruff of their neck if he has to. His kids would try and describe it but then they realize it’s different for everyone unless they’re actively trying to be together.

Like, unless Bruce says something beforehand or they see it with their own two eyes, they won’t know their sibling is also in there. Tim comes out of the cape and so does Damian and they had no idea the other was also in there (should’ve guessed, Bruce wasn’t trying to hold them)

It freaks out any superhero who sees it for the first time. Like Nightwing joins the Justice League and without explanation, just disappears into Batman’s cape??? He’s gone??? That’s a grown ass man?

Hal, ever the ballsy one, lifts up Bruce’s cape and its… nothing?? It’s just a regular cape, hiding Batman’s fucking fantastic ass. The League thinks Batman’s cape eats people and they’re wondering how to bring up this safety hazard when Nightwing pops back out holding a soda in a movie theater cup looking refreshed and relaxed

So many shenanigans, like a nice creepy cape that’s like a clown car attached to a man who can and has taken down gods before and will do it again but only easier.

[yuuhwa]

Red Flags and Red Hair

Pairing: Baku (Park Humin) x FemReader Genre: Humor + Soft Romance Context: After the previous incident, you and Baku started seeing each other more.

a/n: English is not my language, sorry for grammatical errors

You and Baku started seeing each other more often after that incident with the guys last week. What began with him walking you home turned into regular meetups — mostly unplanned, always chaotic. You bonded over shared music taste, dumb memes, and especially the fact that both of you could knock out a full-grown man if necessary. He was loud, funny, and had zero filter — but for some reason, you didn’t mind. In fact, it became the part of your day you looked forward to the most.

And now here you were, sitting at your usual spot, sipping on a can of soda and minding your own business.

Until you saw him.

You squinted. Was that—?

Oh. Oh no.

Walking towards you like he was starring in his own movie, hoodie swinging, sneakers hitting the pavement like a soundtrack, was Baku. With bright. Red. Hair.

You almost choked on your drink.

He grinned at your reaction like he’d just won a bet.

“Well?” he said, spinning dramatically in front of you. “I’m looking good, right? I mean… do I look like Hanamichi?”

You blinked.

“…The guy from Slam Dunk?”

He pointed at his head with both index fingers. “Exactly!”

You stared for a second longer. “Baku… what the hell did you do?”

He gasped, feigning offense. “Whaaat? Come on, this is iconic. Legendary. Powerful.”

You put your drink down slowly, eyes still locked on the disaster that was his bright red hair. “You look like someone dipped your head in hot sauce.”

He snorted. “Spicy. I’ll take it.”

You laughed despite yourself. “No seriously, are you trying to summon attention or summon demons?”

He stepped closer. “You love it.”

“Do I?”

“You do.”

You tilted your head. “You look like a stop sign.”

“Then stop looking if you’re gonna hate!”

“I can’t look away. It’s like a car crash.”

He held his heart. “Ouch. Okay. Rude.”

You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “What made you do this anyway?”

He shrugged. “Boredom. Plus, I always wanted to try something dumb and dramatic. But…” His voice lowered, just a notch. “I was a little nervous to show you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You? Nervous?”

He scratched the back of his head, ruffling the red mess even more. “I mean, yeah. You’re always so put together. You got that ‘cool and mysterious’ vibe. I didn’t wanna look like a clown next to you.”

You stared at him for a second. That wasn't a joke. He really meant it.

Softening your voice, you said, “Hey… You don’t look like a clown.”

He perked up instantly. “You think it suits me?”

You looked him over again — messy red strands, crooked grin, that ridiculous spark in his eyes.

“It does, actually,” you said. “It’s loud. Chaotic. Slightly alarming.”

“And that’s a good thing?”

“For you?” you teased, “Weirdly, yeah.”

He beamed.

And just when you thought he couldn’t get more endearing, he added, “So... would you ever dye yours too? I mean, not red. That’s my thing. But maybe like, blue? Or purple? We could match. Be unstoppable.”

You snorted. “We’d look like a pair of highlighters.”

“Coolest highlighters on the block,” he shot back.

You shook your head, smiling. “You’re ridiculous.”

“But you like me anyway.”

You didn’t deny it.

[chirpy-poppy]

How would the ghouls react to PC wearing their dorm uniform ? I've thought about this too much for my own good. No pressure

Thanks for the prompt! I'm guessing you mean the uniforms they get at the opening ceremony and not just the colored pin/tie (although that gave me an idea, stay tuned). Hope you like this!

Jin - How to make this man’s heart swell. Jin has a territorial personality. Seeing you in the blue that makes you look like one of his (subjects) people makes him feel secure in his relationship with you. He’d stand a little taller than usual and suddenly gets the need to take a walk with you for “exercise” and totally not to parade you around, flaunting that you’re his.

Tohma - “You look very nice.” He’d make it sound like a platitude, but he truly means it. He already considers you as one of the people in his circle, especially since the two of you spend hours in the vault taking care of Frostheim’s internal affairs together, but seeing you dress the part would truly seal the deal. He’s not one to help others if there’s nothing in it for him, but he’d feel inclined to take care of you when you’re dressed like that. 

Kaito - “Are you finally joining Frostheim? With me?” Tears stream and snot drips down his face. Even after you tell him it is just for a mission, he’d relish in the fact that you are matching. He’d try to sneak away with you during the mission to go on a “date” in your “couple’s outfit.” 

Lucas - “What is the occasion?” … “It suits you very well, PC. You should wear this more often.” Your fancy Frostheim skirt is more cumbersome than your uniform one, so he watches out for you even more. Think opening doors, getting utensils for you at the cafeteria, and carrying your bags. 

Alan - Would feel uncomfortable. “You don’t belong here. It’s dangerous.” He’d send you home to get changed. As he’s fixing up a car later that day though, he’d let his mind imagine how it’ll be like if he were a normal guy and you can sit together in class, side by side, and walk back to the dorms together. 

Leo - Starts streaming as soon as he catches sight of you. He’d come up to you talking like you did all this just for him. Showers you with sweet compliments for his viewers. When he’s done though, he’d mock you. “Why are you dressed like me? Are you in love with me or something? Ew, please don’t. I don’t want to be involved with an NPC.” As if he didn’t just force you to be involved with him for a 20 minute stream.

Sho - “Senpai? Is there a mission?”He wouldn’t compliment you outright, but he might compliment the clothes. Might hyper-fixate on one article so he’d have an excuse to keep looking at you. “That jacket looks really aerodynamic.” “It’d probably let Bonnie go even faster. Want to test it out?” If it is for a mission, he’d actually stand up to Leo if the vice-captain opposes him being partnered with you.

Haru - Might actually cry. He’s probably the one who got you the uniform, and he takes it as a green light to get you to help with some of the tasks around Jabberwock. Of course, he’d customize the uniform so it’ll accentuate your… features. Haru keeps his eyes narrow so you can’t tell which way his pupils are pointing.

Towa - Very pleased that you match. During the day, he’d drag you everywhere with him because you are twinning, and twins do everything together. He’d even drag you across the mud because Haru cannot complain about him getting your actual uniform dirty now. At night, he tells you how adorable you are. He’d note how the clothes don’t make the person since he’s very strong but you still look so weak in the jumpsuit.

Ren - Confusion. Why would you voluntarily wear something like that? He makes a disgusted face at you and yeets away as quickly as he can because this probably means you’re meeting up with Haru, and Ren is not about to entertain “that clown.” However, the next time he has to put on his own jumpsuit, he’d feel less bad about it and his own situation. But then he’d stand in front of the mirror in his green get-up and wonder why he doesn’t look nearly as cute as you in it.

Taiga - Might mistake you for a Sinostra student. He’d have an even harder time trying to remember who you are since he’s not used to you wearing those clothes. When he finally comes around his memories, he’d pull you into his lap to play poker as usual. He doesn’t have much of an eye for fashion anyway, so he wouldn’t act much differently than usual.

Romeo - “Huh. You finally don’t look like you walked out of the dumpster.” Takes you to his office to take a good look at your outfit. Will give a few critiques (obviously), but also will help you fix up your fit. By the end of the day, you are ready for the Met Gala. He might even pamper you a little bit, doing a face mask with you and dabbing some serum onto your face. You’d feel like a million dollar purse poodle, but you’re his million dollar purse poodle, and he’d personally make sure you look the part.

Ritsu - Boy’s elated. Takes it as a sign you are committing to Sinostra and bringing them the Laurel Crown as his business partner. The fact that you look stunning in it is but the fine print of this whole thing. However, if you’ve ever met Ritsu, you’d know he pays close attention to fine print.

Subaru - Tea party! He’d quickly put on his own robes if he isn’t in them already and bring you to Hotarubi’s terrace with some fancy daifuku and tea. “You look very nice, PC.” He finds eye contact a little easier that day. In fact, he keeps his eyes on you the whole time. Despite his social awkwardness, the beauty and grace you extruded while in those robes spoke to his kabuki culture and had him enraptured.

Haku - He was probably the one who tricked you into putting on the garment with the Fox Robe. “Now we look like a couple,” he’d say with a wink. He’d do this around the time of the spring festival so now you ‘have’ to go visit it together otherwise it’ll be such a waste of a good opportunity. Walks under cherry blossom trees so he can pick petals out of your hair for you. Oh no! There’s too many people here. Better hold hands so you don’t get lost!

Zenji - “You look like an absolute doll, my dear!” Walks/floats in circles around you like a satellite, taking in your new look from all angles. “You look like the first flower that blooms after a harsh winter! You breathe life and hope into the hopeless!” Non-stop poetic(?) compliments accompanied by a biwa. Expect to have your ears burning by the end of the day.

Ed - “This reminds me of the gothic era. I must say though, you manage to pull it off better than most of the children I saw back in the days.” There’s a video playing on his tablet, but he’s watching you instead as you go about cleaning his room. Might actually remember to warn you about mysterious liquids in his room so you don’t soil your clothes. 

Rui - You were supposed to look ghoulish and scary in your Obscuary get up, but Rui still finds you super cute. Then again, he finds you cute even when you’re just breathing. Takes a million pictures together. “PC, this just calls for a romantic walk through a graveyard. They say fear makes the heart grow closer!” He’d insist you stay over for the full Obscuary experience. You’d wake up to a full spread of breakfast and another Obscuary outfit hand tailored by yours truly.

Lyca - “You’re wearing more fur than usual. And more purple. Hey! Are you joining our house?” Lil pup would be so excited but try to hide it beneath his scowl. Since he didn’t get placed into the same house as Subaru, he really wants a friend as a dorm mate. Since you are human, he’d also be happy that Obscuary seems less like a place for creatures.

Yuri - “Don’t think you can become the assistant of the great Yuri Isami just because you are dressed like that.” Despite what he says, Yuri would take you around Mortkranken, showing you all the specimens and teaching you how to use the machines. “You better come back here tomorrow immediately after class so you can put some of what you learned to good use. You’d better not waste my efforts!” Oh, and you better wear that outfit again too. You’re supposed to wear lab attire in the lab, after all.

Jiro - “Take it off.” What he meant is for you to put on the patient gown so he can conduct his examination. The patient gown is basically your Mortkranken uniform any other day since that’s all you’re in whenever you go there.

[respectthepetty]

Before I do whatever it is I do for episode twenty of Perfect 10 Liners, I want to state that Junior is entering into the Fluke Gawin territory of babygirl.

And every week, I get more excited for Junior and Mark to give me more of their special brand of chemistry in My Romance Scammer.

It wasn't in my Top 5 GMMTV picks for nothin'!

So I am delighted that Junior and Mark get to play Lapis Lads in love with each other because they are easily my favorite couple in this eighteen-year-long show.

I think the only ones more happy than me are Green Guy Gun and his bestie Yellow Yal Arm.

Who is actually wearing yellow! Unlike his Red Rascal boyfriend who is wearing black.

But I'm not upset about it because I have bigger issues to focus on like Yotha constantly being true to his color and embodying his Negative Ned persona as he continues to doubt Faifa's ability to love while his sunshine boyfriend resides in Optimistic City with the rest of us.

So I loved the fact that Gun kindly reminded his man that Yotha once made him cry . . . a lot. People need time to learn to love, and thankfully, Gun gave Yotha plenty of time, so now it's time for Yotha to support his brother who was there when Gun needed him and quit being the nail in my clown car's tire!

Because Faifa is in love with Wine even if he can't say exactly that! But, to my surprise, he has been owning up to his big emotions every chance he gets. He told Wine that he purposefully bumped into him in the park. He tells Wine he is cute, and that he is trying to change his ways for him. HE REJECTS PEOPLE!

Faifa likes this dark Blue Boy!

And the whole world knows it!

Sidenote: I'm in love with the translation since it uses this idiom which also includes their color!

And even though Wine isn't 100% sure of his feelings, the colors and his actions are telling me he likes Faifa just as much as he agrees to stay on the phone with his light Blue Boy while they sleep with the light blue backing him up.

So even though these two color-coded boys in love are still trying to confirm if they need to make another plate for Wine at the family dinners,

Arm is already in his Jane Austen Emma mode and matchmaking like a true Regency era socialite. Only Arc could rein him in, and even then, Arm is prepared to pull out the final boss next week when he suggests his OTP visit the love guru known as Tawan.

And considering how everyone, including Yotha during an actual physical fight to support his brother and bestie Blue Boy Phuri, keeps telling Faifa he needs to be a bit more selfish when it comes to love and quit being so dang nice to everyone and their mom, I'm excited to see what advice Tawan will offer the boys.

Like they can't keep hiding from what is right in front of them.

And they can't keep ignoring the way they feel about each other.

They are in love with each other, and they are helping each other in all the best ways.

So if these two toxicitos could make each other better and communicate how much they love each other, then I have hope for the best Blue Boys.

But these perfectly color-coded boys have to get over a few humps first, and, unfortunately, they aren't the sexual kind.

So thank goodness Wine is there to help light Blue Boy Faifa learn how to reject people since it physically pains Faifa to not be of help at all times.

And it's even better that Faifa is turning darker for his dark Blue Boy and becoming more possessive about Wine as he slowly realizes he wants to be the only one to be his special someone.

Thank God.

And thank (Blue Boy?) Jay for asking the questions that need answers!

Because our boy deserves someone to make sure he drinks milk alternatives, changes his shattered phone cover, and gets home safely.

I love these Lapis Lads.

And soon they will realize they love each other.

But . . . will that be before or after Tor makes an appearance?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Can you imagine a fake dating scenario where you hire Lloyd to pretend to be your partner for a family gathering because you can’t stand your family and want to spend the night watching him gleefully terrorize them? 🤣

Hehehe I wrote this on the bus...

Do You Trust Me?

No explicit warnings. Comments and reblogs always welcome. Love you all! 😍

"Look, I need you on your worst behaviour," you say as you face the grey brick manner.

"You don't gotta ask me twice, toots," Lloyd comes around the front of the car to meet you. "I'll be sure to pay extra attention to the oysters."

You want to sigh and smack him in the face. That's a common feeling towards this man, you're sure. Yet you hate to admit, you need him. Just for tonight. You don't think your father could ever tolerate him longer than that.

"Come on," he taps your ass and you yipe.

"Hey!" You sneer.

"Gotta make it believable. Besides, gotta get my shots in where I can."

"Not part of the deal, Hansen." You push his hand away.

"Ah come on--"

"No, you got your money so stop."

"You know, if you want them to buy it, you're gonna have to play along. Spare a few smooches," he hooks his arm around you instead.

"Yep, and I'm dreading it." You charge forward, knowing it's too late to back out now.

You just need him to be himself. He never really has a problem with that. He is shamelessly genuine.

As you approach the door, it opens from the other side. Belinda, the resident maid, lets you in, greeting you with a smile and the offer to take your coat. Lloyd helps you out of your jacket before he removes his own. He's being... too helpful.

You look at his deep blue velvet blazer. He even dressed well. Goddamn, he couldn't find a pair of slides and some socks?

"Cut it out," you whisper as you follow Belinda.

"I'm not doing anything," he hisses back.

"For once," you snip.

He laughs softly and takes your hand as you enter the bright dining room, more of a hall. The chandelier shines over the polished table, gleaming off the cutlery and candelabra. So ostentatious but that's your parents.

"There you are, dear," your mother strides over, "we were afraid you wouldn't make it."

