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according2thelore · 1 year

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with hearts that are guilty, not remorseful on ao3

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rating: Explicit

word count: 14,595

relationship: sam/dean

important tags: season 3, yearning, love confessions, anal sex, getting together, angst, hurt/comfort

excerpt:

“I’ve wanted you since I knew what wanting was.” It’s a fact, as plain as the day. The sky is blue. Their mother was killed by a demon. They hunt monsters. Sam wants Dean. “I’ve loved you for longer, I think.”

“God,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper, raising a hand to grip his own hair by the roots and pulling. He looks absolutely wretched. “I fucked you up, didn’t I?”

Sam slams the motel door shut behind him. Dean is already sitting down on the foot of his bed, shucking his muddy boots as if nothing is amiss. It makes Sam irrationally pissed, and he has to take a deep breath just to beat back the urge to start throwing punches.

Dean had been incredibly reckless—a-fucking-gain—and almost gotten his head ripped off by a lake monster two towns over. Sam had a clear shot (consecrated silver pellets) but Dean had shoved him to the ground to take the incoming blow from a stray limb instead, sending Sam’s shot wide. The fight had lasted twenty minutes longer than it had to, with them having to scatter in a dock-side storehouse, hiding underneath nets and overturning buckets of chum. They both smelled fucking atrocious, but their clothes had remained relatively unscathed. Small mercies, as Sam didn’t see a laundromat coming into town.

Dean was always doing this now: being stupid and reckless and almost trying to get himself killed. If it were just that, Sam could safeguard against it, but Dean was always doing it for Sam, which made him mad enough to spit. Whenever Sam would try to approach Dean’s near-suicidal idiocy, Dean would get all forehead-wrinkly and irritated. I don’t know, Sam, I guess I was just tryin’ to save your damn life. As if Sam was the crazy one here. Save your life. That was another goddamn thing.

Sam wasn’t supposed to be saved. Not like this, and not at the expense of Dean’s own life.

When Dean eventually died, he would join Sam on the other side, whatever that looked like. If there was a Hell, there could be a Heaven, right? Dean couldn’t have just waited, could he? They would never see each other again now, unless Sam decided to really fuck things up for his future. And in the dark of night with Dean breathing quietly across the room, Sam wondered…but no. What pissed Sam off the most though, was the fact he was a fucking hypocrite. He didn’t have to imagine anymore—a life without Dean, fifty, sixty, seventy years (if the world was feeling particularly cruel) was becoming an increasingly probable unescapable nightmare.

Sam had loved—been in love with—his brother as long as he could remember, before he knew that there were different kinds of love. There was just Dean, and Sam would do anything for Dean. He had realized, horrified, in the sixth grade that other kids didn’t talk about their siblings the same way Sam did.

I hate my brother, his friend had said. I wish I was an only child. An only child? When Sam tried to picture life without Dean, he couldn’t—it was just…blank.

Dean had been front row at all of his soccer games and plays and recitals. Dean had showed up to family day at school, had snuck over from the high school to have lunch with Sammy on Wednesdays, had taken Sam to get a rental suit for prom.

And then Sam realized that the reason his skin heated up wherever Dean touched him wasn’t just because Dean was a particularly warm person. It was because Sam was wrong, was fucked-up, and wanted too much.

His first wet dream was about Dean’s mouth.

And Dean couldn’t get it through his thick fucking skull that he was the axis of Sam’s life.

When he started college, he tried a bunch of different classes to pick his major. Now that he had a world of possibilities, he had gotten drunk on it. In physics, he had learned about something called restoring force. The further that you pulled a mass from its equilibrium position, the greater the force is returning it to where it’s supposed to be. The farther that Sam had pulled away from Dean, the greater the restoring force had been in his shitty kitchen with Jessica looking at him and Dean, unable to drag their eyes away from each other. Dean had told him, in the dark of the Impala, no oncoming lights to illuminate the look on his face. C’mon, Sammy. You get the life you always wanted. Find a nice girl, have a couple a’ kids. A normal life. You don’t need me—you were always the stronger of the two of us. The words had almost made Sam slam his head into the dashboard until the echo of them left his ears.

Look at me! Sam wants to shout. You have doomed me to a half-life. Everyone who passes me on the street will know that half of me has been obliterated. What is that? They’ll scream. What the fuck happened to it?

There wasn’t a delineation between what was Sam and Dean anymore. They had merged, burrowed into each other so deeply that to separate them into two disparate parts could only be called a massacre.

You can have a normal life now, Dean had said. But Sam knew. Who would want me? Who would want me with my guts falling out into my hands, with my muscles twitching in the aftermath of being stripped, string by strong, with my breath heaving, unable to adjust to taking in half as much oxygen?

The problem with the request lies in the first word: “find.” A command. Sam couldn’t. Dean couldn’t make him. His life had never had a pre-Dean, and the gaping maw of a post-Dean threatened to swallow him—not whole, but bite by excruciating bite. Sam didn’t want to find another person to fill the looming paralyzing vacancy in his life. If his arm had been amputated, he didn’t want to hold up a series of strangers’ arms until he found the one that made him look most like himself again. It wouldn’t be his dependable hands, familiar nails, the hairline scars on his fingers. A stranger, even once acquainted, would never inherently know Sam in the way Dean did.

Sam has no desire to share skin with anyone else.

Sam needed Dean in the way a musician needed their ears, in the way a chef needed their taste, the way a painter needed their sight. He could survive, in a way without him, but the color of life would be leeched from every corner.

Sam crosses over to Dean, the fight slowly draining from him with every thought. Dean shifted over to face Sam’s bed, so when he sat down, they sat knee-to-knee.

“You still pissed?” Dean asks. Sam just looks at him. He has a barely-there cut above his right eyebrow. It’s already scabbed over, but the fact that it exists at all makes Sam’s chest constrict. “You’ve gotta stop.” He says. Dean blinks at him, a little taken aback. “Stop what?” “Trying to get yourself killed. For me.” “What the hell—“ “You already sealed the deal—isn’t that enough?” Sam shoves the heels of his palms into his eyes, feeling the pressure there. Dean doesn’t say anything for a long second, and Sam finally caves, looking back up at him.

Dean’s face is closed off, and he’s not looking at Sam. His gaze is fixed on Sam’s knees, jaw working.