"Got her here in one piece," Lloyd declares, "all to see her beautiful sister."

"Sister?" Your mother gasps and touches her chest. "Nooo, I'm her mother. Oh silly. You must be the fiance?" She preens.

You send Lloyd a piercing look. He's charming when he tries but why is he doing that?

"Could've fooled me," he grins and takes her hand, "honored."

He kisses her knuckles and you almost recoil. She giggles. Your mother. A giggle. Like a school girl.

"Where's dad?" You ask. He's harder to impress.

"He's around. He was just going out to get--"

"Ah, you're here," your father's staunch tone carries across the high ceiling. You turn to meet him. "And this is your... addition."

He nods at Lloyd and offers his hand. The shake, veins bulging in their masculine tango. Your father hums and pulls the cigar from behind his ear.

"Lloyd Hansen, sir," your plus one introduces himself. "Is that a black dragon?"

Your father squints and dips his chin again, "you know your cigars?"

"I'm a casual purveyor, no enthusiast by any means."

"Hansen," you cough and touch your throat. "I mean, honey," you tug on him. "Can I talk to you?"

"Ah, sorry, sir, she's the boss," he says to your dad and turns to you, "yes, dear?"

"Come here," you growl and drag him away.

You take him to the corner and face him, "hullo? What are you doing? You said you would ruin this. Okay? I need out of this bloodline."

"Pfft. You don't know what you got, toots," his eyes scan the walls. "This is spectacular--"

"No, shut up," you whisper sharply. "You promised-- I paid you. Alright? I just need you to get me out of this dumb arrangement. I don't get my trust unless I marry, well, if my fiance is a clown, my parents might just pay me to call the whole thing off--"

"That's a good deal. How much is the trust?"

You tweak your brow and puff out in exasperation, "Hansen..."

"Ah, you know me, baby," he winks, "I'm no good at doing what I'm told. Besides...." he runs his hand down his chest; a designer tie under the velvet and looks around. "Googled this place and well, I like what I see." He turns back to you, "don't look so heartbroken, toots, it's not just the money. I got me a wife with a hot ass to boot."

You gasp and raise your hand. He catches it and cradles it with his other. He kisses it and chuckles.

"Don't worry, you'll get a full refund," he slithers.

[loverslantern]

The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: An old friend of John's leads the group on a hunt for a clown.

Warnings: cannon violence, death, grieving, clowns, possible inaccurate Tarot reading and representation (I did my best with research), banter, flirting?

Word Count: 11.6k

Everybody Loves a Clown

(Masterlist, Previous Chapter, Outfit Board)

  It’s been a week since we had John’s Viking funeral, and everything’s pretty much gone to shit. John is dead, the Colt is gone, and we have no leads.

   I had to send Adeline back home, both of us agreeing that this wasn’t the time for greetings. I haven’t gone to see my brother either, feeling that it wouldn’t be right to leave right now. But we made plans for me to head to him sometime soon. So to say the overall morale is low would be an understatement.

   But we’ve been staying at Bobby’s, which has been nice. I think I’m growing on the old man, he hasn’t pointed a gun at me since or given me any particularly weird looks.

  In the meantime, each day has been close to the same, but in a nice way. I mean, it’s nice to be living somewhere that isn't motel to motel, something stable. I have my own room, all sunlight pouring in, and quilt blankets. The floorboards creak with nearly every step in that well-loved way that becomes second nature. Bobby makes breakfast in the morning, though I surprised him with pancakes once, and while it's cooking, I go out to the porch, taking in the fresh and warm air. Like clockwork, I find myself walking off to where Dean’s been working, always up ridiculously early to fix the Impala that was left a crushed piece of metal in the wake of the car crash. I didn’t even know a car could look like that, or that it could be fixable, but he’s determined, and he’d never let Baby go. 

  I'd hang around him for a while, bringing him a mug of hot coffee and company. Sometimes we’ll talk, and other times we’ll sit in a comfortable silence before I try to convince him to come inside and eat. And again like clockwork, he’ll refuse, say he’s fine till I leave, then I’ll come back with a plate for him, lingering till I know he’s eaten.

  He hasn’t been doing that well. He won’t talk about what happened with his Dad or allow himself to express any emotions. He throws himself into his work. It’s not that Sam is that much better; he just regulates and expresses his emotions better. There have been multiple nights, and sometimes afternoons, that I have held him while he cried, I don’t mind it. I’m glad he feels comfortable enough to do so. I think we both wish Dean were the same in that way. We’re all concerned. So, today's no different.

  It’s a hot summer day, the sun seeming to beat down harsher as it reflects off the stacked hunks of metal in the junkyard. I balance a bottle of water, a glass of lemonade, and a plate in my hands as I navigate my way to where Dean always is. The muscles in his back flex beneath the fitted grey shirt, sticking to him like a new layer of skin from sweat. That was a pro to all of this, he looked ridiculously good as he worked. Maybe, a little too good. Anyways, I put the sandwich plate and bottle down on the cart he’s got out here filled with all sorts of tools I couldn't begin to name, except that one was definitely a wrench. 

  “Hey, sweetheart,” he greets without looking up from the inside of the hood, knowing it was me before I said anything. I now know for a fact that nothing could replace the sound of his voice, I could listen to him say ‘hey’ a million times and never grow tired of the syllable. 

  “Hello,” I answer cheerfully.“‘Made some lemonade,” I announce, moving closer to hold out the glass cup for him.

  He looks over at me, grease streaked on his cheek, and in patches on his shirt. He’s staring as if he’s contemplating something; whatever it is, he puts the tool in his hand down, taking a rag from nearby to wipe at his grease-stained hands. His biceps flex with every wipe, and he smells like motor oil and sweat in a somehow not disgusting way. Jesus Christ, he’s  so hot. 

  His eyes drag up my frame, over the denim shorts, the brown belt, and the small amount of stomach that's exposed between my shorts and my light pink shirt. “You know, you don’t have to keep doin’ all this,” he says, eyes finally meeting mine. 

  My stomach does all sorts of flips from that damn look, fingers tightening around the cup. “If that’s supposed to get me to stop, it isn’t working,” I answer. I’d happily bring him meals and keep him company. It didn’t bother or annoy me to any extent, and I was secretly hoping that it might also make him feel comfortable enough to talk about his feelings. But, if that didn’t happen, then that would be okay too, because at least I’ll know he isn’t alone and he’s taken care of. I mean, how many times has he seen me crumble in front of him and every time, without fail, picked me up and held me together without me having to say a word? I never had to say anything, it’s just in his nature. It’s one of the things I love about him, he cares so much about people. So doing this is the least I can do for him, though even if he hadn’t done anything I would still do it. 

  “Wasn’t complainin’,” he shrugs, throwing the rag onto Baby. Finally, he takes the lemonade from me, his fingers brushing mine, smudging some grease he missed onto the back of my fingers. 

  “Good,” I nod, my stomach doing a flip, “Cause I’m pretty sure if I didn’t, you would starve and dehydrate out here.”

  A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, covered by the cup he brings to his mouth. His head tilts back a little, his throat bobbing as he downs the sweet liquid. “I do go inside, you know,” he answers, pulling the mostly empty cup from his lips.

  “Sure you do, grease-ball,” I tease, watching him put down the cup in the cart. He steals a big bite of the sandwich before returning to his work.

  “What? You don’t hear me stomping in at night?” he asks through the mouthful of bread and deli meat. 

  “No, ‘cause I’m sleeping soundly, which you should be doing too,” I answer, leaning my hip against the warm metal.

  “Well, Baby ain’t gonna fix herself, darlin’,” he grumbles.

  “Okay, true, but you also need to take breaks. Speaking of which, I found this family of fat raccoons living in one of the broken-down cars in the yard, and I think I hear them calling us to feed them,” I say, putting on my best convincing smile. 

  He snorts, shaking his head. “If they’re fat, then they don’t need our help.”

  “That’s mean.”

  “How’s that mean?” he retorts, lips twitching as if he were trying not to laugh.

  “They still need to eat!” I defend, crossing my arms across my chest. “And you should see them! They’re really fricking cute, and fluffy, and soft, and they use their little hands to grab stuff.”

  He pauses his work, looking over at me. “Did you touch ‘em already?”

  “No…” I mumble, face dropping.

  He gives me a knowing, pointed look, seeing right through me. “You’re not supposed to touch wild animals. ‘Could have rabies, ‘specially if you’re dealing with a raccoon in the daytime.”

  “They don’t have rabies, don’t worry,” I answer, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. This was not the first time we’ve had a conversation like this.

  “You know that for sure, or ‘you just saying that?”

  “I know for sure,” I nod. “And again, they’re really fricking cute!”

  He shakes his head, smirking. “Bobby’s gonna kill you.”

  “No, he just gets to have more friends,” I defend. “And you could too if you came with me.”

  “‘Don’t need any more friends, sweetheart,” he answers.

  “Says the man who has no raccoon friends. Frankly, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” I conclude.

  “Yeah?” he smirks, facing me. “C’mere.”

  My breath gets lodged in my throat, my stomach dropping about a hundred floors, while simultaneously doing a backflip. I take a tentative step forward, and he scuffs, closing the small distance between us. He lifts his hand, carefully cradling my cheek, fingers tangling in my hair. His other hand comes up, the rag now dangling from his fingers as he takes the cleanest corner and carefully swipes it across my cheek. 

  “So, is this a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ to the raccoons?” I mumble, trying hard not to stare at his lips.

  “It’s neither,” he answers just as quietly, focused on cleaning the grease from my cheek. He pulls away, looking over his work, and I have half the mind not to follow after him. He takes my hand from my side, holding it carefully in his as he runs the rag over the smear of grease on the back of my fingers.

  It feels natural. I haven’t told him I loved him, the timing hasn’t been right, and likely wouldn’t be for a while. I mean, how can I say “Oh, I know your Dad just died and all, but did I mention how I’m totally and utterly in love with you?”

  Yeah. No. That was never going to happen. So, I can settle for whatever this is. I can. Definitely. 

  His hands fall from mine, and suddenly they’re cradling my face again. He brings my face closer, his lips pressing against my forehead. My breath hitches, my hand shooting up to his forearm, not to push him away but to touch him. My eyes flutter shut, my heart aching in my chest as if it were trying to reach him. My breath shudders in an exhale as he pulls away, my eyes slowly opening to find his. But then he’s stepping away, warm hands slipping back to his sides, as if nothing had occurred. I don’t say anything, words stuck in my throat. He goes back to silently working on Baby, and I stand there watching him for two beats before I gather enough wits to leave. I can feel the lingering press of his lips the entire walk back to the house.

 When I walk up the steps, Sam is leaning against the porch. “Get ready to leave; I found someone Dad was talking to,” he directs.

  “You cracked his phone?” I ask, knowing it was what he was working on.

  “Yeah,” he nods, silence following. “He’s still talking with you?”

  “Dean? Yeah.”

  He shakes his head. “I’m glad someone can get through to him. I don’t know how you do it.”

  I know what he’s hinting at. It’s not far from what John said in our last conversation. 

  “It’s the raccoons, Sammy. The raccoons.” 

“What?”

********

  The beat-up blue van rattles into the parking lot of the Roadhouse Saloon, where John’s contact, Eileen, stays. “This is humiliating,” Dean grumbles, “I feel like a fuckin’ soccer mom!” Unsurprisingly, he had been complaining the whole drive here. 

  “We should get you a bumper sticker,” I suggest.

  “No,” he replies sharply, shutting the idea down immediately. 

  “Well, it’s the only car Bobby had running,” Sam explains as we get out.

  The parking lot is empty, and the lights of the bar are off. “Maybe they disapprove of day drinking,” I remark, peeking through the window to see a barren bar.

  “One way to find out,” Dean answers. “Hey. You bring the, uh…”

  “Of course,” Sam replies, tossing something to him. He catches it with ease, unrolling the material to find lock-picking tools.

  “I can save us time and open the door, you know that, right?” I point out, watching as he gets to work.

  “No. No using magic around here till we know it’s safe. You’re not coming inside with us either,” Dean announces, his mind already made up.

  “What?” I exclaim. “We never discussed this.”

  “‘Didn’t have to,” he answers cooly. “If it’s someone Dad knew, then it’s probably a hunter, which means it's not safe for you.”

  “That’s not fair,” I complain. “I can take care of myself just fine. Sam, help me out here, please.”

  “I actually agree with him.”

  “Nooo,” I protest, shaking my head. “You’re not supposed to agree with him. This is like the one time you should disagree with him! And, I’m not gonna let you guys walk into some random building!”

  “This ain’t up for debate, sweetheart. You’re staying out here,” Dean orders, pushing the door open. I stand in mild shock, watching them disappear into the dark building. He gave me no chance to argue further. 

  I grumble to myself, toeing a small rock. Stupid orders, and stupidly good points made. Sure, he’s probably correct, but we could’ve at least discussed it; now I feel like a dog tied outside a store. The rock scrapes against the gravel, getting lost in the masses of little dark rocks. 

  I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen if I go in and don't use magic? Then, I’d be like any other normal person breaking into a bar. Though I suppose there is the point that somehow other hunters caught word that I was with the Winchesters, according to Bobby, which is odd because who the hell is spreading gossip? And, how did anyone know about me? About a year ago, I was flying pretty below the radar.

  But this is lame. I’m one minute away from banging my head against the car and or putting the most obnoxious bumper stickers on it. I huff, walking up to the door. “What’s really stopping me?” I contemplate, staring at the handle. 

  Frick it. I pull the door open, making sure it doesn’t slam behind me as I creep in. It’s dark in here, a single light bulb flickering dimly. I stay close to the wall, using the dark to my advantage. Dean is standing near the middle of the bar, hands raised to his face as a short blonde girl (or short compared to a “6’1 man) points a shotgun to his chest.

 Swiftly, I dip my hand behind my back and below the waistband of my shorts, pulling out the small revolver as I stalk forward, my footsteps silent. He sees me coming, though, facing my way. 

  I point the gun directly at the back of her head. “Put the gun down,” I order cooly, cocking the gun. See? No magic used. Well, that’s not totally true because that gun was definitely not in my pants a couple of minutes ago.

  Her shoulders tense slightly, “I’ll shoot him,” she threatens.

  “A revolver shoots faster than a shotgun,” I reply quickly. “Do you want to test that out?” I glance up at him, finding that he’s already staring at me, his hands at his nose. I focus back on her. She’s contemplating it, fingers adjusting on the gun. A door towards the back of the room creaks open, but I don’t risk looking up.

  “Nice for you to join us, Sam,” Dean announces, muffled by his hands cupping his nose.

  “Sorry, Dean, I got a…little tied up,” he answers, hands on his head. He’s forced to walk forward, a handgun pressed to his back, leading him forward. He nods behind him towards an older brunette woman only a little taller than the blonde.

  “Sam? Dean? Winchester?” The older woman asks. 

  “Yeah,” the boys answer in unison.

  “Son of a bitch,” the woman mutters.

  “Mom, you know these guys?” the blonde girl asks.

  “Yeah, I think these are John Winchester’s boys,” she lowers her gun, laughing, “Hey, I’m Ellen. This is my daughter, Jo.”

  The blonde, Jo, lowers her shotgun, prompting me to do the same. I tuck the gun back into my shorts, stepping away. This was certainly a way to meet someone. “I thought I told you to stay outside,” Dean says, looking past Jo to me, completely ignoring any greetings. I guess I can’t just sneak away.

  “I got bored!” I reason rather childishly. He gives me a pointed look, somehow managing that annoyed glare of his while clutching his nose. Ellen walks over, handing him a small towel filled with ice.

  “I don’t know you, though,” she says, looking my way. 

  Okay, wow, I can’t get away with anything today. “Oh, uh, I’m Y/N…L/N. It’s nice to meet you,” I greet with an awkward, tight-lipped smile. 

  “L/N?” she echoes. She has an all-knowing look to her, like with all the people she’s seen working at a bar she could figure anyone out. Maybe she could. She’s not intimidating exactly, but she has a sort of wisdom I know I shouldn’t question. 

  “Yeah, I mean, my Dad was sort of friends with John, so maybe that’s why it sounds familiar, but you probably didn’t know him; he didn't really have friends,” I say bluntly. Dean snorts, immediately huffing afterwards as he presses the ice firmly to his face. “What? It’s true, he didn’t have any friends besides John.”