When Sam had nightmares as a kid, Dean would shove him over in bed, crawling into the space between the door and Sam, as if a silent promise that Dean would protect him from the monster in the dark. Sam would press his face into Dean’s collarbone, tiny hands grabbing uselessly at the collar of his shirt. Dean had effortlessly calmed Sam’s panic attacks, put bandaids on his scraped knees, told him bedtime stories when Sam couldn’t sleep, taught him how to tie a knot and shoot a gun and throw a punch. Dean had never hesitated to comfort Sam, always doing exactly what Sam needed in the moment. Sam had been chasing the goal of returning even a fraction of that devotion back, pressing small acts into Dean’s collarbone, for a decade.

Sam never had much dignity when it comes to Dean, so he slides from his perch on the bed. He tucks himself into the space between their beds, on his knees, looking up into Dean’s face to catch his blank gaze. Dean—too shocked to fight the instinct—opens his knees wider to allow Sam room to slip between them.

“I can’t lose you a second before I have to, okay? For me, Dean.” Sam tries to press as much emotion into the words as he can. Do this for me. Live for me. Try for me.

Dean looks back and forth between Sam’s eyes, his own wide. A thin smile splits the disbelief. “Yeah, whatever you say, Sammy.” Sam doesn’t know if Dean means it—prays silently, fervently that he does—but can’t do much better than that tonight. Sam searches Dean’s face for any trace of falsehood, but Dean’s looking at his face just as intensely. Dean’s trying to probe Sam for something, but what?

He can’t make Dean want to live, even for Sam’s own selfish sake, and it kills him.

Sam sits back, but falls forward into Dean’s legs, exhausted. He can feel Dean tense, along the line of his spine, thighs clenching. “Sam, what are you doin’?” Sam shakes his head, feeling the hard dig of Dean’s patella into his cheekbone. Sam feels his familiar impotent anger curling low in his stomach. He hates Dean, sometimes, when he gets like this. When Dean pretends that he doesn’t need Sam, too. When he freezes up and gets his smarmy, cocky smile plastered on his face in time to hide (God forbid) an actual, genuine emotion. Sam hates him, he thinks. He doesn’t know if he believes it yet. Right now, he’s just exhausted. “Just…shut up for a second. I just need…just a second. Please.”

Sam needs to feel the press of Dean’s bones against his own—before Dean takes them away, before they become dust and ash. Before Dean becomes the worst thing he could: not Sam’s anymore. Dean acquiesces, as he is wont to do when Sammy asks with this particular brand of whine in his tone. He should feel bad about using his Dean-power for evil, but he doesn’t. He wishes Dean’s legs were bare, so they could be pressed skin-to-skin. As it stands, Sam can barely feel his warmth through the thick denim.

Sam presses his forehead into the side of Dean’s knee. His knees aren’t as knobby as they used to be, when Sam would sleep pressed to Dean’s side, when he was young enough for that type of comfort. Dean reaches down, pressing a warm hand into Sam’s hair. His fingers are so familiar that Sam aches with it. How is he supposed to live without this? How can Dean expect him to, when Dean couldn’t live without Sam for seventy-two hours?

“Sammy,” Dean says. Just that. Just Sammy.

Sam looks up into Dean’s face, caught by the anxious need to see his eyes, as if he’ll disappear. The vise in his chest doesn’t relax until Dean looks back at him. His eyes are green, always so green and beautiful and they shred Sam’s lungs like a hellhound.

The need to be closer, as close as possible, doesn’t abate. Sam is brimming with the need to weave them together—as if anything that wants to get to Dean has to tear him asunder first—almost spilling from his lips, bursting from every pore.

He doesn’t think.

He sits up, Dean’s hand still tangled in his hair, and kisses him.

The angle is awkward, as Sam has tilted his head almost ninety degrees to get at Dean’s lips, but Dean jerks back, a little shocked. Their lips don’t part, as Sam presses forward again, blind to anything but the feel of Dean’s lips, slightly chapped.

And then.

And then, Dean kisses back.

Sam’s brain explodes in a white, hot rush of Yesyesyesyesyes. Dean presses forward, hand in his hair tightening, a noise akin to a wail coming from his mouth.

Sam had watched Dean kiss people his entire life—faceless girls in every bar in America, housewives on cases, and on one occasion, a boy with long brown hair pressed against the wall of an alley behind a motel in Vermont.

Sam had become an addict, obsessed. He watched Dean’s mouth with the reverence of a pilgrim, eyes traveling to the shrine of a full bottom lip, teased with teeth and soothed with tongue. And now, he was touching. Dean’s full mouth was pressed to his, and Sam could do nothing but fall to his knees and worship.

Sam gasps, heart catapulting so fast in his chest that he’s distantly surprised he hasn’t keeled over. He can feel his heartbeat everywhere, in his ribs, in his ears, his tongue heavy with it and pulsing against the zipper of his jeans.

Sam opens, begging Dean to come into his mouth. Anything, anything you’ll give me pleasepleaseyesyesplease. Dean’s tongue flicks out, a flutter against the top row of his teeth, testing.

Sam makes a noise he would definitely be embarrassed about later, whining and pained and so desperate it feels like his skin will peel off if Dean doesn’t touch him everywhere. The noise does something to Dean, for his other hand comes up and presses against Sam’s chest, feeling the rapid pulse there. His grip on Sam’s hair tightens further, and he uses his grip—(a scratch of nails against his scalp, Sam keens)—to force Sam’s mouth up against his so hard Sam’s sure his lips with bruise as they set in to devour each other. He’s steering Sam’s mouth where he wants him using his grip on his hair, and he tastes like whiskey and warmth and home.

It’s filthy, the way Dean is eating him alive. Sam wants it, with a power and desperation he has rarely wanted anything. He has become an animal of need, pawing at Dean’s face, letting himself be devoured by the throbbing pulse of them, combined. Dean’s tongue is on the inside of his mouth, pressing against the roof, tender strokes against his own. Sam’s lungs are burning but he’d sooner cut off his legs before he’d pull away. Dean makes the decision for him, pulling back for barely a second to reposition their mouths, biting savagely down on Sam’s bottom lip. Sam hopes desperately that it’ll leave a mark, that he will be indelibly marked with Dean’s incisors and everyone will know.

My turn, my turn, Sam’s brain whines, and he raises a hand to ball in Dean’s shirt, pulling him back to his mouth. He has to press the heel his other hand down on his cock, still straining against his zipper painfully, to alleviate some of the aching, throbbing tension there. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life, and it twitches in his jeans at the pressure, causing Sam to whimper again into the cavern of Dean’s panting mouth. Sam worries Dean’s bottom lip with his own teeth, tongue driving out to lick a damning “S” against the flushed angle of it. Mineminemine Dean please.

“Sammy,” Dean rasps, and it’s a shock to Sam’s system more than any punch to the gut. Dean locks up all at once, tension pulling his body tight like a bowstring, and mouth leaving Sam’s in an agonizing shred of flesh.

Dean pulls away, hands pressing at Sam’s chest to keep him at a distance. A string of saliva snaps as they part, and Sam’s eyes are glue to where it sits now on Dean’s lower lip. Dean’s eyes are wild, half-feral—desperate and hurt. In the summer of 1996, Dad and Dean came back after a werewolf hunt, and Dean’s arm had almost been ripped off at the shoulder. The werewolf had gotten his teeth in the meat of his shoulder and yanked. Dad hadn’t wanted to take him to the hospital, but the sheer amount of blood and raw meat of Dean’s shredded skin—more viscera than anything resembling a human body—made Sam hysterical. The look in Dean’s eyes—genuine, palpable agony that he had always been so careful to hide—was so terrifying that Sam went into a complete meltdown. He had begged so vehemently—screaming and shaking—for Dad to turn his car around that he had vomited all over his shoes.

This is worse. Somehow, the look in Dean’s eyes now is more petrifying than back then because Sam had caused it. Dean is looking at Sam like that. Sam backs off immediately, falling back onto his heels. Dean’s chest is heaving, and he’s staring at Sam like he’s never seen him before.

“No.” Dean’s head starts to shake back and forth, a tongue flicking out to wet his lips. Sam watches the movement helplessly. That was my saliva, his brain whines. Dean, taking in a part of him, makes him throb. “No, Sam, we’re not doing this.” His hands, on his thighs now, start to shake. “You’re not giving me this. You’re not.”

He’s starting to look angry, brow furrowing and mouth flattening into a line. But worse—infinitely, blindingly worse—wetness is gathering at his bottom lashes. Sam feels so wretched, so broken and wrong and evil that he feels like he’s dying.

“No, Dee, please don’t be mad at me.” Sam sits up, distress clawing up his throat and hands grappling desperately at Dean’s calves as he stares up into his face. Tears build in his own eyes. He feels like a child again—broken Dean’s tape player and begging wildly for his forgiveness because Dean is everything. “Please don’t. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Sam’s ruined it. He’s ruined everything. Dean will die hating him, disgusted with him. Dean is still shaking his head, but he reaches down to still Sam’s grasping fingers. He might be pissed, he might be disgusted and repulsed by his fucked up little brother, but he is physically incapable of not comforting a terrified Sam.

“You don’t want me, Sammy. You don’t want this. You’re scared and sad and pissed I’m dyin’, but you don’t want this.” Dean is searching his face, but pulls away from Sam’s seeking fingers. It would have hurt less to be stabbed.

Sam lets his eyes rove in turn, soaking in Dean as he’s been trying to do for the past eight months. The swoop of his flushed mouth, the devastating curl of his eyelashes, his strong jaw. Even the things Dean hates: the curve of his nose, the splash of darkened freckles across his cheeks.

“Do you remember Leah Templesmith?” Sam asks suddenly. Dean blinks. His face screws up.

“What the fuck, Sam?” “Do you?” Sam presses, eyes fixed on the furrow of his brow and fighting every impulse in his body that wants to press his lips to it. “From Iowa. Fall of ‘97.” Dean shakes his head, lips (still shiny and full in the low light) thinning into a line. Sam can’t stop his fingers from tracing the grain of Dean’s jeans, thumb nail trailing over his shin bone.

“She was the first one that looked like me.” Sam says, and he might as well have shot Dean in the sternum. Dean flinches hard, but his body has nowhere to go now that Sam has his legs pinned to the bed. “She had short brown hair, hazel eyes, and I wanted to strangle her in her sleep.”

Dean is still looking at Sam like he’s going to snap and rip Dean’s head from his shoulders. “Stop, Sam.” Sam presses on. “You were still in school. I would see you pressing her against lockers before class and under the bleachers during lunch. I was spitting with jealousy, but I had no idea why.”

“You were fourteen.” Dean says, like it’s the saddest thing he’s ever heard. His eyes are wide. Sam shrugs. “I’ve wanted you since I knew what wanting was.” It’s a fact, as plain as the day. The sky is blue. Their mother was killed by a demon. They hunt monsters. Sam wants Dean. “I’ve loved you for longer, I think.”

“God,” Dean’s voice is barely a whisper, raising a hand to grip his own hair by the roots and pulling. He looks absolutely wretched. “I fucked you up, didn’t I?”

He tries to give Dean a smile, but it feels false and plastic on his face, like the tree he had stolen for their Christmas all those months ago. Prickly.

“You always assume you’re the fucked up one between us.” Sam laughs, just a puff of air with no humor. “What if it’s just me? What if I was always like this?” Sam wants to start screaming, just to alleviate the pulling tension in his chest. “Loving you was the only constant thing in my life, and I’m not sorry for it. I can’t be.”

Dean looks suddenly unbearably young. And he is. He’s twenty-goddamn-seven. Way too young to look at Sam like that, to say “The truth is I’m tired, Sam.” and mean it.

“Sammy.” Dean says around a croak, a catch in his throat that Sam wants to reach up and feel. “You’re…You’re my—“ Dean chokes. Sam leans up a little—not enough to scare Dean away again, but far enough to see the golden flecks in his eyes. “Exactly.” He cuts him off. “I’m yours. Just yours.”

Dean whispers his name like a curse. He closes his eyes, seemingly unable to bear the weight of what Sam has laid in front of him. He rubs a hand over his face, rough, his ring catching the watery light of the lamp. Sam’s knees are cramping, but he doesn’t think he’d be able to get up if he tried. Sam sits there, an open nerve exposed to a scalpel. Please be gentle. Please sever me with care.

Dean opens his eyes.

There’s a hard set to them, a glint of steel and a flash of gunpowder. He looks at Sam in a way he never has—even when Dad had begged him to, when Sam had sulfur on his tongue and dreams of blood and his finger on triggers they had no business being on. He looks at him like Sam’s a monster, and Dean’s on a hunt. Focus. Undivided, analytical attention that makes Sam feel dangerous. His skin prickles with heat, starting low and traveling to the tips of his fingers, where they still on Dean’s knee. He’s searching Sam for something, and Sam lets himself be searched. Throwing open drawers, helping Dean overthrow mattresses. Dean flays him open, before his eyelids slowly lower, and there it is. The flash of a tongue against his bottom lip.