  It feels weird to say his name now that he’s gone; it feels like the energy dies in the room. I shift my weight onto one foot, uncomfortable with what this has become. Death is a strange thing. I don’t feel so upset that John died, and yet that makes me feel horrible. He was a bad father. He was manipulative and abusive, but does that mean he deserved to die? I don’t know, because now the Winchesters are without a father; they no longer have any family.

  I’m grateful for what John did, Dean is alive because of him. Yet, I know he didn’t do it for Dean. He did it for himself as a last chance to prove he was a good father. But, sacrifice doesn’t erase pain; it doesn’t mean that everything that he put those boys through, put Dean through, didn’t happen, and for that I can’t miss him, or mourn him the same. More than that, though, death does not erase the pain someone inflicted on you; if anything it solidifies it, knowing that for a final time you will never get an answer as to ‘why.’ It reminds me of my Dad.

  Dean clears his throat, putting the focus on him. “You called our Dad, ‘said you could help. Help with what?” he asks, putting us back on track to the reason we came here in the first place.

  “Well, the demon, of course,” she answers matter-of-factly. “I heard he was closing in on it.”

  “What, was there an article in the Demon Hunters Quarterly that I missed?” he mocks, growing defensive. “I mean, who are you? How do you know about all this?”

  “Hey, I just run a saloon. But hunters have been known to pass through now and again. Including your Dad a long time ago. John was like family once,” she answers, seemingly unbothered by his attitude. It’s sort of what Dean had suspected. Ellen may not be a hunter herself, but she was sure as hell exposed to them.

  “Oh yeah?” he challenges bitterly. “How come he never mentioned you before?”

  “You’d have to ask him that,” she retorts.

  They go back and forth like a tennis match. “So why exactly do we need your help?” Dean bites.

  “Hey, don’t do me any favors. Look, if you don’t want my help, fine. Don’t let the door smack your ass on the way out,” she remarks, handling his attitude with ease. “But John wouldn’t have sent you if…” She pauses, something passing in her eyes. “He didn’t send you,” she realizes. “He’s alright, isn’t he?”

  “No. No, he isn’t,” Sam answers. “It was the demon, we think. It, um, it just got him before he got it, I guess.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We’re alright,” Dean lies. He’s been lying a lot lately. He refuses to admit that he’s affected by his father's death as if he has to prove he’s stronger than that. I wish he realized no one expects him to be strong through this, but when I had brought it up, he changed the conversation, and I knew I’d have to wait for him.

  “Really? I know how close you and your Dad were,” she replies.

  “Really, lady, I’m fine,” he grumbles.

  “Dean,” I say softly. His jaw twitches, lips pressed then pursed together. He’s displacing his feelings, and it isn’t fair to Ellen.

  “So, look, if you can help, we could use all the help we can get,” Sam admits, a little defeated by it all.

  “Well, we can’t. But Ash will,” she replies.

  “Who’s Ash?” I ask.

  “Ash!” she yells without looking away. 

  A figure by the pool table suddenly jolts up, flailing. “What? It’ closin’ time?” he asks, looking around through squinted eyes. He’s a southern stereotype on crack with his thick accent and absurd mullet, his arms on display with the sleeveless flannel he wears.

  “That’s Ash?” Sam remarks.

  “Mm-hmm. He’s a genius,” Jo answers, leaning against the bar top next to her mother. I almost ask if she’s joking, but decide against it.

  He bounds over to the bar, gesturing for us to gather around. We share a look of reluctance before following suit, Sam taking the bar stool next to him. I’m hesitant to take the seat on the other side of him, especially if Dean wants to take it, but as if sensing this, he places his hand on my middle back, quietly encouraging me forward. I hop up onto the bar stool, sitting sideways. Dean stands beside Ash and me, his hand leaning on the countertop by my waist, arm encircling my back as he stands at my side.

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me, this guy’s no genius. He’s a Lynyrd Skynyrd roadie,” Dean complains, comparing him to the guy who sings “Sweet Home Alabama.”

  “He’s also sitting right in front of you,” I point out.

  “I like you,” Ash tells Dean, a simple smile on his face. He seems too simple-minded to be considered intelligent.

  “Thanks,” Dean answers uncomfortably. 

  “Just give him a chance,” Jo intervenes, nearly laughing as she pours glasses of water. She either understands why we’re reluctant to believe them, or she gets this a lot.

  Dean reaches into his leather jacket, pulling out a brown folder. “Alright,” he says, placing it on the tabletop. “This stuff’s about a year’s worth of our Dad’s work, so uh, let’s see what you make of it.

  Ash gets right into it, rifling through the various articles of paper. Immediately, he shakes his head, “Come on. This crap ain’t real. There ain’t nobody ‘can track a demon like this.”

  “Our Dad could,” Sam reasons.

  “There are non-parametrics, statistical overviews, prospects and correlations, I mean damn! They’re signs. Omens,” he rants. Okay, maybe he is smart or at least knows what he’s talking about. “Uh, if you can track ‘em, you can track this demon. You know, like crop failures, electrical storms. You ever been struck by lightning? It ain’t fun.”   “Ha–have you?” I ask, mildly concerned. 

  “You smell good,” he remarks, turning his head to look at me. And somehow that is answer enough to the lightning question.

  “Thanks,” I chirp, taking a glimpse at Dean, but his eyebrows are furrowed, and he’s too busy staring down Ash. 

  “Can you track it or not?” Sam cuts in, putting us back on track.

  “Yeah, with this, I think so. But it’s gonna take time, uh, give me…fifty-one hours,” he answers, getting up to leave.

  “That’s awfully specific,” I mumble.

  “Hey, man?” Dean calls out before Ash gets too far.

  “Yeah.”

  “I, uh, I dig the haircut,” he compliments, mostly poking fun at it.

  “All business up front, party in the back,” he smiles brightly, nodding as he walks away. He’s a little odd, but maybe that’s okay, I mean, he seems nice.

  Jo rounds the bar, passing by with a smile thrown Dean’s way. I watch his eyes drop down her frame, and my heart went with it. I don’t know what's wrong with me. It’s a look I’ve seen him give countless times before. I’m used to this. I am. But, I guess, there was a part of me that had remained in the range of hope, like maybe the way he cleaned my face and kissed my forehead had meant something. It was like a childish crush that you read into way too much. I’ve tried to give up the hope of us over and over again, and yet I’m always right back where I started. I’m an idiot, I know it. I swallow down my feelings, turning inward so that I wouldn’t have to see him walk after her. Even so, I feel his arm fall away, and I hear the scuff of his boots against the wooden floors. Of course, he would go after her. I don’t have the same confidence like the girls he went for, at least in flirting. I don’t have the balls to give him a look and sway my hips like some sort of mating call. Maybe I’d get somewhere if I did try that, or I’d embarrass myself for the next century. 

  “Hey, Ellen, what is that?” Sam asks, nodding to a shelf behind the bar. 

  “That’s a police scanner, Sammy, are you losing you’re touch?” I tease, tilting my head towards him.

  A smile breaks onto his face as he scuffs and shakes his head, “No, Y/N, I know that. I meant the folder,” he clarifies.

  “I was gonna give this to a friend of mine. But take a look, if you want,” Ellen answers, grabbing the manila folder and placing it in front of Sam. I move over a seat so that I can take a peek as well, closing the gap between us. The folder contains newspaper clippings with annotations made in a red marker. A couple was murdered in Wisconsin, but their child was kept alive.

  “We should check it out,” he suggests.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” I mumble.

********

  It’s dark by the time we’ve hit the road, rain pouring down the highway. I lift my feet onto the seat, leaning on the armrest, a perk of the minivan. 

  “You’ve gotta be kidding me. A killer clown?” Dean remarks.

  “Yeah. He left the daughter unharmed and killed the parents. Ripped them to pieces, actually,” Sam informs.

  “Ugh, that's so cool,” I gush. “This is so A House of a Thousand Corpses, or It, or…oh! Insane Clown Posse. I mean, not that murder is cool because it’s really sad those people died, especially in such a horrible way, but a clown? A damn carnival? Like, come on!”

  “Well, I know Sam isn’t sharing the same excitement,” Dean remarks. “‘Why did it have to be clowns?’” he mocks, putting on his best Sam impression.

  “Oh, give me a break,” Sam grumbles, rolling his eyes.

  Dean laughs, hard, “You didn’t think I’d remember, did you? I mean, come on, you still bust out crying whenever you see Ronald McDonald on the television.”

   “Well, at least I’m not afraid of flying,” he counters.

  “Planes crash!”

  “And apparently clowns kill!”

  “You guys are so stupid,” I say with adoration.

  “Says the one afraid of sharks,” Sam remarks, lips pursed in that sassy way of his.

  “They eat people!” I argue, sitting up straight with my feet on the floor. 

  “No, they don’t. Hippos are more likely to kill someone than a shark!” Sam defends.

  “We are not having this argument again!”

  “Alright, alright nerds, calm it down,” Dean mediates. “How do we know we’re not dealing with some psycho carnie in a clown suit?” 

  “Well, the cops have no viable leads, and all the employees were tearing down shop. Alibis all around. Plus, this girl said she saw a clown vanish into thin air. Cops are saying trauma, of course,” Sam explains.

  “Classic,” I agree. I think I’ve lost count of all the times something real, although supernatural, was tossed aside as a trauma response. 

  “These murders ever happen before?” Dean asks. 

  “Uh, according to the file, 1981, the Bunker Brothers Circus, same M.O. It happened three times, in three different locations.”

  “It’s weird, though, I mean if it is a spirit it’s usually bound to a specific location, you know, a house, or a town,” Dean points out. 

  “Then it's a cursed object,” I answer. “But then I would think it would occur more often, considering how long the carnival has been around. Does it need specific conditions to, uh, I don’t know, summon? Is that even a thing?”

  “A paranormal scavenger hunt, great,” Sam sighs. 

  I laugh, “You’re just mad it might mean hanging around clowns longer than you would like. You know, clowns aren’t all that scary, you might just hate enjoyment.”

  “This is Grandma over here, of course, he hates fun,” Dean adds.

  “I can say the same thing about sharks! Oh, you’re not gonna go to the beach? You hate the sun and fun,” he mocks, turning around in the passenger seat to face me. 

  “Dude, they have sharp teeth and freaky eyes. What do clowns have, huh? Makeup?!” I argue, leaning forward in my seat, the seatbelt protesting. 

  He glares at me, ready to throw something back, when Dean forces him to sit forward. “I will pull this car over!” He lectures.

  “Okay, mom,” I mock, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms. 

  “Stop,” he groans, cringing. 

  “I guess the minivan life has really gotten to you, Dean,” I remark, digging my heels in, earning another groan and an internal eye roll.

  “I hate this damn car,” he grumbles, huffing. “By the way, this case was your idea, Sam. Why is that? You were awfully quick to jump on this job.”

  “So?” he answers.

  “It’s just…not like you, that’s all. I thought you were hell-bent for leather on the demon hunt,” Dean points out.

  “I don’t know, I just think, this job, it’s what Dad would have wanted us to do,” he shrugs, and it’s not very convincing. I have more than a sneaking suspicion that he’s doing this as a distraction or to get Dean out of the house. Sam can regulate his emotions pretty well, but Dean cannot. He hasn’t exactly been himself. Hell, he didn’t hook up with Jo like I thought he would. I don't think he really even flirted. A part of me is glad, but another part of me knows that that is a sign that something is wrong. When would he ever miss the opportunity to get with someone?

  “What Dad would have wanted?” Dean echoes.

  “Yeah. So?” he doubles down.

  “Nothin’.”

  Big red and white tents are pitched up around the large grass lot. “This is so awesome,” I mumble, looking around at the booths of games and rides set up like the Ferris wheel off in the distance. When do we ever get a fun job like this? 

  Detectives in grey suits disrupt the colorful image, sticking out amongst the brightly dressed carnies around them, some of them already in their makeup and costumes. Dean and I had wandered over, Sam insisting it's fine if he stayed behind with the car, which was just code for him not wanting to be anywhere near the carnies. But, as we walk back to him, a very short woman dressed as a clown walks by him, staring at him. His eyes go wide, digging his hands deeper into his pockets as he gives her a nervous smile. Poor guy.

  “Did you get her number?” Dean jokes, a smug look on his face. I try not to laugh for Sam’s sake, biting back my smile.

  He glares sharply at his brother, scowling. “More murders?”

  “Yup. Another couple ripped to ribbons, and their son left untouched,” I answer.

  “Who fingered a clown?” Sam says.

  I do a double-take, blinking twice, Dean and I looking at him weirdly. “Wh–why would you say that?” I ask, confused and concerned. “What does that mean?”

  “What?” he responds.

  “Yeah, a clown, who apparently vanished into thin air,” Dean continues, moving past whatever just happened. Unfortunately, I cannot erase it from my mind because literally, what does he mean?

  “Dean, you know, looking for a cursed object is like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles. They could be anything,” Sam points out.

  “Well, it’s bound to give off EMF, so we’ll just have to scan everything,” he answers.

  “Oh, good, that’s nice and inconspicuous,” Sam remarks.

  “With all the fun to be had here and to look at, I’m sure we won’t stick out too much,” I reason.

  “Just in case, we’ll blend right in,” Dean adds, gesturing with a nod to a ‘Help Wanted’ sign.

********

  We wander into a random tent after giving up on trying to find the boss’s office. A man nearby throws knives into a wooden board, silver flying through the air to just miss the bull's-eye. Even with the missing, it’s a cool talent, it looks like something out of a comic book.

  “Excuse me, we’re looking for a Mr. Cooper. Have you seen him around?” Dean asks the man. 

  The man turns around with a snarl on his lips. “What is that, some kind of joke?” he bites, gesturing towards his sunglasses. He’s blind. 

  “Oh. God, I’m…I’m so sorry,” Dean apologizes, his face dropping.

  “You think I wouldn’t give my teeth to see Mr. Cooper? Or a sunset, or anything at all?” the man rants, using the knife to point as emphasis. 

  “Wanna give me a little help here?” Dean mumbles to us, looking at either of us for help. But Sam just shakes his head, this undoubtedly being his payback for all the clown jokes. 

  “I’m sorry, sir, for his rudeness,” I start, making sure my voice sounds extra friendly. I didn’t think what Dean said was rude, considering he didn’t know the man was blind, and the fact that the man had taken the question literally. Regardless, to smooth things over, I’ll have to agree with him. “He didn’t mean any harm,” I continue. “We’re just interested in getting a job here and thought you might be someone who would know where to find Mr. Cooper.”

  “Hey man, is there a problem?” someone suddenly says. I follow the voice down to a short man in a red cape, an irritated look on his face. I guess trying to smooth things over isn’t really working. 

  “This guy hates blind people! And, she’s dating him!” The knife-throwing man declares, the last bit feeling like a random jab.

  “No, I don’t, I…”

  “We’re not…He doesn’t…”

  “Hey buddy, what’s your problem?” the man in the cape spits, sizing Dean up. 

  “Nothing, it’s just a little misunderstanding,” Dean tries to reason.

  “Little?!” the man yells. “You son of a bitch!”

  “No, no, no, no!”

  Sam laughs.

  “Oh my god, Dean, please stop talking,” I plead, his face in full panic. I step in front of him. “I am so sorry for him. He really doesn’t mean to be offensive, he’s just not thinking,” I go on, trying to clear this disaster up. “If you could pretty please show us to Mr. Cooper, we would forever be grateful and appreciative it lots.”

  The short man holds my gaze for a moment, eyes fierce with irritation. Then they drop down and slowly make their way back up. “Follow me,” he nods. “And you should really break up with that one.”

  “Oh, we’re not…we…okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

********

  “You picked a hell of a time to join up,” Mr. Cooper remarks, slouching in his chair. He’s a bigger guy wearing a charcoal grey suit jacket, a colorful plaid button-up below it. He looks rather sickly with his pale, sweaty skin, though maybe that’s the stress of everything going on. Maybe his balding is also a result of prolonged stress, with only patches on either side of his head. “Take a seat,” he orders.

  There are only two seats in front of his desk: a normal fold-out chair and a baby pink chair that has a beaming clown as its back, its arms extending to be the armrests. Dean bolts quickly to the normal chair in the least casual way possible. Sam scowls, fidgeting before he gives me a convincing smile. I mentally roll my eyes at their childish behavior, taking the clown seat, leaving Sam to stand awkwardly in the middle, but if that's what he prefers, then I guess why not? At least the chair is pink.