Sam has seen this look on Dean before, directed forever outward, at waitresses, at Bela, at bartenders and clerks and Leah goddamn Templesmith. But never at Sam. Sam aches, and he can’t tell if it’s a good or bad hurt, but he wants more of it. “Well.” Dean finally says, his voice an octave lower than it was a few minutes (an hour, a decade, a lifetime) ago. “I’m already going to hell, aren’t I?”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat, and he doesn’t get the chance to gasp before Dean’s mouth is on his again.

It’s more violent this time—all teeth like a punishment, but Sam believes in penance, so he melts into the curve of Dean’s body, against the hard line of him as Dean takes.

Dean pulls hard, and Sam has no choice but to follow Dean up onto the bed. It’s a tangle of limbs, Sam having to unravel from his spot on the floor. Somehow, he manages to crawl on top of Dean, pinning him between his arms on the bed. Dean goes eagerly, slotting his thigh against the apex of Sam’s thighs and against the line of his dick. It responds eagerly, and Sam feels himself hardening again. Dean does something simply criminal with his hips, and Sam has to pull back to gasp for air.

Dean doesn’t let him go far, balling a fist in Sam’s shirt to keep him close. “If you don’t get this thing off,” Dean growls, but doesn’t get to finish his threat. Sam pulls back and rips his shirt off of his head. He’s stopped from kissing Dean again by the look on his face. Dean’s eyes are rapidly tracing over his chest—over his pecs, his abs, the small trail down to his jeans. His irises are almost completely swallowed by the black dots of his pupils. He wets his lips. Sam feels…well, sexy. Sam leans forward, a little hesitantly because Dean is still looking at him strangely, but Dean reaches up and puts a hand on his chest to keep him away. “One sec.” He says, a rasp. “I didn’t allow me to look.”

Sam tries to string the words together in his brain to something that makes sense. It takes a second longer than it should, because Dean’s touch has turned into a caress, moving over ribs with a steady, firm intent. Oh.

Dean hadn’t given himself permission to look at Sam like this. Before. How long? How long had he looked away on purpose?

Sam is seized with the intense need to see Dean, too. He had snuck glances as long as he could get away with—which was much more often than one would think. In long, sticky summers when motels didn’t have air conditioning, Dean would parade around their 300-square-foot room with a glistening chest and chiseled stomach. It was enough to drive any horny fifteen-year-old into madness. Sam yanks on the bottom of Dean’s t-shirt.

“Turnabout. Fair play. All that.”

Dean eyes get a little sharper as he pulls his shirt off in a practiced movement. It feels like a mask—Dean pulling on a protective cover as familiar as Dad’s jacket or his worn pair of jeans. Sam immediately hates the look. It’s more lascivious, but infinitely less personal, less like the look that has always been the way he looks at Sam and more like the way he eyes up waitresses and secretaries.

The press of his bare skin against Sam is enough to blast the thought to ashes—salted and burned. It feels like fire, like they will melt together into one being. Sam tries to remember when he had this much of someone else’s skin pressed against him and he can’t. Every pore where Dean connects light up like a neon sign. Sam gasps, but Dean reclaims his mouth, pressing his tongue where it belongs.

Dean slithers a hand down to Sam’s stomach, trailing the softness of his stomach, the divot between his pecs, the swell of his chest. He leaves sparks in his wake.

Sam arches up into Dean’s touch, breaking the kiss to press a series of increasingly sloppy kisses to Dean’s jaw, throat, nape. He hopes, as he bites hard down on the meat of Dean’s shoulders, that he’ll leave marks. He wants Dean to look in the mirror and see what Sam had done, had done to keep him. He wants everyone who passes Dean on the street and every waitress who flirts with him to know that he has been claimed.

As Sam continues to kiss across Dean’s collarbones, his mouth catches against something hard. He pulls back a little, and sees that it’s the leather cord—body-warm and well-worn—of Sam’s necklace.

He had been surprised, two years ago, to see it still on Dean’s neck. He had figured after the words they had lobbed at each other like needle-point blades—designed to inflict as sharp of a pain as possible—Dean would have cut him from the tapestry of freckle-spotted skin, excising a tumor.

But Dean had come for him. The first thing Sam had felt, when Dean had pressed him to the cold wood of his kitchen, hands rough and warm, was a cold sting of metal brushing his cheek. He had thought, panicking, that it was a knife, but the small face of the amulet had gotten his attention.

Dean.

Sam trails the cord of the amulet now with his mouth, until his lips are pressed against the burnished gold of the figure.

Dean is panting as if he had run a marathon, chest rising and falling in spurts, and Sam rises and falls with the movement as he takes the pendant between his teeth. Mine, mine, mine.

Dean had kept it—kept Sam—as close to his heart as possible. Dean makes a noise like Sam had make the amulet into a garrote, choking on air, chest arching up to fit to every curve of Sam’s body. Sam smirks, drunk on the power that having Dean like this gives him. His immediate, unquestioning submission to Sam, to what they have, threatens to undo him. How long could he have had this? Sam tries to imagine a younger, bright-eyed Dean pressing Sam at age eighteen to that motel wall in Vermont, replacing the brown-haired boy. He tries to imagine if Dean would be gentle with him, surrendering his first time to a boy who deserved all of his firsts.

The thought makes an unexpected lump form in his throat. No. He’d still have to leave—he needed to figure out who he was without the twin shadow of Dean, making up more of Sam than Sam himself was. Stanford was hard, but it was the first thing that was his alone. It was better like this: crashing together when they were both strong enough to survive the collision.

Any earlier, Sam thinks, would have destroyed them. It would have mangled them so they would never fit together like this again.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean groans, head slamming back into the pillow so he could press the long, hard brand of his cock harder against Sam’s thigh. “That big head of yours more interesting than me?”

Sam drops the pendant from between his teeth (which he had been pressing his tongue to unconsciously, and his mouth tastes like metal) and kisses Dean hard to shut him up.

When he can finally pull himself away from Dean’s lips (who gives a hell of a fight, winding a tight hand into his hair to keep him where he wants him), he moves back to the foot of the bed. He reaches up and places a hand on Dean’s belt buckle. He looks up at Dean, with the intention of asking if it’s okay, but the view punches his breath from his lungs.

Dean is beautiful. Objectively, it’s just a fact. But this. Here. He’s looking down the firm, built line of his body at Sam, green eyes almost swallowed completely by pupil. Dean’s necklace is lying on his sternum, visibly wet from Sam’s mouth. Sam has to swallow hard to prevent from choking. “Sammy,” Dean gasps, hands bundling in the itchy fabric of the motel bedspread.