  “We’ve got all kinds of local trouble,” Mr. Cooper continues, his voice gruff.

  “What do you mean?” Dean asks.

  “Oh, a couple of folks got themselves murdered. Cops always seem to start here first,” he answers. My eyebrow quirks. Why would he say it like that? They “got themselves” killed? Is he really blaming them? “So, you three ever worked the circus before?” he asks, moving on like he hadn’t said anything bizarre.

  “Yes, sir, last year through Texas and Arkansas,” Sam lies.

  “Yeah,” Dean adds.

  “Doing what? Ride jockeys? Butcher? Were you a trapeze artist, girl?” he lists out, leaning forward. The light shining off his bald spot.

  “Yeah, it’s, uh, a little bit of everything, I guess,” Sam answers, shifting his weight from one foot to the next. Whenever I think they’re good liars, they prove the opposite.

  “You three have never worked a show in your lives before, have you?” he figures out quickly. 

  “Nope. But we really need the work,” Dean admits. “Oh, and uh, Sam here’s got a thing for the bearded lady.”

  He is so unhelpful. We’re losing Mr. Cooper here; at this rate, we aren’t going to get anything. “You know, actually,” I start, sitting at the edge of my chair in an attempt to reel him in. “I can do Tarot readings, use a crystal ball, that kind of stuff.” This is not the way I necessarily want to use my abilities, but we need an in. And it’s the truth, I can do those things, I just don’t. There’s a lot I can do that I don’t; it’s safer that way. “I come from a line of women who did that sort of thing,” I half lie, trying anything to rope him in.

  His eyebrow quirks, tongue pressing into his cheek as he stares at me as if evaluating me. I don’t know what he’s looking for, if it’s for the truth or in search of skill. “You see that picture?” he replies instead, pointing up at the wall. A black and white photo of a man standing in front of a large circus tent is framed, hanging amongst other photos and posters. “That’s my daddy,” he adds.

  “You look just like him,” Sam answers, truthfully.

  “He was in the business. Ran a freakshow ‘til they outlawed them, most places,” he explains. “Apparently, displaying the deformed isn’t dignified. So, most of the performers went from honest work to rotting in hospitals and asylums. That’s progress, I guess. You see, this place it’s a refuge for outcasts. Always has been. For folks that don’t fit in nowhere else.” He looks at me directly as he continues, “Now, sure, I can take you. I see something in you. But, you and these two?” He looks between us. “You should go to school. Find a couple girls or a boy. Have two point five kids. Live regular.”

  “Sir?” Sam starts, “We don’t want to go to school. And we don’t want regular. We want this.”

********

  The sun beams down on us in a soft, warm glow as we leave the small office. We got jobs at the carnival, due to start later in the afternoon. Somehow, the disaster of the interview worked in our favor. I mean, Sam can be quite convincing. 

  “Huh,” Dean hums.

  “What?” Sam answers.

  “That whole, uh, I don’t want to go back to school thing. Were you just saying that to Cooper, or were you…you know, saying it? Sam?” he asks.

  “I don’t know,” Sam answers.

  Dean shoots me a weary look. “You don’t know? I thought once the demon was dead and the fat lady sings that you were gonna take off, head back to Wussy State.”   “I’m having second thoughts,” he admits, shrugging.

  Dean and I share a worried look, glancing at each other as if to check we weren’t hearing wrong. “You still have time to think about it,” I encourage. “You’d make a pretty good lawyer, you know.”

  Yet, he doesn’t seem so convinced. “Dad would have wanted me to stick with the job,” he reasons.

  “No offense, but who cares what your Dad thought or wanted. Sam, you can have a life—the life you wanted, there’s nothing wrong with that,” I almost said a little too firmly. I wanted them both to understand that, and I can feel Dean's eyes on me, tracing down my face.

  “When have you ever gave a damn about what Dad wanted? You spent half your life doing exactly what he didn’t want,” Dean adds, toppling in before Sam could say anything.

  “Since he died, okay?” he answers defensively. “Do you have a problem with that?”

  We share a look for the third time in less than five minutes. But then he shakes his head, settling with an “Naw, I don’t have a problem at all.”

  Dark purple and pink velvet curtains drape around the tent's skeleton, the dome drenched in warm orange lighting. Despite the sun outside, it’s dark and cozy. Thick red, green, blue, and yellow candles are lit on every possible surface, and glass jars and animal skulls are littered around the tables. A maroon rug with gold markings lies on the floor, a dark circular table rests on top of it, a chair on either side. 

  Not a single inch of the tent isn’t busy, with star garland and lanterns dangling from the ceiling. It’s filled in a way I forgot I loved so much, reminiscent of being home. In a way, it feels like home, the soft, entrancing, melodic notes humming in the background as I shuffle the old Tarot cards. It’s an old deck from the ’70s, the edges worn, the back of the cards a light brown plaid.

  Anyone can learn how to do and read Tarot, but there's the underlying aspect of being able to do something here, and for no one to bat an eye. People come here expecting to see something strange and unusual, and that’s what I am. I can be a witch here. Admittedly, card reading is hardly a grain of sand compared to what I can do, but this is refreshing. Oddly enough, it reminds me of my Mom and the home she created, but maybe that’s the orange and pink lighting getting to my head

  I fan out the cards, spreading them on the dark wood. “Pick a card you feel most drawn to,” I guide, watching the woman across from me examine the cards. Her hair is twisted back into a bun, strings of curls hanging down like Pamela Anderson if she were a brunette. Her perfectly manicured hand drags a card from the left forward, glancing up at me with her lip between her teeth as if to see if she did it right. 

  I flip the card over, revealing The Devil, the card depicting a goatman with wings perched upon the restraints of a woman and a man. “Oh, that looks bad,” Mandy, the woman, remarks.

  A smile tugs on the corner of my lips. She's right, it is bad. She had asked if she should give the guy she brought to the fair a chance, the guy hanging outside while she gets her reading done. “You didn’t want to come to the fair with this guy, did you?” I ask.

  Her hazel eyes widen, “Oh my god, how did you know that? Yeah, we came with a big group of friends and everyone had a date, so I had to pick someone, right? To not be the odd one out.”

  I hum. “The Devil card suggests a feeling of being trapped or cornered without options,” I explain. “That can be what’s coming through. It can also be indicative of a harmful relationship, things like abuse or addiction.”

  “Wow, yeah. You know,” she leans in like it's a secret, “I was kind of thinking he may be on something, I don’t know though.” She stands, lifting her little purse off the floor, slapping a $20 bill on the table.

  “Do you want change? It’s only $5,” I ask, looking up at her.

  She presses her hand to her chest, her hip juts out a little. “No, you keep the change. You totally saved me. He is so not getting into my pants.” She twirls around, strutting out of the tent. 

  I didn’t think it was a particularly good reading, but I picked up the cash, moving to the table towards the back of the small tent, humming along to the Cher song playing. The curtain pulls open gently, and someone steps into the tent. A smile stretches onto my lips in that helpless way. “Hi Dean,” I greet, looking over my shoulder at him.

  “How’d you know it was me?” he asks.

  “I know the sound of your footsteps in a not creepy way,” I answer, spinning to face him. He looks surreal in this lighting, like it’s some kind of dream sequence. But he’s giving me this look I can’t quite place or explain. It’s the third time he’s looked at me like this since we started working here. The first time was after I left the thrift store in my new outfit, a pretty dark purple dress with black beaded flowers on it, and a black sheer, bell-sleeved shrug. Mr. Cooper had basically said my uniform was to dress more mystically, while the boys got red jackets. I can't deny that Dean looks good in it, his black shirt peeking out beneath the panels, though, when does he not look good? 

  Then, he had given me the same look when we got out of the car after arriving at the carnival again. I glance down at my outfit and then back at him, “You’re starting to make me nervous with that look,” I admit. 

  His eyes widened for a fraction of a second, taking a half step forward. He shakes his head, “No, no, no, no,” he rattles, exhaling a breathy laugh. “Ain’t nothing wrong,” he clarifies, practically reading my mind. “You just…you look…it, uh, it fits you…” He gestures vaguely at me. 

  My cheeks feel impossibly warm, my smile softening and widening until I have to bite it back. He’s so sweet. I want to kiss him, have my lip gloss stain his lips with glitter, and feel that smile beneath mine. “Thank you,” I say as softly as a breath.

  His lips curl into a smug little smirk. He takes two steps forward, his eyes trailing down my face. “Don’t gotta thank me,” he answers almost as softly. “You know you’re givin’ me a look too.”

  “No, I’m not,” I nearly laugh. I don’t think I am, anyway.

  “Mm,” he hums, stepping closer. “You are. Your eyes are all soft ‘n warm.”

  My lip twitches, my heart stuttering in my chest. “I guess, maybe I am giving you a look,” I admit softly.

  He nods, closing the distance between us until the tips of our shoes are nearly kissing. “You are.” 

I fumble for some kind of response, but his fingers twitch at his side, and he’s speaking again. “I, uh, I never said thank you for what you did at the hospital or Bobby’s.”

  “You don’t have to thank me,” I echo his words.

  “I do.”

  “You don’t,” I insist. He scuffs a breathy laugh, looking down. There are words on the tip of my tongue, absurd, loving words. I want to spill them. I want to tell him. I want to love him.

 His phone rings, he curses beneath his breath, yanking his phone from his pocket. “Dude, we’ll be there in a—yeah, okay.” The phone call ended as quickly as it started. He looks at me again, “That was Sam.”

  “I figured,” I nearly laugh.

  “He, uh, got some EMF reading in the fun house. ‘Wanted me to get you and meet there,” he explains.

  “What a fun place for it to be,” I smile at my bad joke. He shakes his head and then holds his hand out to me. I take it, stepping in time with him. His hand is warm as we exit the tent, the sun shimmering on us. 

  “I know you were buying that guy out,” he remarks, nodding towards the cotton candy machine and the guy behind it. The man swirls a paper cone around and around, collecting fluffy pink sugar into a tower.

  “I did not,” I defend.

  “Yeah?” He doesn’t believe me. “How much did you eat?”

  “The normal amount,” I shrug.

  “Right,” he nods, squeezing my hand playfully. “So, is that 10?”

  I laugh, leaning into his side. “I only ate 2! It’s not my fault they happen to have the best invention in front of my place of work, and that we have a great employee discount.”

  He scuffs, “Your addiction is gonna give you a sugar crash.”

  “That sounds magical,” I tease, looking at him as he guides us ahead. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head, but there’s a smile that spreads on his lips.

  Soon after we walk into the fun house, a colorful building with dim lights. It’s a classic fun house with a funky mirror maze and revolving floors. “What took you guys so long?” Sam complains the moment he sees us.

  “Long story,” Dean brushes off.

  “Mommy, look at the clown!” a little girl exclaims. We all look over at her, the girl pointing at something.

  “What clown?” the older woman beside her asks, ducking her head in an attempt to see what her daughter is seeing. I follow the girl's finger, but there is nothing there. “Come on, sweetie, come on,” the woman nudges the girl along.

  I lie curled up on the car seat, my mind feeling mushy from work and having to repeat over and over that the Death card doesn’t always mean literal death. And now, after a long day of work, we are sitting outside the house of the little girl who saw the clown in the fun house.

  “Dean, I cannot believe you told Papazian about the homicidal phantom clown,” Sam shakes his head.

  “I told him an urban legend about a homicidal phantom clown. I never said it was real,” he clarifies, pulling out a pistol and cocking it. Sam grabs it, pushing Dean’s hand down.

  “Did he say anything about hearing about this legend before?” I ask with my eyes closed.

  “Told you not to eat all that cotton candy,” he answers instead.

  “It was good! And pink!” I defend, eyes peaking open.

  “Anyways, I mentioned the Bunker Brothers’ Circus in ‘81 and their, uh, evil clown apocalypse?”

  “What?” Sam asks.

  “Before Mr.Cooper owned Cooper Carnival, he worked for Bunker Brothers. He was their lot manager,” Dean explains.   “Well someone has a clown on their tail,” I remark.

  “So, you think whatever the spirit’s attached to, Cooper just brought it with him?” Sam asks, theorizing.

  “Something like that,” Dean sighs, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we keep talking about clowns.”

  “Well, as long as it’s not like Pennywise, we have a fighting chance,” I point out helpfully.

  “That’s comforting,” Sam grumbles.

************

  My eyes shoot open, my hand going to my forehead. I look down with squinted eyes, a plastic spoon lying there. I glance up to the front of the car, “Sam, what the frick!” I pick up the spoon and throw it back at him. He raises his arm, blocking it. It titters to the floor, and he nods to the window. I glare at him before turning my gaze to where he directed. A clown with bright red hair and a filthy yellow costume stands on the porch. The door is cracked open, warm light pouring out from within.

  We practically leap out of the car, rushing towards the house. We break into the back of the house in record time, lurking by the staircase. 

The little girl with coily hair leads the clown down the hallway, her hand clasped in his. “Wanna see Mommy and Daddy? They’re upstairs,” she says innocently.

  I appear behind the pair, grabbing the girl despite her screams and moving her out of the way as two rounds of gunfire go off. “Sorry, sorry,” I mumble to the girl, cringing at the piercing scream. I look over my shoulder at the clown getting up from the ground, belining to the window. It rushes past, I lift my hands, shooting energy at it before it leaps out the window. It stumbles on the grass and then vanishes. It just disappears. “What the–”   “What’s going on here? Get away from my daughter! Who the hell are you?!” The dad yells, he and his wife wrapped in bathrobes. “Get out! Get out of my house!” 

  We bolt, getting out of the house to rush to the car, speeding down the road.

  We drive for a while, getting as far from the house as physically possible. Eventually, we stop at a back road, away from prying eyes and cameras. The minivan sits on the side of the road, our belongings pulled from it as Dean unscrews the license plates and I wipe down the car of our prints. “You really think they saw our plates?” Sam asks.

  “I don’t wanna take the chance. Besides, I hate this fuckin’ thing anyway,” Dean answers. 

  I pull myself from the car, closing the door for the final time. “I’m fairly sure we’re totally screwed. I can’t imagine them not going to the police,” I say, slinging my bag onto my shoulder.

  “We’ll lie low,” Dean replies as we start walking down the long, empty road.

  “That’s going to be hard to do when we still have a clown to get rid of,” I point out, brushing my hair from my face. Last night was a disaster, if you could even call it last night, when dawn had just begun to break a couple of minutes ago.

  “Well, one thing’s for sure. We’re not dealing with a spirit. I mean, that rock salt hit something solid,” Dean explains.

  “Yeah, a person? Or maybe a creature that can make itself invisible?” Sam suggests.

  “Great, a chameleon killer clown. Way to make our lives so easy,” I remark. “Literally, what kind of creature is that?!”

  “One that dresses up like a clown for kicks, apparently. Did it say anything in Dad’s journal?” Dean asks.

  “Nope,” Sam answers.

  “We’re gonna need a library stat then, or a really good internet search,” I muse, adjusting my bag on my shoulder.

  Sam clears his throat, pulling out his cell phone in the least casual way possible. “Who are you calling?” Dean asks.

  “Maybe Ellen or that guy Ash’ll know something,” he answers. “Hey, you think, uh, you think Dad and Ellen ever had a thing?”

  “No way,” Dean shakes his head.

  “Then why didn’t he tell us about her?” he presses.

  “I don’t know, maybe they had some sort of falling out,” Dean suggests, shrugging.

  “Or maybe it just never came up?” I add. John did like to keep his cards close to his chest.

  “Yeah, you ever notice Dad had a falling out with just about everybody?” Sam points out. It’s the statement of the century. 

  “Well, he did make it hard to like him,” I mumble, kicking along a dark rock. It probably isn’t the coolest thing to say, considering his death and all, but it was the truth.

  “Well, don’t get all maudlin on me, Dean,” Sam says, lowering his phone.

  “What do you mean?” he asks, almost bored.

  “I mean this “strong silent” thing of yours, it’s crap,” he points out, sharply. The thing is, he isn’t wrong. The other thing is that this is going to spiral into an argument.

  “Oh, god,” Dean groans, rolling his eyes.

  “I’m over it. This isn’t just anyone we’re talking about, this is Dad. I know how you felt about the man.”   “You know what, back off, alright?” Dean stops walking. “Just because I’m not caring and sharing like you want me to.”

  “No, no, no, that’s not what this is about, Dean, I don’t care how you deal with this. But you have to deal with it, man,” Sam pleads. “Listen, I’m your brother, alright. I just want to make sure you’re okay. We both want you to be okay,” he gestures towards me. I frown a little, of course, I want him to be okay, but I’m not sure if a whole intervention like this is the way to go.

  “I’m okay. I’m okay, okay?” Dean answers, voice rising. My frown deepens because I know it’s a lie. “I swear, the next person who asks me if I’m okay, I’m gonna start throwing punches. These are your issues, quit dumping them on me!”

  “What are you talking about?” Sam exclaims.

  “I just think it’s really interesting, this sudden obedience you have to Dad. It’s like, “Oh, what would Dad want me to do?” Sam, you spent your entire life slugging it out with that man. I mean, hell, you picked a fight with him the last time you ever saw him. And now that he’s dead, now you want to make it right? Well, I’m sorry, Sam, but you can’t. It’s too little, too late.”

  “Why are you saying this to me?” Sam asks, softer this time.

  “Because I want you to be honest with yourself about this. I’m dealing with Dad’s death! Are you?” Dean spits.

  Sam frowns, his eyes downturned. “I’m going to call Ellen,” he announces, walking ahead.

I sigh, giving Dean a knowing look as he huffs. “What?” he bites.

  “You know what,” I answer calmly. He sulks, looking at the ground like a kid who got caught. “You know I’m always here for you, and he is too. I think sometimes you forget you aren’t alone. Just…don’t be a stubborn idiot about this.” I give him a smile before walking away.

********

  The road has felt endless, a long stretch of asphalt and tall grass on repeat. I guess we’re getting exercise, but it’s boring. “Rakshasa,” Sam announces suddenly, tucking his phone into his pocket as he walks backwards to face us. 

  “Who?” I ask.

  “Ellen’s best guess. It’s a race of ancient Hindy creatures,” Sam clarifies. “They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited.”

  “That sounds like the attribute they give to vampires,” I point out.

  He shrugs, “It’s possible all the stories got mixed.”

  “So they dress up like clowns, and the children invite ‘em in,” Dean connects. “Why don’t they just munch on the kids?”

  “No idea. Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?” Sam guesses.

  “This is a very strange way to talk about children,” I remark.

  “Well, it’s not our logic,” Dean reasons.

  “Guess that’s true.”

  “What else’d you find out?” he continues. 

  “Well, apparently, Rakshasas live in squalor. They sleep on a bed of dead insects,” Sam adds.

  “Nice.”

  “Ew,” I grimace. 

  “Yeah, and they have to feed a few times every twenty or thirty years,” Sam goes on. “Slow metabolism, I guess.”

  “‘Sounds like Pennywise,” I muse. “Every twenty-seven years, nonsense.”

  “Well, that makes sense. I mean, the Carnival today, the Bunker Brothers in ‘81,” Dean points out. 

  “Probably long before then, too,” I add.   “Who do we know that worked ‘both shows?” Dean asks.

  “Cooper?” Sam answers 

  “Cooper,” he echoes, snapping and pointing at him. 

  “You know, that picture of his father, that looked just like him,” Sam murmurs.

  “You think it’s more than strong genes?” I ask. I guess it could be likely. 

  “Well, who knows how old he is?” he points out.

  “Ellen say how to kill him?” Dean asks.

  “Legend goes, a dagger made of pure brass,” Sam replies. 

  “Bro, we can get him with a trumpet or something,” I say, hitting his arm. 

  “Or something…” Dean mumbles. “I know where to get a brass dagger.”

  “Um, where? The dagger store?” I ask. I’m not sure when brass daggers were a thing, but I’m sure they’re probably a rare thing now.

  “And your plan was to what? Blow him away?” he mocks.

  My lips twitch, pulling into a smile as I point and snicker at him, “That sounds really wrong.”

  He grimaces, shaking his head despite the smile he’s clearly trying to suppress. “Well, before we go stabbing things into Cooper, we’re going to want to make damn sure it’s him,” Sam cuts in. 

  “Oh, you’re such a stickler for details, Sammy,” Dean remarks, the two of them sharing a smile. “Alright, we’ll go round up the blade, you go check if Cooper’s got bed bugs.

  The blind man from earlier leads us down a dirt path towards a section of the large field dedicated to the trailers. The click-click of his walking stick moving back and forth fills the silence between us. “Well, I’ve got all kinds of knives,” he shares. “I don’t know if I’ve got a brass one, though.”

  “Thank you for checking for us,” I reply, sticking close to Dean’s side. The park is creepier at night, empty, like its soul got stolen with the setting sun. 

  He leads us into his trailer, tapping his walking stick against a large brown trunk. “Check the trunk,” he encourages. 

  Dean steps forward, crouching before it. With a click, the golden clasp flips up, the trunk whining as its top is stretched open. He pauses at whatever he finds inside, slowly standing. “You?” he says, watching the older man. His cane drops to the floor with a clatter as he pulls off his black sunglasses, his once normal eyes turn cloudy like fog hovering over the ocean. His wrinkled skin droops, gravity dragging it down in glops. He waves, a devilish smile on his lips, as his body disappears until it’s just his glowing, foggy eyes left. Then, even that vanishes. 

  “What the f–” I mumble, staring at where he was standing.

  Dean shimmies past me, trying the trailer door, shaking the latch quickly. A knife suddenly flies through the air, thunking into the door right by his head. I throw my hands forward, shooting a large blast of energy in the general direction from which the knife was thrown. There’s a clatter, a bang against the wooden cabinets that tells me I must have hit him. I flick my wrist in the direction of the door, flinging it open for Dean. He stumbles out, catching himself before he hits the floor and books it. I hop down after him, snapping my fingers, making a mass of thick white powder fall from the ceiling of the trailer, coating every surface with flour. Somehow, we went from It to The Invisible Man.

  “Come on!” Dean shouts. He’s some distance away, probably stopped when he realized I wasn’t following. I don’t answer, I’m waiting for him to emerge from the dust; he’ll be easy then.

  A knife swooshes through the air, appearing from the trailer, just grazing my arm. I barely register it, I was right; he is still in there. What’s brass that I can conjure? I can’t exactly beat him to death with an instrument, can I?

  There’s a thump in front of me, a white, dusted figure emerging from the mess inside, a flour footprint marking the ground. I take a couple of steps back. Brass. Brass…Instruments…Brass…Pipes—Organs. My hand closes around the cold metal taking shape. I let it slip from my hand, floating lowly at my side, and then with a slight twitch of my finger, the tube-shaped pipe flew forward with a swish, lodging itself into the center of the figure's chest. He hits the wall of his trailer with a thud, blood oozing from the hole in his chest. 

  “Bye, Invisible Man.”

  Ellen sets down a handful of beers onto the bar’s tabletop with a bright smile. “You boys did a hell of a job. Your dad’d be proud.”

  “Thanks,” Sam answers, “But we can’t really take the credit, it was all her.” 

  “Yeah, those were some moves you pulled,” Dean adds, nudging me hard, pulling a laugh from my lips.

  “You butterin’ me up, Winchesters?” I tease.

  “Only ‘cause you’re lettin’ me–us,” Dean answers, quickly taking a swig of his beer.

  “I didn’t really do anything,” I clarify for Ellen. “In fact, I’m pretty sure I was barely thinking.”

  “If that wasn’t thinkin’ I’d hate to see what is,” Dean remarks.

  “You’ve seen me think,” I point out, giving him a funny look for that silly comment.

  “It’s why I’d hate to see it,” he retorts, smirking behind the bottle he brings to his lips.

  I nudge him, laughing as he chokes on his drink. “Idiot,” I smile, almost scuffing.

  “Dork,” he responds, looking at me with that smile I want to have engraved into the grooves of my brain. My eyes dip to his lips before I can stop myself, I want to feel his lips against mine, I want to learn the curve of his smile, and the taste he carries on his tongue. 

  The back door opens, stealing my gaze away. Ash walks in, the folder we gave him tucked beneath his arm and a strange looking laptop. “Where you guys been? Been waitin’ for ya” he says.

  “We were woking a job, Ash,” Sam answers. “Clowns?”

  “Clowns? What the–”

  “You got something for us, Ash?” Dean cuts him off. He joins us at the bar, setting down his funky laptop with exposed wiring next to me. It looks like a fire hazard.

  “Did you find the demon?” Sam asks.

  “It’s nowhere around. At least, nowhere I can find. But if this fuguly bastard raises his head, I’ll know. I mean, I’m on it like Divine on dog dookie,” he answers. 

  “Is that code for you’ll know if the omens appear?” I ask, hoping I’m somewhat correct.

  “Yup, my rig’ll go off like a fire alarm,” he explains, a proud smile on his face. I have to admit he’s kind of growing on me.

  Dean leans over me, arm stretching in front of me to reach for Ash’s laptop. I lean back as he invades my personal space. “Do you mind…” he begins to ask as he reaches for the keyboard. Ash gives him an unamused death stare. Dean pulls back with an awkward smile, taking a nervous sip of his beer.

  “Ash, where did you learn to do all this?” Sam asks.

  “M.I.T before I got bounced for fighting,” he answers.

  I blink once. Twice. “Well look at you Mr. prestigious,” I settle on. He keeps surprising us.

  “Okay, give us a call as soon as you know something,” Dean adds, signaling our leave.

  “Si, si, compadre,” Ash answers. 

  I hop off the bar stool, waiting as the boys take their last sip of their drinks. Dean stands, missing the way Ash leans over and drinks the rest of his beer. He slugs his arm around my shoulder, putting unnecessary weight onto me. I laugh, nudging his side as we walk, but he doesn’t move away and I don’t want him to.

  “Hey!” Ellen calls out. “If you three need a place to stay I’ve got a couple beds out back.”

  Dean pauses, making me stop with him. “Thanks, but no. There’s something I gotta finish,” he says, looking over his shoulder.

  The group had mostly dispersed when they got back to Bobby’s. Y/N had headed inside to bug Bobby about whatever. The older man would grumble as she rambled, but wouldn’t tell her to go away either. Meanwhile, Dean went right back to working on Baby, his clean grey shirt getting stained with motor oil all over again. Sam lingered by his brother, pacing nearby as the blazing heat beat down on them. “You were right,” he announces.

  “About what?” Dean asks, never looking up from his work.

  “About me and Dad,” he answers. “I’m sorry that the last time I was with him, I tried to pick a fight. I’m sorry that I spent most of my life angry at him. I mean, for all I know, he died thinking that I hate him. So you’re right,” his voice breaks, lip trembling as he holds back the tears collecting in his brown eyes. “What I’m doing right now it’s too little. It’s too late.” He pauses for a beat, “I miss him, man. And I feel guilty as hell. And I’m not alright. Not at all. But neither are you. That much I know.” He pauses for the last time, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “I’ll let you get back to work,” he says softly, defeated before he walks away.

  Dean stills, jaw clenched tightly. He takes a few steps away from his car, picking up a lone crowbar that lies on the dusty ground. It’s warm in his hand, the metal soaking up the heat of the sun. But he doesn’t mind the burning; he grips it tighter, swinging it at a window of a nearby rusted car. The glass shatters, and yet it is not enough. He turns, slamming it into the broken trunk of the Impala, over and over and over. His chest heaves as he throws the crowbar to the ground with a clatter, lip trembling as he stares after Sam, who is long gone.

  It’s never enough.

(Next Chapter)

Fun fact: I'm very afraid of sharks, I talk that exact way about raccoons, and I do have an addiction and love pink cotton candy. Also, my Dad was a clown once, he even went to clown school, which is not a joke or a jab at my Dad lol.

Tag List: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @okayiamkassandra @fablesrose @ada--44 @bonkydarnes @star-yawnznn @crazyunsexycool @onlyangel-444 @seninjakitey @mystic-mara @mxltifxndom @stilesxreid @chaotic-luvrs @tiggytaylor @deanwasscaredbyacat @imaginexred @daisychaingirl @yasmin12312 @squishytap @i-am-fckn-sleep-deprived @wecangetlostinthepurplerain

[intimidating-fettuccine]

Augh. Thinking about the demons being protective of the other residents. And I'm inflicting it upon you /silly

Hobo using his wings to shelter people from the weather. Even if it's just as simple as a slight change in the breeze, he'll use his wings to keep the cold/heat away from people. Maybe he uses them to help keep Pup steady on his threads as they talk on top of the mansion; maybe he uses them to make sure Tim and Kate can get from the car to the front door without being hailed on.

EJ using his hyper sensitive hearing to tell who's having a hard time sleeping for whatever reason. If it's Toby, or Sally, he knows it's likely nightmares keeping them awake. He'll offer his presence as a reassurance, or maybe offer to talk to them until they're at least calm enough to rest. Whenever there's a new resident, he takes it upon himself to keep track of how much they're sleeping, and how well. He's the doctor, after all. It's his job to keep track of these things.

The clowns (yes I'm lumping them together) existing in a consistent stream of making sure no one's depression and anxiety, seasonal or otherwise, sets in too far too quickly. Even if it's just by the nature of Candy and Jack making their existence a problem for Jason, or Jason and Candy busting in the door with new gossip and rumors, or the three of them collectively running in Looney Toons circles every other time.

Slender actively using his telepathy to level new residents out of flashbacks and the worst of the waking anxieties. Quietly, but not outright, nudging them mentally in the direction of making new bonds. A constant, reassuring presence in the back of one's mind who can and will show new people every place to hide and enjoy nature within the forest, when the underworld is overwhelming.

(The brothers would all be good at this, not just Slender. Trender would bust his ass to recreate textures for people without second thought if he felt it might help; Splendor's abilities might allow him to intentionally smother anxieties and fears and grief to allow one to live in the joy of moments. Fen is just a boon in his own right, with his connections and sheer experience with a variety of people)

Zalgo just existing is enough to make sure one's stressors are kept at the bottom of the fucking barrel; no one is pissing off the king.

I absolutely love and support all of these. I love getting rambles like this, because they are all 100% accurate. I do especially love the EJ one because mans is nocturnal so if anyone is anxiously wandering the halls at night they now have a companion because Jack is just mentally like ">:( You're not supposed to be up, something is wrong, I will fix this" and he just sort of follows you around and tries to do whatever he can with his social awkwardness to help you feel better

I do also really love the Hobo one because he would tooootally do that. Now I'm also imagining whenever it rains on a shopping day he carries the groceries in under his wings so none of the groceries get wet. He's a protective birb boy and if his wings can be of use to someone he's gonna put them to use

The clowns are also the circus of the mansion for a reason. It's hard to be down in the dumps when they're running circles around the mansion because they're winding each other up with their antics that don't make sense to anyone except themselves. They probably start arguments with each other just for the sake of having a silly argument and they're always so entertaining to watch and they WILL do it on purpose around people that have been feeling down and out of it

I do also love the idea of Slender helping newer residents (or honestly even older ones) through their minds when they're down and struggling. I cannot remember if I made a post about it, but Slender can also force emotions and feelings onto people if he focuses really hard, so I'm just imagining him in the fucking zone around the corner quite literally forcing good vibes onto you. He has an open door policy and frequently encourages people to stop by as well, especially if they're new, and I'm just imagining him sending them the mental image of his office to encourage them

And the Zalgo one needs little additions. It's just so true. Once people know you're close to Zalgo, life gets a hell of a lot easier in the Underworld. Nobody's gonna pick on you, nobody's gonna cause problems for you, and if they're dumb enough to try, Zalgo stomps them immediately. Once you have his favor you are basically set for life. He's the biggest, strongest guard dog of a friend/partner you can ever have, and he knows it

Thank you for the rambles :)))))

[galspolicev]

★ NSFW ALPHABET HECTOR FORT

ESCLAVA . . . eres esclava de mi cama, matemos esas ganas. Contigo la paso y siempre lo volvemo’ a hacer

chapter: fem!reader x hector fort.

warnings: smut.

note: i really speak spanish, so any mistake is translation

☆ — reqs opeen <3

A = Aftercare

Cuddles, kisses on the forehead, he puts his shirt on you, pats you on the back, and whispers something like you did so fucking well.