The look in Dean’s eyes from before is completely gone. He’s looking at Sam the way he always looks at him, and Sam is finally letting himself recognize the devotion there. The adoration. Dean is looking at Sam and seeing him. The armor of before has been destroyed.

This. Here. It’s Sam’s.

Sam’s suddenly fucking starving, and he wraps his fingers around Dean’s belt buckle, pulling with wide eyes. “Dean, can I?” He’s surprised at how deep his voice is to his own ears.

“Fuck,” Dean says, more whine than word. “Fuck. Yes. Fuck, Sammy.”

Sam doesn’t think he’s ever undone a buckle faster in his life, despite the fact that he’s so overeager he drops it twice. The heat of Dean’s skin is melting his fingers even through the fabric as Sam fumbles for the button. He looks up at Dean as he pulls the zipper down, hungry for the look in his eyes.

Dean does not disappoint, mouth opening so he can pant, and Sam doesn’t even have his hands on him yet.

Dean is straining against the fabric of his boxers, and Sam eyes the outline of him hungrily. He looks up at Dean as he presses his fingers, barely there, tracing the hard line of his cock. Dean swears, and his hips twitch.

“Are you always this eager?” Sam wonders aloud, “Or is this just for me?” Deans makes a noise like he’s been shot, and Sam can feel his own dick twitch at the noise. Noted.

Sam bends his head, and places his tongue to the spot where the fabric of his boxers is a bit darker. Salt on his tongue. He’s a little flattered, really. Or he would be, if he had the brain capacity to be flattered. If he had anything going on in his head right now but the pulsing, throbbing rhythm of Deanfinallyyesyesminefinally. He kneads the spot with his tongue, soaking Dean’s boxers through and absorbing Dean’s whimpers and trying to feel the head of his cock through the fabric.

When he feels like he can’t take it anymore, he pulls down Dean’s boxers and jeans in one full movement. When he finally gets himself settled back where he belongs (between Dean’s knees), Dean has a hand around his dick, pumping slowly and a challenging smile on his face. Sam swats his hand away, and finally gets a look.

His dick is a wonder. Sam tries to catalogue it as fast as he can (shorter than his but thick enough that Sam’s brain goes a little sideways) before he’s pressing a kiss to the base of it. “Sam,” Dean groans, “Stop teasin’ me.” Sam raises an eyebrow, looking up at him, and Dean opens his mouth in a clearly sass-filled retort. To nip that in the bud, Sam descends. He takes Dean’s cock in his mouth, taking mind of his teeth and sinking down as far as he can without choking. Dean’s spine snaps taut, before bending in a sensuous arch. The noise he makes is probably the hottest thing Sam has ever heard. Sam’s hands find their ways to Dean’s strong thighs, pressing thumbs into the sensitive joint of his legs.

Sam has never given a blowjob (dreamed about it more than once, Dean in the back of the Impala, Sam in the footwell and taking Dean all the way to the back as he shook apart in his arms), but knows what he likes. He alternates between a gentle suction and teasing the tip, tongue licking into the slit and around the flared head.

Dean is loud, cursing and giving soft little whimpers that go straight to Sam’s cock. The realization that he’s really here, that it’s Dean on his tongue is enough to have him scrambling for his own belt, shoving his jeans down just enough to work his own hand into his pants.

Sam could get addicted to this: the warm press of Dean’s bare thighs, the power of having Dean entirely at his mercy, the act of finally being able to take care of Dean, returning a fraction of that devotion.

Dean’s hand finally slides into Sam’s hair, and Sam’s everything is Dean—Dean filling his nose and his mouth and his hand sliding through his hair and calves pressed into his shoulders. He smells warm and Dean, and his tongue is heavy, and his eyes are watering, but from how deep he’s managed to work Dean in his mouth or the sheer overwhelming sensation he couldn’t tell. Spit is gathering at the corners of his mouth, dribbling slowly from his lips, but Sam only increases his efforts, wanting to feel the blunt head of Dean hit his soft palate. When Sam presses the flat of his tongue fully against the pulsing vein along the bottom, Dean’s hand tightens painfully in Sam’s hair, pushing down, and Sam’s brain goes white, sparks dancing along his vision. He tries to moan, more vibration than noise and Dean fucking wails.

“Stop!” Dean yelps, pulling Sam up, fingers grazing his neck in his haste and pulling, making Sam almost choke in a way that shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. “Fuck!” Dean is panting, heaving. “Want you in me, Sammy. Don’t want to finish like that.”

Sam’s brain goes offline. He blinks. Once. Twice. And then he has to press tightly around the base of his dick to stave off the rush of FUCK as he imagines Dean spread out, hot and slick and fucking—

Sam tries to speak, but coughs. “I—um. Fuck. Yeah, okay.”

They stare at each other. “So…” Dean starts, looking suddenly very unsure. A second passes. Dean is looking increasingly uncomfortable, which makes Sam scramble for his brain power again. “Have you…have you done this before?” Sam asks. Dean raises an incredulous brow. “Sex?” Sam swats his thigh. “Sex with a guy, asshole.” Dean shifts his weight on the bed, propping himself up on his elbows. “Yeah, I mean. I’ve fucked a couple of guys.” “Have you ever…” Sam gestures down. Dean flushes a truly incredible shade of scarlet that Sam can now see goes down to his sternum. He had always wondered. Dean mumbles something, looking at the TV stand Sam’s sure is over his shoulder.

“What?” “No! I haven’t.” Dean still looks a little spooked. “But I know the mechanics of it. We need lube and a condom. And…” Dean trails off like Sam is supposed to fill in the blanks. “Wait—“ He cuts Sam off before he can put Dean out of his misery. “Have you done this before?” Sam shrugs, aiming for nonchalance. He had absolutely tried to fuck Dean out of his system in college, but no pair of green eyes or blonde hair or full lips had stuck. Until…well. Until Jess. “Yeah, both ways.” Dean’s eyes bulge almost comically. “You let some guy fuck you?”

Sam snorts. “Um. Yeah? His name was Trevor.”

Dean scowls. “I didn’t need to know that. Now I’ve got a Trevor on my shit-list. Poor guy doesn’t even know what’s coming.”

Sam can’t help but smile. Dean had always been almost comically focused on his love life, encouraging Sam to get as much experience as humanly feasible. Is it possible, that maybe, it was projection on Dean’s part? Sam knows that his skin would crawl whenever Dean would pick up a girl at a bar and leave Sam sitting behind sipping a beer and trying not to imagine what Dean would look like mid-orgasm. Jealousy. Dean’s jealous. Of Trevor, from art history.