B = Body part

Your ass. He loves squeezing it, marking it, biting it. He loves leaning behind you, just to have it within reach. He spanks you for no reason, and when you're on top of him, he never stops grabbing it to help you go up and down.

C = Cum

Inside, always. He loves filling you up. "Look how it squirts, joder..." But if he can't, he'll be happy just to do it in your belly.

D = Dirty Secret

He's jerked off thinking about you when you were still just friends. Many times. In the locker room after a game, in his bed while checking your Instagram stories, in your own bathroom.

E = Experience

More than he ever told you. Quite a bit more, actually. It's not like he sleeps with everything that moves, but he's had his share, and he knows how to use it to his advantage. Although with you, he's different. He likes to take it slow… or at least pretend he does. He wants you to feel like you're discovering it together, even if he's holding back inside. Because deep down, he loves watching you lose control little by little. He makes you believe he's following your pace, but in reality, he's in control the whole time. Only with you… he loves to play at letting himself go.

F = Favorite Position

From behind with your face turned toward him. He wants to see the look on your face while he fucks you.

G = Goofy

He has his moments, but in bed he's usually more intense than a clown. Of course, he's occasionally told you a joke between moans just to see you laugh while he has you underneath him.

I = Intimacy

He touches you slowly, he speaks to you slowly. He likes to touch you and make you feel his.

H = Hair

He's a clean-shaven man; he doesn't have that many hairs down there.

J = Jack Off

He's done it in the shower, thinking about how you moaned the last time you rode him. But most of the time, he doesn't need to because he has you.

K = Kink

He puts you over the mirror, forces you to look at yourself while he fucks you. Watching you drives him crazy.

L = Location

The car. He knows there's nothing hotter than you on top of him in an empty parking lot.

M = Motivation

Hearing you say you need him. That little voice of yours breaks him.

N = Nicknames

Bebé, Guarra, Cabrona, Cariño, Mi Amor. He loves to change them up depending on the mood

O = Oral

He loves watching you suck him off, but he's sick of eating you out.

P = Pace

He loves starting slow and finishing fast and rough.

Q = Quickie

In the bathroom before dinner with your parents. In the locker room before practice. Anywhere, come on.

R = Risk

The adrenaline rush of almost getting caught turns him on. "Can you imagine them opening the door?"

S = Stamina

He gives you three rounds and still licks his lips as if he wants a fourth. Hector doesn't tire easily; in fact, it seems like the longer he has you, the more he wants you. There are nights when you end up trembling, with your legs cramping, your voice cracking, and your eyes watering with pleasure, and he still stays stroking your thigh, looking at you with a half-smile as if he's not quite finished with you. He likes to challenge you, take you to the limit and push you a little further.

T = Toys

He's used a vibrator with you a few times, but nothing more than that.

U = Unfair

He leaves you on the edge and stops. He enjoys watching you beg. "¿Quieres correrte? Pídelo bien, cabrona."

V = Volume

Héctor isn't that loud... but he lets out a few moans when you're really in the mood. He doesn't shout, he doesn't say random things: his style is more controlled. He whispers in your ear, bites your neck, and lets out a soft "joder..." when you squeeze him too hard or make him lose his rhythm. Sometimes he bites his lip to keep from blurting out everything that's on his mind, but when he really lets himself go, panting, he lets out dirty words, with that accent that turns you on. And even if you don't hear everything, the sound of his rapid breathing against your ear is enough to drive you crazy.

W = Wild Card

He once fucked you with his Barça jersey on.

X = X-ray

He's big enough… and he knows it. He fits perfectly, fills you like no one else, and makes you feel him for hours.

Y = Yearning

His desire is strong, he knows how to control it, but when he's away, he gets anxious. He doesn't say it directly, but it shows in the messages he sends you all the time. At first, it starts off gentle, with a "what are you doing?" or "I miss you." But it's not long before he heats up and starts with the dirty audios, with that voice that makes your legs clench. He tells you he touched himself thinking about you, that his bed is empty, and that he can't sleep without you by his side. Sometimes he sends you pictures, other times just a "fuck... I can't stand it anymore without you."

Z = Zzz

He falls asleep after cleaning you up and cleaning up the mess, with one hand on your waist and a satisfied, smirk.

all copyrights reserved. © galspolicev

[ladykailitha]

Spooky season is here and I was just thinking about that tiktok (maybe) of the couple at the haunted house where the guy pushes the girl onto the feet of the ax wielding haunt and then the girl and haunt have a conversation that ends with the girl chasing the asshole with the ax and the haunt happily following her.

But make that Steddie. Steve as the girl. Set between seasons 3 and 4, but in a world where Steve going on a date with a man is surprise not a thing of revulsion (as in people would surprised that he was dating a guy having been a ladies man in high school, but no one would give him shit about it). Because it's my sand box, damn it. I make the rules here!

*

Steve wasn't sure what possessed him to go on this date with Jeremy. He didn't like haunted houses. He had seen too many real horrors in his life be frightened of fake ones. But Robin said he could pretend to be scared and cling to the guy's arm, maybe even get a kiss out of it.

What he wasn't expecting was for it to actually terrify him. He was clutching Jeremy's arm the whole way through, chanting in his head "don't hurt them, it's not real." Over and over again whenever the urge to push the actors away or in one extreme case when they were in the haunted hospital break the doctor's nose.

The actor looked too much like Dr Brennan, and while the patient on the gurney wasn't a girl or even had shaved hair, but Steve's protective instinct went into overdrive. It took every ounce of self-will Steve had to keep clutching Jeremy's arm.

They finally hit a room that didn't look so bad. It had a wood floor and four garish statues, one in each corner. Their fog machine was working in high gear but seemed to collect around one figure in particular.

It held an ax over its head, its mouth open in a silent scream. The robes that gathered around its sandled feet were perfectly rendered in stone. The sleeves of the robe revealed a couple of bat tattoos on the right forearm.

Steve was entranced, he let go of Jeremy's arm for the first time since they started and took a step toward it.

It was then the actor jumped off his pedestal and swung his ax down.

Jeremy did the inexplicable. Maybe even outright despicable thing. He pushed Steve forward into the waiting arms of ax murder. Steve stumbled landing on the actor's feet.

"Whoa!" the actor asked. "Are you okay?" He put the ax down and helped Steve get to his feet.

"Did he really just shove me at you to save his own ass?" Steve asked in shock.

The actor cocked his head to the side. "That's what it looked like to me. I hope that was a friend and not a date..."

Steve winced. "Sadly, the latter."

"Fuck, dude," the actor said. He spotted the ax. "You want to get revenge?" He picked up the ax and handed it to Steve.

Steve laughed. "Hell yeah!"

He ran after Jeremy, very plastic ax in hand, the actor cheering him on.

The next room was holding Jeremy so that he wouldn't be split from Steve and gotten lost. It was full of evil clowns. Something that apparently Jeremy was terrified of, judging by the screaming he had been doing.

The actors spotted Steve coming at their prey with an ax and Eddie cheering him from behind, they immediately clocked what had probably gone down. They let Jeremy pass them and two of the clowns broke off to chase him out of the haunted house, gaining cast members with each passing room (still enough remaining to scare other patrons but obviously gaining a crowd to hound this guy.)

He exited the haunted house screaming obscenities at Steve and the actors. The crowd laughing and pointing. He got into his car and drove off.

The smile slid off Steve's face. "Fuck. There goes my ride home."

The ax murder laughed as all the other actors went back inside. He pulled off his hood to reveal a mess of dark brown curls and grey face paint around his eyes on his lips. "I've gotcha, big boy."

"Eddie Munson, right?" Steve asked when he finally placed the face.

"Aww," Eddie cackled. "You do remember me."

Steve scoffed. "Kinda hard to forget."

Eddie's grin grew big. "Duly noted." He scratched the back of his head. "I am sorry about the shitty date though."

Steve shrugged. "It turned out more fun then I thought it would."

Eddie cocked his head again. "True. It's not every day you get chase away a bad date with plastic ax."

Steve handed it back to him. "Shouldn't you be getting back? Won't the other patrons find it odd when the room is empty of scares?"

Eddie smiled slyly. "Who says I left my post unattended?"

Steve's eyes went wide. "How many more of the statues are actors?"

Eddie leaned forward into his space. "I'll never tell," he said sing-song.

Steve laughed.

"Just let me inform my boss I'm taking you home and clean up this makeup, I'll get you home, Stevie," Eddie said.

"You don't have to do that," Steve mumbled. "I'm sure I could call someone."

Eddie shook his head. "Nah, I've got you."

"Thanks."

Ten minutes later Eddie was back on the pavement standing next to Steve. He was back in his usual shredded black jeans and leather jacket. But he wore a denim vest over top of it.

"I like the vest," Steve murmured. "I like pins and things."

"Patches," Eddie said.

Steve hummed his confusion.

"The other things are patches," Eddie explained.

Steve smiled. "That's cool."

Eddie pulled up to Steve's house without asking for directions.

"Should I ask how you knew that?" Steve asked as he got out of the van.

Eddie just waggled his eyebrows as he got out of the van too.

"You gonna walk me to the door, Eds?" Steve asked with a smirk.

"These woods behind your house are pretty fucking scary, dude," Eddie said with a huff of laughter.

Steve just shook his head and bit his tongue to avoid saying exactly how much.

They got to his door and Eddie pressed a kiss to Steve's lips.

It was sweet and warm. "What was that for?" Steve asked, breathlessly.

"Isn't that what you do at the end of a date?" Eddie asked with a teasing grin. "Walk them to door and give them a kiss good night?"

Steve laughed. "Yeah. Yeah it is. Good night, Eds."

"Good night, Stevie."

Eddie walked to his van. "If you want to go on a date that doesn't end you chasing your date with an ax, you know where to find me."

Steve grinned. "I might just take you up on that. Provided it's not another haunted house."

"Don't worry, baby," Eddie said with grin. "I'm loyal. Just a one haunted house kind of guy."

Steve shook his head and unlocked the door. Before he close it behind him he could hear Eddie celebrating, cheering and hollering.

Robin was never going to believe him when he told her how his date went.

But that's okay. She was right. It was fun.

*

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @itsall-taken @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @chaoticlovingdreamer @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @bookbinderbitch @littlewildflowerkitten @redfreckledwolf @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @vecnuthy

[fuctacles]

April Fools pt3

Part 1 | Part 2 | @strangerthingswritersguild | Ao3

laughing kiss | G | 100 | Steddie

"This is stupid." "You're stupid." "I think the whole point here is to be stupid," Steve reminds them, but gets shushed by Eddie, who's painting his face. "And I think..." he trails off, filling the blue triangle under his eye. "You make a gorgeous clown." "Thank you," Steve easily melts, his blush hidden under the white paint. "Wish I could kiss you." He pouts, but it's ruined by the smile painted on his face. Eddie hums thoughtfully. "Well, we could..." He puts Steve's nose on and presses his own against it, squashing them together. Steve laughs. "You guys are disgusting."

cop car | T | 100 | Steddie-ish

“Munson.” “Officer Harrington.” “What are you doing here?” Eddie takes a pointed look left and right, at the dark vastness of nothing around them. “Taking a relaxing stroll.” “Yeah? So you’re good and I can leave you here?” Harrington raises his eyebrows. Eddie’s bravado falls off his face. “I’d love a ride, actually.” The cop smirks at him, making his stomach turn. “Bet you do. Hop in. No, the front.” Eddie widens his eyes but hastily rounds the car. “I never rode shotgun in a cop car. I’m usually in the back,” “Don’t get used to it. Seatbelt.” “Yes, sir!”

whoopie cushion | G | 99

“Why do you have so many?” “They are personalized.” “No they’re not.” Steve looks in horror at all the whoopie cushions surrounding him. They are different colors, but it’s just how they come, right? “Uh, yeah. The red one? Gareth.” “Why? Steve eyes it with distrust. “He looks good in red.” “He’s not going to wear it!” He throws his hands in the air. “Do I have one too?” “Mhm. The pink one.” “Why?” Steve narrows his eyes. “Press it.” Tentatively, he does. And gets a puff of glitter all over his polo. At least they’re in Eddie’s room.

Court jester | G | 100 | Steddie-ish

“I regret everything,” Steve whispers earnestly to his friend. “You know, I think at this point you’re encouraging him. What else did you think would happen?” Robin raises her eyebrows, unimpressed. Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. “I wanted to… Make a joke?” he offers. “Well, how is that going for you?” “My ears are ringing,” he deadpans, watching Eddie jump around in the jester hat he gifted him as a joke. Eddie, unfortunately, loves it and doesn’t want to hear about taking it off. “I know no peace.” At least the crown he got in retaliation doesn’t make sounds.

April Fools | G | 99

As soon as Eddie opens his eyes, he’s ready to prank, his mind is reeling, he has so many knock knock jokes written down-- But why is it dark outside? He looks at his clock. It’s fifteen past midnight. “Fifteen past midnight April 1st, right?” he begs his clock, but the display shows him only the time. The tiny hall outside is dark and he barely knocks on Steve’s door before entering. “Oh, you’re finally up.” “What day is it?!” “April 2nd. You got fucked up and slept through April Fools. Sorry, man.” Eddie falls to his knees. “Noooooooo!”

Tagsies: @blasvemous @wheneverfeasible @phantomcat94

[illubean]

Hi, I just stumbled onto your blog and I love your writing. If you’re accepting requests then can I please request Chorollo, Illumi, and Feitan with a s/o reader similar to Shizuo Hewajima from Durarara. Basically they’re crazy strong without any enhancements and when they get angry their known to throw cars, vending machines, street signs, etc. maybe they get caught in the cross fire when the reader is attacking someone who pissed them off and are amazed by the readers natural strength. Please and thank you.

HXH W/ a ShizuoHewajima!S/o

Characters: Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Crack, Headcanons, Gn!Reader

i never actually watched Durarara but...hes kind of fine.....

Warnings: violence but it's silly

Illumi Zoldyck

you guys met under odd circumstances

he was out with Hisoka for...whatever reason and both of them turned around at the sudden scream of the magicians name

his face goes paler than it already is before he turned to Illumi and was like "Well, I gotta run now. Tata!"

and you are literally sprinting after the clown at full speed wielding a stop sign that still had bits of concrete attached to it's base

and Illumi's like that's weird I don't sense any aura from them

the next time he encounters you is at a bar, where he was to meet his red haired companion once again

you apologize for him having to see you chase down Hisoka like that, explaining that you don't particularly like violence but your anger get's the best of you

he was already intrigued that you were assumedly able to rip a stop sign out of the ground so naturally he asks you about it

"So I take it you're an enhancer?" "Enhancer of what?"

now he is even more interested

do you have some sort of nen ability that even yourself didn't know about?

and then Hisoka is like no, they just strong like that

and he's like Oh.

every time he has seen an exhibition of your strength, Hisoka had always been on the receiving end of your wrath

and he decides that even though you may or may not be nenless, you are powerful enough to be made into his spouse one day

Chrollo Lucilfer

bro was in a disguise just walking around town when he first met you

as he was walking he saw some dude get tossed through a shop window with a table following suit

"AND STAY OUT YOU SON OF A BITCH! I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR YOUR SHIT"

Chrollo peeked through the broken to see you standing there, angrily and seemingly underpaid

and he was surprised that it was you who managed to throw both a grown man and a table through a window and across the street

you seemed like every average person so how the hell did you even do that?

and being the crazy yet curious guy he is he steps in through the broken window and you're like oh fuck that was unprofessional

and you chat and you tell him you don't like absolutely bodying people like that but your body has a mind of it's own when angry

and you apologized to him for almost catching him in the crossfire

bro asks for your number then boom you start dating

and he's learned how to avoid ticking you off

yeah, sometimes he makes you mildly angry and gets a mug or two chucked at him but he has yet to be on the receiving end of a literal boulder or large household appliance

Feitan Portor

it was him

he was the one that managed to piss you off

how? who knows

but you are chucking very large pieces of rubble in his direction and he's kind of regretting whatever he said though he'd never admit it

he's encountered many strong people in his life but you're lifting literal boulders WITHOUT nen?

scary

he's probably watched you have a lifting competition with Uvo and win

how the hell did you win against a literal beefy giant!? he will never know

at some point in yorknew, you lifted an entire police car above your head and tossed it like it was nothing

and he develops some sort of silent respect for your strength

he thinks its kind of hot

sorry i have no clue where to go with this

[thezombieprostitute]

The Arrangement

Summary: Jake's done a lot of things to keep his sister, and then his niece, safe from his parent's influence and manipulation. If he wants to keep them safe, he has to marry you.