Sam keeps having to remind himself: this is Dean. Dean’s jealous over him. Dean, whom Sam loves more than any other person, alive or dead. “I mean, I could always…” Sam says, trailing off. Dean’s eyes widen a little. ��Or not.” He hurries to add. “I mean, hell, Dean. We don’t even have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to. Or we could always jack each other off and watch TV after, if we want something slower.” Sam would take anything Dean would give him, even if it was nothing. Sam would sit on the ratty motel couch and watch I Love Lucy reruns for hours with an aching boner if Dean wanted him to, and he’d do it with a smile. Okay, maybe not a smile. But at least he’d do it.

“No.” Dean says quickly, and then seems to remember he’s embarrassed. “I…” He clears his throat. “No. I, uh. I want you.” Dean tries for a smirk, but his eyes are still a little wide, vulnerable. “Aren’t first times supposed to be for someone special or whatever?”

Sam’s heart makes a valiant effort to eviscerate his chest cavity.

“They can be. Or they can be a logistics nightmare with Stacey Masters under the bleachers at the Homecoming game against Boston.” Dean, caught of guard, throws his head back in a cackle.

“Your first time was in public? You sex-freak.” Dean laughs again. “You maniac. I fuckin’ knew it.”

Sam shrugs affably, just happy that the stressed set to Dean’s jaw is gone. When Dean quiets, his shoulders are much more relaxed. Sam shifts to the side, to allow Dean room to move off of the bed. “First things first, you smell like ass.” Sam says. He doesn’t really, but he does smell like the fresh water wet tang of fresh nickel (anything outside of this room feels like it was a year ago, a decade, the only thing that has ever existed is Dean, here, now), and…well. If they’re going to do this, Dean needs to get…clean. Dean shoves his palm into Sam’s face, tilting it to the side playfully. Sam goes with the movement, letting Dean slip past him and off the bed. Sam stares after him, chest feeling unbearably tight. Happiness. Relief.

A slow exhale eleven years in the making.

Sam follows Dean, an action so familiar that he doesn’t recognize the movement until he’s already standing in the doorway.

Dean’s already turning the water on, holding his hand under the faucet to test the temperature. Sam has to lean against the doorway because…Dean’s still naked. His corded muscles move in his legs as he bends over, baring the full curve of his ass, the small divot where it meets the meat of his thigh. Sam wants to press his tongue there, and has to bite down on his lip to curb the urge.

Sam’s arousal, which had abated somewhat, stirs again. Dean, seemingly satisfied, turns back around to look at Sam in the doorway. A slow smile blooms on his face.

He moves forward, way too much confidence for someone completely bare, body lithe and sure from years of hard exertion. Sam swallows.

“Woah, Sammy.” Dean pulls at Sam’s jeans, unbuttoned but still low on his hips. His thumbs brush against Sam’s dick as he pulls at the waist band. Dean looks up into Sam’s face, slow and inviting. “All for me?”

The use of the nickname, here, now, with Dean’s burning fingers inches away from something more makes Sam flush.

“Always.” Sam says, a touch too earnest. Something behind Dean’s eyes flickers, then, but he’s turning back around and sliding the curtain back before Sam can chase it.

“You coming?” He asks, throwing a look over his shoulder as Sam shucks his pants. “That’s the idea, yeah,” Sam calls over the water, and Dean boos. Sam, giddy, tries to classify the noise that comes out of him as anything other than a giggle and finds that he can’t.

Dean pulls him into a kiss as soon as Sam’s foot has cleared the rim of the tub. He spins them, clumsily, biting down on Sam’s lip again as Sam’s neck and back get pelted with water. Dean pushes him down a little, so Sam’s hair gets soaked through. He can feel water drip over his closed eyes, spilling into his and Dean’s mouths as their tongues tangle. Dean’s taste is tinged with a metallic taste as the water mixes in their mouths.

Hard water, Sam’s brain supplies distantly. That means that this is hard water.

The name feels hilarious, suddenly, and Sam smiles against Dean’s mouth. Dean, catching Sam’s infectious, shaky elation, smiles back. Sam knows because he feels the slick slide of Dean’s teeth against his upper lip. Sam is floored then, by the realization of how good this feels. Wanting Dean had always been shrouded in so much pain and agony and guilt that even exhausted daydreams about what this would be like were always cast in dark shadows. Sam’s gut would be churning even as he imagined bringing Dean to the precipice, and so the distinct lack of agony was enough to bring Sam to his knees. This, more than anything else, convinces Sam that it is real.

This feels good. Sam’s hand in Dean’s short hair feels like worship. Dean’s hand on his hip, a benediction. Like being forgiven. Absolution. Kissing Dean feels like absolution.

Dean chokes a little giggle into his mouth when he almost slips, and Sam can’t stop smiling. Their kisses are barely kisses, just soaked touching of lips and laughs swallowed by hungry mouths.

Dean’s hand is tangled in Sam’s hair, and he is panting wet, hot breaths into his mouth, water falling over his eyes and in rivulets down his front.

Dean pulls back to heave for breath, and Sam is surprised that he doesn’t choke. Dean looks down at their feet, and makes a choked little noise—almost a whine. He looks back up at Sam, and he recognizes the look: indecision. Dean is biting his lip so hard that Sam wants to press his thumb to it and free the flushed skin. “Unh,” Dean makes the noise again. “Fuck it. Fuck it, fuck it.” Dean slides to his knees. It involves a lot more maneuvering of long limbs, as they’re both way too big to be in the shower at the same time. The noise Sam makes is probably humiliating, but Dean is already mouthing at Sam’s skin like he loves it.

Sam almost wants to stop him, to tell him that Sam doesn’t expect anything, but Dean’s hands are roaming over his bare calves, his mouth gaping open as he eyes Sam’s cock and up into Sam’s face and Sam’s trying to come to term with the fact that Dean might need this as much as Sam did, to feel Sam’s heartbeat in his mouth, to swallow Sam whole. He runs his tongue over the joint of Sam’s hip, into the crease of his thigh—inches away from Sam’s aching cock. He noses along the length of him, barely a brush of mouth, before he trails lower, a hairsbreadth away from Sam’s balls, heavy and aching.

Sam can’t help himself. He grabs a fistful of Dean’s short hair, fingernails reaching to the nape of his neck. Dean pushes his head into Sam’s fingers, a throaty groan sliding out between his teeth. When his eyes open next, his pupils are blown so wide Sam almost can’t see the ring of his irises. “Shit. Do you know how many cocks I’ve choked on pretending it was yours?” Dean says, and it’s a miracle Sam hears him over the spray of water and the creaking pipes.

And Dean swallows him.

It is immediately obvious how much better Dean is at this. Sam feels himself abut the soft, velvet heat of the back of Dean’s mouth alarmingly quick. Sam had gotten blown before, but Dean treats it like an art form, bobbing his head and using his tongue in ways Sam feels should be outlawed immediately. Hot, burning arousal almost blinds him, and Sam bites down on a keen. Dean gags, tears coming to his eyes, poising on his lashes before being washed away by the shower but he keeps moving forward, backing off for barely a second before descending again. The sounds he’s making are fucking obscene. His throat keeps constricting around little bids for air, choked whimpers and moans. Sam’s spine is melting. He has to slam a hand into the tile over Dean’s head to keep himself upright. His vision is narrowing into this—Dean’s big eyes, wet with tears, as he stares up into Sam’s face, watching every expression raptly. Dean is fucking starving for this, and that thought alone almost sends Sam over the edge. He can feel his heartbeat in his ears, in his mouth, in his cock as Dean flicks his tongue over the head.

Sam (against every instinct in his body that demands he press Dean to the tile and) pulls Dean off his cock by the hand in his hair. Dean lets go immediately, a wet drag as Dean licks the precome from Sam’s tip.

His smile is carnivorous.

“Sam, you gotta go.” Dean rasps, his voice so wrecked, and Sam’s whole body throbs. It takes his brain a second too long to catch up, and cold dread creeps up his spine until Dean presses a soaked hand to Sam’s calf, nudging him away. “I gotta. I gotta take care of things in here.”

Sam nods, pushing his hair dripping with water, from his face. “I’ll get the.” He has to gasp, not enough air in his lungs. “I’ll get the…shit. The stuff.” Dean looks up at him, eyes still dark. “I’m kinda pissed that that still sounded hot.” Sam’s knees and laughter shake as he awkwardly steps back over the rim of the tub. He walks (waddles, really) back into the room, and beelines for his bag. He fumbles with the side pocket until he manages to grab the lube, blinking water from his eyes and shivering in the cool air of the room.

He rips a condom from the roll, and has to try twice because his fingers slip on the slick foil. He moves to sit on the bed—his this time, as Dean’s is still mussed with the fresh water from earlier. He pulls the sheets down, and cradles the bulk of the lube bottle in his hands to warm it. He’s lost, then, in the image of a younger Dean (how young? twenty? eighteen? younger??) on his knees for hazel-eyed strangers, strange fingers in Dean’s hair. It makes him burn a little, and tries to imagine a younger him (twenty-one? nineteen? younger??) in their place, cradling Dean’s face in his hands as Dean gagged. Sam imagines the reverse—Dean pressed against a brick wall of some bar or motel or warehouse, eyes bright and face unlined with the evidence of a lived life.

“Clean as a whistle.” Dean says, and Sam jumps guiltily. Dean is fucking gorgeous, standing proud in the light of the bathroom behind him, alive and stunning and too good to be real, to be permanent. A sudden feeling of uncertainty hits him then, but Dean doesn’t give him the time to get lost in his head. He walks forward, greeting Sam with an open-mouthed kiss, hands going immediately to Sam’s hair so he can tilt his head back. Sam mewls against his lips. They fall back, Dean crawling on top of Sam with the confidence and ease of a predator sizing up easy prey. He slips off just as easily, laying back like he was just born to take it. Sam gets his knees underneath him, clambering back on top of Dean like a giraffe on roller skates. Coordination. Sam needs to work on his coordination.

Dean reaches over to his left, snatching the supplies Sam must have dropped. When his fingers brush the foil packet of the condom, his brows furrow. “You wanna use a condom?” Dean seems a little incredulous. He holds up the little foil packet for his inspection, flipping it back and forth like checking for nutrition facts. Sam snatches it back from him. “Um. Yeah?”

Dean shifts on the bed, the wet head of his dick leaking onto his stomach. Sam watches the wet spot now on his skin with a laser focus so intense that he almost forgets to breathe. Dean shifts his eyes to Sam, which is possibly the only thing that could break his attention now.

“I kinda.” Dean swallows, and his throat clicks. “I kinda want to feel you.” Sam opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn’t think it’s possible to be harder than he is, but it’s a welcome surprise as his entire body throbs in a shock of heat. His brain restarts slower than a library computer. “That’s super irresponsible.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “You gonna knock me up, Sammy?” Sam sputters, and he knows he’s blushing. “You—What—That’s not the only reason to use a condom—“ His voice is mostly squeak. Dean chuckles a little, but holds the packet out to him. “If you wanna.”

Sam looks from him to the condom. He slowly grabs it from Dean’s fingers. He shocks a laugh out of Dean when he throws it over his shoulder, bending down to devour Dean’s mouth in his own again.

Dean is arching up into his body, water-damp skin sliding against Sam’s in a maddening push-pull. Sam reaches for the lube, shakily pouring some onto his fingers. He way overshoots the amount he needs, and the slick running down his arm shouldn’t feel as erotic as it does. He pulls away from Dean’s mouth, and Dean presses a final kiss into Sam’s mouth just as he mouths Dean’s name. Dean falls back to the bed, chest heaving. His lashes are fluttering against his high cheekbones, kissing the freckled skin. A trail of blushing hickeys are already darkening against his lithe column of his neck, and the sight makes a dark, growling part of Sam purr in pleasure. “C’mon, Sammy. Fuck me already.” Dean gasps, humping the air in vain for some friction. “Need you baby boy, c’mon.” Sam lowers his hand to circle Dean’s entrance, before pressing his middle finger slowly past the ring of muscle. Dean inhales sharply, and Sam stills.

“Okay?” Sam asks, looking carefully at Dean’s expression. Dean’s brow is furrowed, but he nods. “Strange.” He says finally, tightly, like he’s been holding his breath. Sam smooths a hand over his ribcage, encouraging him to take a breath. Dean’s chest spasms, filling Sam’s palm around an inhale. “We can—“ Sam starts, but Dean cuts him off with a glare. “If you were going to say stop, I’ll kill you.”

Sam was going to say that, but switches tacts. “You can flip over. It might be easier starting on your stomach.” Dean looks at him a little strangely. He inhales again. “I’d. I’d like to see you, yeah?” Dean looks like he’s forcing the words out, and Sam’s insides go all hot and fuzzy for a second. Sam nods, and tries make his next words as neutral as possible.