Warnings: Bad parents, Disgusting comments of a sexual nature. Let me know if I missed any!

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Your mother rushes into your room, followed by her many assistants. "It's today," she tells you. You give her a confused look and she rolls her eyes. "The marriage. It's happening today so you'd best dress up. My ladies will do your hair and makeup so you can look somewhat decent for your new husband."

"Yes, mother," is all you can say. Any attempts at pointing out you'd had no notice would be futile. And should you dare try to state a preference in your looks it would be immediately dismissed, paired with an insult. Best to just comply and do as she says. You make sure to follow the instructions of the hair and makeup team. They have to put up with your mother, too, so you always try to be polite to them.

As soon as they finish your mother shoves you in front of a mirror. "There," she coos. "Don't you look so lovely?"

You think you look like a clown. Like a lesser copy of her. "Yes, mother. Thank you."

"Would have gotten you a better dress but you refused to lose weight," she sighs. You bite your tongue. The doctor said you were healthy, that should be enough. But not for her.

"Now," she continues, "we will be meeting your father and brother at the Jensen estate. Apparently they've already go the paperwork and notary crap sorted out. Remember to walk gracefully, be polite, and for the love of everything, smile. I don't need my daughter's wedding photos to look like a funeral had happened!"

"Yes, mother."

Jake is really trying to keep calm. His father, father-in-law and brother-in-law are all drinking to the "marriage" happening this afternoon. Apparently they're just waiting for the bride and her mother to finish getting ready. Jake is scared she's going to be just like his own mother: power hungry, demanding, backstabbing, cold. Meeting the bride's family has not helped assuage his concerns. If anything, it only further drives his conviction that he did the right thing, breaking his sister's engagement. The only thing keeping Jake calm is Clay's presence. Having an ally makes a world of difference.

Montgomery, his father-in-law, is already three drinks in. "And as a wedding gift to the happy couple, your father and I have purchased a penthouse and a car that you won't be embarrassed to be seen in."

"Are you ashamed to be seen in an American classic?" Clay raises an eyebrow.

"It's a pinto," Travis, the brother-in-law, scoffs.

"Exactly," Clay calmly says. "An American classic."

Travis rolls his eyes before turning to Jake, "I'm kinda disappointed you agreed to this thing. I was kinda hoping for that niece of yours. You know, once she turns 18. The young ones are so much easier to train."

Jake's gripping his glass so tightly his knuckles are white. He has to behave, it's in the contract. And punching his brother-in-law would not be behaving.

Thankfully Clay has his back. "Young man, you've got problems. I'm specifically talking in the bedroom, but I'm sure you've got plenty of problems outside as well. If you need some lessons on how to please a woman, I'm happy to give you some pointers."

Travis glowers at him but Clay just smirks.

A knock at the door breaks the tension in the room. An attendant comes in, "the bride is here."

The first time you see Jake, your heart falls. He looks angry, mean. You didn't have much hope about being treated well to begin with but this just solidified it.

The first time Jake sees you, his own heart does the same. You're the spitting image of your mother. He mentally prepares himself for a life of being scolded for never being enough, a life of being cheated on, a life without love.

The documents are signed and notarized. The fake smiles are pasted on for the photos. Jake is given the keys to both the penthouse and the car. Clay promises to meet them there, driving his pinto.

You and Jake sit silently in the car. Both wanting to cry.

Chapter 1 -- Chapter 3

Series Masterlist

Tagging: @alicedopey; @ashdoctor; @delicatebarness;@ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @ronearoundblindly

[ode2cheol]

now i’m next to you ..

florist!jeonghan x f!surgeon!reader, 5.3k words fluff, angst, reader’s family sucks, hurt/comfort, slow burn (?), mentions of surgery obviously, a little suggestive right at the end, part of waves will take us away series !

being a surgeon was no doubt tough, and you definitely found the work rewarding enough as it is, but the mysterious flowers left on your desk (a scribbled heart in place of a name of who it’s from) are definitely a plus too

“hi mrs park, this is the bouquet you wanted” jeonghan smiled at the elderly lady, as far as he knew, she was visiting her granddaughter that had recently given birth, “congratulations, for you and your granddaughter”

“oh thank you jeonghan! you’re always such a kind young man, sometimes i wish i had someone like you in my family” jeonghan laughed happily at her comment, cheeks flushing a cool pink. he was somewhat used to it at this point but it always made him sheepish.

jeonghan owned a flower shop that was a ten minute drive from the hospital. because of this, he got orders often delivered there. he knows he could just hire someone to do deliveries, it’d make things a whole lot easier for him, but the feeling of being able to do this for people himself always leave a warmth in his chest, especially when they pass him later to say how much they loved his flowers.

“hey jeonghan!” jeonghan looked around to find seungcheol and joshua waving him over, he smiled before walking to meet them.

“another order?” seungcheol asked taking a sip of his coffee.

“yep, you guys on break?”

“uh huh, and before you ask, no yn isn’t. she’s in the surgery room right now” joshua told him, a small smirk tugging at his lips, a matching one working it’s way on seungcheol’s too.

“shouldn't you both be texting your girlfriends or something?” jeonghan groaned, “thanks for stealing my two best friends by the way, really appreciate it”

“look maybe that’s what you need to finally make a move on yn. you’ve been trying to for what? ten months?” seungcheol told him pointedly.

“nine months and eighteen days, but hey who’s counting?” jeonghan deadpanned, “besides, what makes you guys think i even want to date yn? huh?”

his two friends stared at him unimpressed for a few seconds. he’d spent the better part of the last year sticking around the hospital longer, even if his deliveries were done, just so he could spend a little more time with you.

“okay i do want to date her.. but that’s got nothing to do with you two clowns!” jeonghan hissed. “and the two of you better not say anything because she’s headed here right now” speeding up when he caught sight of you. “yn! hi! how’ve you been?” a smile plastering on his face automatically.

you smiled at this sight of jeonghan with your two work friends, joining them quickly.

“jeonghan hi! i’ve been good thanks, just a stressful day, how about you?” you smiled at him, the stresses of the day melting away with ease.

“stressful?” jeonghan frowned. it was clear from your voice how the day had taken a toll on you, “good thing i know the perfect thing for you when you’re stressed! are you free right now?” he whispered the last part to you, grinning when you nodded, immediately dragging you somewhere.

jeonghan had taken you to his car, ensuring you the entire way that it’d be worth while.

“okay, close your eyes” jeonghan cooed causing you to roll your eyes, making an exaggerated show of covering your eyes with your palms. “you can open them now”

when you opened them, jeonghan held a beautiful small bouquet of jasmines in his hands toward you. “they’re known to be stress reliefs, thought you might like them”

jaw slightly agape, you stared at jeonghan in awe for a few seconds, “they’re so pretty jeonghan, thank you” you told him gratefully taking the flowers from his hands. slowly, the guilt started to creep up in you, “but really- you didn’t have to! here let me pay you-”

“it’s fine, don’t worry about it. i hope you like them yn” he told you warmly, fondness swimming in his eyes.

clearing your throat you told him it’s about time you head back in, the both of you walking back to the hospital together. when you went back to your office, jeonghan headed back to his two friends.

“guys this sucks” he told them dejectedly, frown pulling at his soft features. “she’s totally not into me. like at all”

“han, you’re being dramatic. she definitely likes you, she literally always waits for you to get here” joshua reassured him, rubbing a hand on his shoulder for good measure.

“no shua you don’t get it! she likes me but just as a friend- which i’m okay with don’t get me wrong, but i know she doesn’t like me that way and-”

“dude you sound like you’re in middle school, just ask her out and if she says no she says no, nothing you can do about that” seungcheol told him calmly, taking a sip of his coffee.

jeonghan glared at him before hitting the back of seungcheol’s head (not too hard but it still made seungcheol whine). “you’re in no position to tell me anything mr waited three months to confess to his patient and was the reason she almost had a broken leg forever”

“you can’t talk either mr fake dated a girl and couldn’t confess for two months because he was too scared” jeonghan said pointedly to joshua after hearing his laugh, “neither of you are in any position to say that i should just ask her out and that it’s simple”

joshua laughed at his friend’s pout once again before patting his back before he and seungcheol headed back to work.

“so just take it easy until the next appointment and then we’ll see what needs to be done from there” you smiled at your patient. she was a high school student and had a surgery for her elbow. “it’ll take roughly 6 to 8 weeks to heal fully but it all just depends on your body’s ability. take it easy at rehab too, don’t push yourself too much alright?”

“got it, thank you so much doctor” the young teenager smiled at you. she laid back against the headboard of the hospital bed while she waited for her parents to come pick her up in an hour, her eyes drifting around the room and landing on the bouquet of jasmines you left by your computer.

“those are really pretty” she said, you followed her eyes to see she was talking about the flowers jeonghan had given you earlier.

you laughed a ‘thank you’ before thinking for a few seconds, “i’ll be right back, just press the button if you need anything, okay?”

when you were out of the room you quickly pulled out your phone, fingers searching for jeonghan’s contact. “hey jeonghan, is it alright if i can place an order really quick? this high school girl just had a surgery and i was wondering if i could just get her a few” you trailed off at the end.

“sure! i’m at the shop right now so just give me around 30 minutes? how long till she leaves?” jeonghan told you from the other side of the phone.

“her parents are picking her up in an hour, thanks so much jeonghan”

“no problem. i’ll see you in a bit” you heard before the tone for the call ending.

you headed back inside, going over the last of the paperwork to get the girl discharged, all you needed was the parents’ signature. you decided it’d be best to reassure her for now, she wouldn’t say it, but you could tell she was nervous. you told her more information on how she should care for herself over the next few weeks.

“jeonghan do you want to hang out later- why do you look so stressed out?” jeonghan’s younger friend and employee seungkwan looked at him confused.

“huh? oh a friend called and said they needed some flowers quickly, short notice” jeonghan mumbled not meeting his friends’ eyes.

seungkwan eyed him suspiciously, the gears turning in his head, “thought you hated when people asked on short notice? don’t we have a whole policy that we reject it?” seungkwan said with mirth in his voice.

“we do? seungkwan you should stop being so sensitive you can’t turn people away just because it’s short notice” jeonghan said turning to him, teasing lilt in his voice.

“what- you’re the one who came up with it not me!” seungkwan said to his boss, voice growing loud, “whatever, i just wanted to make fun of you for being so in love with yn that you’re doing all this for her”

“who said it was for yn?” jeonghan mumbled while his eyes turned back to the bouquet he was making.

“oh please! it’s obvious! who else would you go through all this trouble for?” seungkwan laughed.

jeonghan ignored his friend, turning all his undivided attention to the bouquet. it mainly consisted of yellow roses in the center with a few pink tulips and sunflowers around them. it was wrapped with a white ribbon, a small tag attached with the card reading ‘get well soon! it must have hurt ㅠㅠ please take care of yourself so you can feel better quickly :)’ truth be told jeonghan wasn’t doing this entirely just because you asked but because he genuinely wanted to do something for the poor girl. a surgery when she’s pretty young couldn’t have been easy and she’s braver than half the people he knows. picking up a small chocolate box from the convenience store next door, he set it in his car’s passenger seat with the bouquet. jeonghan sent you a quick text letting you know he was on his way before he turned his playlist on and headed to the hospital.

“yn!” jeonghan shouted before running to you, “here you go! she hasn’t left yet right?” he doubled over catching his breath.

you laughed a little at his antics before letting him know she was still waiting, “hey why don’t you come with me to give them to her?”

“are you sure?”

“yeah don’t worry about it. come on let’s go!” you lead the way back to the room.

when you returned with jeonghan you saw that she was still just waiting, scrolling through her phone looking bored out of her mind. you felt bad and realised you could’ve gotten that new junior doctor to keep her company.

“oh hi you’re back! with..” she trailed off when she saw jeonghan but her unasked question was answered when she saw the gift bag in his hands. jeonghan handed the bag over to her, smiling at her reaction to the flowers.

“these are so pretty! doctor your boyfriend’s really talented!” she giggled observing the flowers more. she was so entranced by them that she didn’t notice the awkward atmosphere engulfing the room when you quickly tried to deny what she was implying.

you were cut off by the message saying that the parents were here and were too distracted to see jeonghan leave, and you were too distracted to see the disappointment on his face.

after everything with the girl was settled, you headed back to your office. tired after the long day, you settled back into your chair stretching your limbs. you smiled to yourself when you spotted what was on your desk. it was a messy collection of a few flowers, there was no delicacy to it at all and you know that jeonghan would look annoyed at whoever ‘crafted’ (although he’d probably argue this wasn’t even a craft) the poorly put together flowers. there wasn’t even an official tag with them, it was usually just a torn off sticky note that you could get at the front desk. and as per routine, all that was on the note was a scribbled heart and a ‘good luck for tomorrow’.

for a little over half a year you’ve been getting these, but you still don’t know who it’s from. you don’t even know who in the staff delivers them to your desk because it can’t be a patient or visitor, they don’t have access. it never fails to put a smile on your face and you always secretly hope they’d give you some hint of who was sending them. you put them in your bag, heading to your car so that you could go to dinner with a few of your friends.

“you look extra happy today” your friend sooyoung teased you, giggling at how the warmth quickly spread across your face at what she said.

“it’s obvious why, did your secret admirer send you the flowers again today?” seulgi added, “what were they today, huh?”

“shut up guys” you groaned, “it’s not a secret admirer, it’s just someone being sweet and appreciating how much surgeons do! is that so wrong?”

“oh yeah definitely” nayeon teased, “someone would definitely get you flowers everyday just because they appreciated how good of a surgeon you are”

you sighed as all three of them burst into a fit of giggles before nayeon spoke up again, “so who is it?”

“isn’t it obvious?” seulgi said before you could answer, “it’s obviously jeonghan. who else is at the hospital and has relation to flowers?”

you shook your head at her reasoning, “it can’t be jeonghan. i thought it was at first too but the flowers are way too messy to be jeonghan’s. i’ve seen the flowers he keeps buried in the trunk of his car and even they’re more put together than the ones that the mystery person gives me”

“true” sooyoung spoke up, “we’ve seen these flowers, they’re all uneven. they look like they were taken from someone’s garden. i doubt jeonghan would give yn flowers that ugly if he liked her”

“hey!” you shouted, suddenly feeling offended on behalf of who was gifting you the flowers, “don’t call them ugly, they’re sweet” you pouted.

sooyoung laughed before hugging your side, “guys she’s already defending her secret offender, it’s so cute!”

you groaned again, burying your head in your hands while your friends continued to make theories on who was sending you the flowers. when you thought back to how seulgi thought it was jeonghan giving you the flowers, you remembered that you never paid him for the flowers from earlier. jumping, you quickly found his contact and called him.

“jeonghan! you didn’t let me pay for the flowers” you pouted though he couldn’t see it.

“oh so you- oh wait you mean the ones for that teenager?” he got rid of the teasing lilt immediately, although you were a little curious what he was going to say at first. “eh, don’t worry about it”

“jeonghan i owe you so much for the amount of flowers you’ve covered me, you can’t keep doing this it’ll end up driving you out of business”

the sounds of jeonghan’s soft laugh melted throughout your ear, “i told you yn, don’t worry about it. i like doing it for you..” the call stayed quiet for a few seconds, almost like jeonghan had something else to say, “uh i’m gonna go to bed now so i’ll talk to you tomorrow, alright? i’ve gotta finish a few orders for a wedding so i’ve got an early night”

“oh of course, sorry to have kept you up” you quickly told him, “but remember i’m going to pay you back!” you ended the call with both of you wishing the other good night.

for the rest of the night, you ignored your friends’ teasing in favour of stuffing your face full with the expensive meal at the restaurant you guys decided to splurge for, mind thinking about the mystery person sending you flowers.

at the next day at work, nothing much happened. you were battling a pounding headache from the night before and luckily you didn’t have much to do today besides rounds.

you stopped by the staff room that seungcheol and joshua are usually at, oddly enough jeonghan wasn’t with them today. ‘oh right he said he was busy with the orders for that wedding’. you waved at them before finishing off your rounds, if you were lucky, you’d be able to finish early and spend the rest of your shift relaxing while you hoped for your headache to subside.

that’s exactly what you did, checking up on some of your patients recovering after surgery or doing their rehabilitation before sitting in your office. you looked at the clock, 12:36- almost time for lunch. your eyes widened before you quickly checked your bag. in your rush to get out this morning and because of the headache, you never packed your lunch for today.

groaning, you searched for any places nearby that you could go to for lunch. satisfied when you found a cafe that was only a ten minute drive away, you put it into your navigator app.

when you got there, you quickly dismissed your original plan of getting the food to go and taking it back to the hospital. the cafe was right next to a park, so the tables outside the shop were in the park itself. the ambiance and sounds of nature was beautiful on a day like today, it was sunny but not too hot to the point where you were sweating buckets.

you took your food and sat at one table, taking a few pictures to remind yourself to bring your friends back here someday.

“yn?” a familiar voice drew your attention. “it is you!” you voice took the seat across from you.

“jeonghan? hi! how’d the orders for the wedding go?” you asked him, happy to see a familiar face.

he smiled at how you remembered what he had planned for today, “they loved them, thankfully. other than that i didn’t really have much to do today and there wasn’t any orders for the hospital either so i decided to just hop by the cafe”

you nodded as you listened quietly to him, taking sips of your coffee in between your sounds of acknowledgment, “yeah i don’t really have much to do either, but i’ve still gotta head back to the hospital when my lunch breaks done. this place is really pretty though i need to come back here more often” you sighed happily, pointing towards the beautiful park.

jeonghan hummed, agreeing with you. the two of you spent the rest of your break talking with each other, happily passing the time by. you checked your watch and saw you had about twenty minutes left of your break.

you bid jeonghan goodbye before driving yourself back to the hospital making a beeline straight to your office. oddly enough the flowers were there already, one day you were going to find out who’s behind it all you swear.

your ears perked up at the sound of your phone notification until you internally groaned when you saw who it was.

you loved your parents, you swear you did, but sometimes you couldn’t deal with their ridiculing. nothing could ever satisfy them- not even being a great surgeon! as soon as you did one thing that they wanted, here came another expectation they wanted you to meet. it was ridiculous! you weren’t a teenager anymore you were an adult, but they didn’t understand that.

you sighed as you opened up the text from your mom, feeling a little bad because all she just asked you to join her for a family dinner. you immediately texted her a ‘sure, can’t wait to see you all!’ after making sure your schedule was free that day.

the day the dinner rolled around, you did your best to make sure you looked great. it wasn’t rare for your family to ‘poke fun’ at how you looked, whether that be at how you generally looked or how you were dressed.

satisfied with your appearance, you grabbed your perfume, dabbing some onto your neck, collarbones and wrists. checking to make sure you had everything, all you had to do now was wait for the taxi to come pick you up to take you to your parents’ house.

most of your family was there, it’d really been a long time since you’d seen most of your aunts, uncles and cousins. you weren’t exactly sure what the occasion for all of this was when you agreed to come but you learnt it was to celebrate your younger sister’s engagement.

you hugged her, happy and surprised. you both giggled like teenagers when she showed you the ring and you hugged her again, truly so happy for her.

when the excitement died down a little, your parents started to nag you with questions. “yn when are you planning on dating someone?” your mother asked you, “your sister’s two years younger than you and she’s already engaged, just how old are you going to be when you start looking for someone?”

you were hoping her intention wasn’t to have your entire family including relatives listen to her scolding you, but right now your relatives were trying to hide that they could hear everything being said by acting like they were having their own conversations- but it was fairly obvious all the attention was on you and your parents.

“uh well.. i’m not sure yet. when the right person comes along then..” you didn’t face them properly and mentally berated yourself for it. how could you expect them to finally acknowledge you as an adult when all you could do was turn into the little kid that was scared to disappoint them? “besides, i didn’t really have time to look! i’ve been a surgeon for a year and it took 8 years of training” you grew quiet at the slightly mad looks on their faces.

“we didn’t raise you to make excuses for yourself and not take responsibility yn” your father told you harshly.

you nodded, too drained to argue back. they’d drop it after a week or two and you really didn’t have it in you to draw even more attention to yourself. so you swallowed the lump in your throat down and blinked back the stinging tears forming in your eyes.

after another twenty minutes, you decided it was time for you to leave. their ridiculing wasn’t letting up any time soon and you were sure you wouldn’t be able to go the rest of the dinner without having a breakdown right next to your uncle who only wanted you to hand him the salt.

you made an excuse at their questions, “i’m being called in at the hospital” you told them.

you stepped outside, the cool summer air hitting your face causing the tears welling up for the last 30 minutes to finally start falling. you sat on the curb, silently crying to yourself for a few minutes. you sighed frustrated when you realised you didn’t bring any money to pay for a cab ride back, thinking you’d stay with your parents for the night.

you scrolled through your contacts before you realised that all of your friends were busy tonight.

there was only one you weren’t sure of.

jeonghan was sitting on his friend’s couch, hanging out with a couple of his friends when he got your call. he answered normally, not bothering to move to another room until he heard you speak.

you sounded so small, so hurt- he could practically hear the tears in your voice. biting back sobs you asked him if he could pick you up from the address you’d send. jeonghan was so confused, as far as he knew you were at your parents’ for a dinner. you’d told him a few days ago and you seemed so excited for it.

he quickly explained to his friends that he had to go and he wasn’t sure how long it’d take. jeonghan waited for you to send the address before starting the car, quickly driving to pick you up.

jeonghan thought about you the entire drive over, worried about what happened to put you in a state like that and angry at whoever made it happen. you were inconsolable over the phone and all he wanted to do was hug you and comfort you, telling you how much he loved you and that you didn’t deserve what happened to you.

your sobs died down a little, but you still sniffles every few seconds when stray tears would escape you. the sound of a car pulling up caught your attention and you looked up to see it was jeonghan, he looked so stressed.

you felt guilty when you saw him. ‘what if he was sleeping and he woke up for his?’ you thought to yourself, regretting having bothered him.

he crouched down to bring himself to your position as you still sat on the curb, a fresh set of tears forming in your eyes when you saw your friend.

“yn..” jeonghan said softly, worried and cautious. “can you tell me what happened please?”

you shook your head while you fought against your body and the urge to start sobbing again, “it’s so- so stupid, jeonghan. i’m sorry i bothered you, you’re probably so annoyed”

“hey hey, i’m not annoyed at you. if im annoyed it’s at whoever made you so sad” he told you, gently rubbing away your tears, heart breaking at how more just kept falling to replace the ones he wiped.

you explained everything to jeonghan from your sister’s engagement to the way your parents practically humiliated you in front of everyone.

he looked at you for a few seconds before getting up and walking over to the front door of your parents house. before he knocked on it, he unlocked his car and told you to sit in there rather than the dirty curb.

you were too drained from the night to question what he was up to, you’ve known yoon jeonghan long enough to know that you wouldn’t be able to stop him anyway.

he came back a few minutes later, looking frustrated but a little satisfied with himself. jeonghan went to the trunk of his car, pulling something out. when you saw him do so, you smiled a little, expecting him to give you a beautifully arranged bouquet of flowers like he always did when you expressed to him you were stressed and he’d always explain the specific choice of flowers while you admired them.

what you didn’t expect was for him to instead show you a messily arranged bunch of flowers, they looked like they were freshly picked from someone’s front garden. he reached over you to grab an old receipt from the glovebox, scribbling a little heart to the back of it before attaching it to the bunch of flowers. he handed it to you, grinning and happily laughing at your confusion.

“you didn’t expect it, huh?” he asked you, still giggling.

“n-no i didn’t- does this mean-?”

“that i’ve been the one leaving you those ugly little flowers on your desk everyday? yeah. expect well- it wasn’t really me leaving them- i mean obviously they’re from me to you but then one actually putting them on the desk was either shua or cheol-”

you laughed at how he was tripping over his own words, as cool as he wanted to look he was still a little nervous confessing to you.

“i’m so mad” you deadpanned, trying not to let the corners of your lips lift into a smile when you saw the worried look on his face.

“you mean to tell me that i’ve been trying to play detective for the last few months all because you didn’t want to tell me!” you whined, pouting at him.

“it was supposed to be a fun way to confess! i just didn’t think it’d take you this long to figure it out!” jeonghan laughed again when he realised you were joking. “actually, in the end, you weren’t even the one to realise. i told you!”

you rolled your eyes playfully at him, “oh well thank you for finally realising i was clueless about the whole thing. what did make you finally want to admit it anyway?”

jeonghan went silent for a few minutes, reassuring you that he was simply trying to find the right words to say what he needed to.

“when i heard you tonight.. i realised something” he looked at the empty street.

“on the phone you sounded so.. sad. it made me sad too and it made me realise that i was wrong about how i thought i felt about you for the last few months”

“i mean that i thought for the last few months that i just liked you- a crush kind of. and that i wanted to go out with you” he quickly added when he saw the worry flash through your face, “i realised that if i only liked you then i wouldn’t have felt how i did today. and it made me realise that i love you a lot more than i thought. and i don’t want to just go out with you but i want to try to make sure you never feel like how you did today ever again”

“so basically what i’m trying to say is, i love you yn, and i hope someday i’ll be in love with you, and you the same for me” he finally looked you in the eyes.

it was a lot to take in at once. from the dinner, to jeonghan telling you he was your mystery admirer to him telling you he loved you- it was a long night to say the least.

you thought about it, and you definitely felt the same. you wouldn’t say you were in love with him, but you definitely loved him- and wanted to see what a future life with him was like. jeonghan was an amazing person, he’d been the one to bring you joy for the better part of your first year as a surgeon.

leaning over the stick shift, you gently pressed a kiss to the corner of his lip, smiling at his it curved upwards. you met his eyes before speaking, “i really really like you too- i think i might even love you. and i definitely want to be with you, jeonghan”

jeonghan smiled again, index finger tilting the underside of your jaw up bringing you closer to him and his lips to yours.

“hannie? you ready yet?” you called out to your boyfriend, trying to decide on which necklace to wear.

you decided on the pearl one jeonghan had gotten for you on your anniversary, struggling a little as you tried to put it on yourself.

you felt the ends being taken from your own fingers as they secured the necklace in place, you looked through the mirror to see jeonghan, his hands now coming to circle your waist and pressing kisses on your neck from the back to the side, eventually making his way to your collarbone.

“han..” you sighed, smiling when his eyes met your own, “we don’t have much time left until we have to get there”

“i’m sure your sister won’t mind if we’re a little late” he said but pulled away anyway in favour of doing up your zip like you’d asked.

“oh yeah definitely” you said sarcastically before giggling at your boyfriend’s sulking, “come on, i’d rather my family doesn’t murder me for being late to my own sister’s wedding” in reality you knew you still had plenty of time and you definitely wouldn’t be late, but you still didn’t want to take any chances.

“if they try saying anything i’ll tell seungcheol to threaten them”

“what happened to the guy who once marched into my parents house and lectured them for ten minutes about how they should treat me better?” you teased him.

“he realised he’s scared your parents will end up saying no to him when he asks for their daughter’s hand in marriage” he laughed, his hands finding their way to his pockets while he kissed you again.

you tried to hide the fact that you were flustered by clearing your throat and checking your purse to make sure you had everything, but jeonghan saw right through you sending you a teasing look before grabbing his keys.

“yn?”

“hm?” you turned around to look at him.

“i love you” he smiled, warmth swimming in his brown eyes.

“i love you too” you walked over to him, pressing your lips to his own.

[respectthepetty]

Petty, I have a wild ass Jack and Joker theory, and I need to know what you think because we often end up in the clown car together, lol.

There's been a lot of talk/fears about Joke (and Toi Ting), now that we know character death is on the table - I'm not worried Joke will die (I am terrified they will gut us with Toi Ting but oh I hope not). I'm not saying that Joke isn't about to feel so responsible for what has happened that he's gonna get reckless with his life, because I absolutely think he will.

I think he's absolutely about to do some very stupid shit that could be his life in real danger as penance.

But I've been thinking for a while - since your initial posts about Hope and Save and their names - that Save is going to die. And now that I just skimmed a post that basically said that Joke and Save are the same character in different fonts and Save's guilt in episode 10, I'm absolutely positive.

Save is going to die.

Hope will live, because he has too. Without hope, we have nothing. (I also have a tangential theory that Save will die to save Hope, so...)

Thoughts?

Why not a third secret option? Why can’t everyone live? Since the show killed Jennie’s character, and the man who tried to run away with his few dollar bills died too, let’s just believe everyone remaining will survive! Even more, if Boss survives, then everyone BETTER live because no shitty father should survive when the possibility of a child dying is on the table. So I'm going to aim high because

Fortune Favors the Monkey King

Move over, Kitty! I'm driving this clown car straight to the opera house.

Because this is a Chinese opera.

We already know there is a Chinese influence in this story, as @veemark pointed out about the meal Joke ate with Jack and his grandma.

So with that in mind, in the fourth episode, when Nang punished the men for hurting her people, she drew the "09" stick (but she said nine-zero), which meant the men had to perform the Chinese opera of the Monkey King, which people in the tags thought was sooooo ridiculous!

In that same episode, Jack received his fortune, which was number 9 and stated, "When the fool changes black to white, the fate of the forgiver will change"

Now, skip to episode 9 when Joke gets "The Fool" card and changes the fate of Jack, the person who forgave him, so Jack's fortune was right.

Now, in episode 9, we also get the iconic team name "The Four Little Pigs"

And this is where the light bulb turned on because this is Journey to the West.

Journey to the West is an epic Chinese story that is 100 chapters long about a group of heroes having to complete a certain amount of tasks to achieve enlightenment.

The main character is Tang Sanzang who is basically a saint who wants to bring good to all the land and who everyone is in love with and wants to marry. We are introduced to him in chapter 9 of the story. He is the heart.

The first person he meets on his journey is the Monkey King, aka Sun Wukong, who was so great at being the best trickster that he became overconfident and ended up getting put in heavenly jail for 500 years. The first chapters of the story are actually about him. He is foolish, but he is also the mastermind.

He has a daughter, Yuebei Xing. She has her own story, Journey to the South. She is a badass. She fights monsters and lives to tell the tale.

The Monkey King is easily the most powerful of the bunch, but Tang Sanzang doesn't like the Monkey King's methods because they are immoral, so there is a gold ring involved that keeps him in check.

Or maybe it's this ring.

I think it's the second ring because a goddess, who keeps helping them along the way, helps them with the ring too. She is also cool.

Along the journey, they meet Zhu Wuneng, aka Pig. He is a smart fighter but he is greedy and selfish so he keeps taking shit he isn't supposed to, which constantly gets them in trouble. He is human nature (the world).

There is Sha Wujing aka Sandy, who was once a god, but shattered a crystal and ended up banished to earth to be a mortal. He is conformity without thought (the moon).

And finally, there is Bai Long Ma, who is a horse that they ride for transportation. He is human will (the star).

There is also a princess somewhere in there who must be saved from a marriage.

The group meets obstacles along the way, and lots of crazy shit goes down, but after 14 YEARS they finally come to the end of their journey.

And on their journey to achieve enlightenment they meet a squire whose loved one is kidnapped with the possibility of murder and another squire who is murdered and his wife is pissed about it because she did everything to make sure he wouldn't be harmed.

Now, if you gasped because you think Hope (or Save) will die, well . . . the number 14 fortune was Hope's.

The fortune was given in episode four which is the same episode Jack got his fortune, but it seemed like Hope's fortune played out in the same episode when he found Joke right across the hall staying with Jack.

But the thing is, in the Chinese story, regardless of which squire it is, they don't just need the Monkey King; they need the Monkey King's help.

So the Monkey King goes to the underworld to get the loved one back and succeeds (both times). But he still needs to save our saint!

Remember, the group has to do a certain number of deeds to bring peace to the land, so the group goes in to save their leader, and the ONLY reason they make it out is because all of the people they have helped along the way (especially the people the Monkey King has helped) return the favor and save them.

By saving others, they saved themselves.

So . . . I don't think anyone else is dying. However, it's been YEARS since I read a very condensed version of this story in Asian Rhetorics, and @journeytothewestresearch's blog helped me piece some of what I forgot together.

So I could be wrong, and everyone dies.

But I don't think so.

*fingers crossed that fortune favors the bold Monkey King*