“Yeah, okay.” Sam presses his finger in a little farther, reaching over to add more lube to the stretch. Dean’s insides are wet, hot, tight and Sam has to breathe slowly through his mouth. Dean’s muscles are vise-tight, and Sam tries pressing against his walls to no avail.

“Shh, Dean, you’ve got this. Relax for me, baby,” Sam pets down Dean’s thigh, thumb brushing the base of Dean’s flagging erection. Dean’s panting like a racehorse, lungs expanding and constricting like bellows. His eyes are wide, but his face is neither twisted in pleasure nor pain. “You’re being so good for me, sweetheart. So perfect.”

Dean bites off a whimper, and hitches his hips down. “Not a girl. And ’m not gonna break. More.” Sam soothes him with another hand on Dean’s stomach, but pulls out slightly to insert his ring finger alongside his middle. Sam wants to press kisses to Dean’s hip and tell him that Dean deserves to be treated like he could break—fragile, delicate—but Sam knows Dean wouldn’t take it as he means it.

He scissors his fingers gently, spreading them apart. Dean’s body opens slightly, but his muscles are still so tight. The slick, burning hot, velvet, tight skin of him makes Sam’s brain a little fuzzy, and he tries to keep this about Dean.

He pushes a little deeper (wet groan from Dean), crooking his fingers and stroking Dean’s walls until he finds— Dean jerks in his arms, a sharp cry, as his spine shoots straight. Sam repeats the movement, stroking along the bundle of nerves punishingly. Dean is moaning like one of those girls he brings back to their motel room, and Sam is addicted to the rumble of his chest, the slick, aching heat of him, the way Dean’s hands are scrambling for purchase on Sam’s shoulders, the bed covers, anything.

He’s babbling now, aborted combinations of Sam’s name with Jesus, Fuck, More.

Dean’s cock, which had flagged earlier due to the uncomfortable stretch, is fully erect again, brushing against his stomach as Sam presses another finger into Dean.

He could do this all day. His fingers are starting to cramp, scissoring and flexing in Dean’s heat, and his wet hair is curling against his overheated skin, but Sam is completely enraptured with the sight in front of him. In minutes, he has reduced Dean to babbling, as he thrusts his fingers gently against his prostate again and again and again. Dean has loosened up enough that Sam can spread his three fingers apart and Dean’s body accommodates him, pulling his fingers deeper and fuck. Sam feels his jaw slackening, but he’s never seen anything hotter, can feel the throb down to his bones, pulsing in his own cock and saliva pooling in his mouth.

Dean starts clawing at Sam’s shoulders, nails turning punishing as he inhales sharply again. “In me. Inside. Now now.” It takes Sam a second to process what Dean is asking, and fuck how could he have forgotten? Sam had been so absorbed with the offering of Dean’s pleasure, the thin sheen of sweat catching the yellow light of the lamp and making his skin glow, that he had entirely forgotten his own body. His dick throbs painfully, bringing him back to the present. Sam reaches for a condom before he remembers that Dean didn’t want one, and now his blood is aflame in his body, overwhelmed with the potential in front of him. Any second.

He pulls his fingers from Dean’s body, and Dean makes a wounded noise. Sam pumps his cock once, twice, before lining it up to Dean’s entrance. “Tell me I can, Dean. Please.” Sam leans over to bite hard on the meat of Dean’s shoulder, where the werewolf did all those years ago—a claiming mark now, as opposed to one of violence—tongue laving the sweat and spots of water. “Say it.” Dean makes an incoherent noise, part wail, part sob. His fingers dig into Sam’s back, pressing hard against the curve of his spine. “Yes, yes please, fuck me, fuck me.” The words are directly into Sam’s ear, hot, wet breath curling around his cheekbone. Sam slides home. He goes slowly, but the second he breaches Dean’s body, every nerve in his body lights up. Even though he’d been careful about opening Dean up, he’s still so tight, still so fucking hot, that Sam’s skin aches everywhere it’s not touching Dean’s.

Sam mouths at the indent of teeth he left behind on Dean’s shoulder, apologetic kisses as Dean gasps around the intrusion. Dean makes a noise that could sound like the word ‘more’ if given more voice, so Sam complies, sliding in inch by inch.

When he finally is in all the way, Dean sighs loudly, like he’s proud of himself, like he does after a difficult hunt or after Sam compliments him on a plan. “Full. Fuck, Sammy. I’m so full.” Dean presses a hand below his stomach, almost as if he would be able to feel Sam’s cock through his skin. Dean’s throat clicks as he swallows, and Sam watches the movement of his Adam’s apple hungrily. “Mine?” He asks, but he sounds unsure, like he doesn’t know whether he should be saying it at all. Sam feels a whine slide between his teeth. “Yeah, baby. Just yours.” Dean starts making little movements against Sam’s hips, where their pelvises are resting against each other. Being in Dean feels…indescribable. Like an itch that had finally been scratched, relief so thorough and alleviating that Sam shakes with it. Like Odysseus must have felt like stepping onto Ithaca’s shores again, like a shoe must feel placed on a mat, like the falling Sun must feel when it sees the Moon rising. Like Sam is finally whole. A whole person. There’s nothing wrong with this—nothing could possibly be wrong with the sudden, intense calm in his head. Dean’s pelvis bone against his, legs wrapped around Sam’s thighs, as close as two people can be—inside of each other—without ripping open skin.

Dean starts making encouraging noises, shifting up in Sam’s arms, and Sam—suddenly aware of every nerve in his body—acquiesces, pulling slightly out of Dean. Dean starts making a noise that is punched out of him as Sam slides home again.

Sam’s skin is melting off of his bones—it’s the only explanation for the prickling, throbbing heat over every pore. Sam fucks up into Dean again, and adjusts his angle so the next thrust is aimed at his prostate. Dean throws his head back, eyes wide and blissed out, mouth agape. Sam lets go of Dean’s hip with one hand to tangle in the short hair at the back of his head and increasing the angle, forcing Dean’s head back, into bearing his throat, into submission. Sam begins mauling Dean in earnest, hips pumping and mouth biting, licking, every inch of Dean’s skin he can reach, his collarbones and sternum and neck.

Dean balls a hand in Sam’s hair, down to the roots, and Sam worries distantly that Dean will pull him off, but Dean does the opposite. He presses Sam’s face to his skin harder, turning his head back to what must be a painful angle so Sam has more access to the canvas of skin. After sucking a particularly livid bruise over the skin above Dean’s heart is Sam satiated, and he pulls back a little.

A glint catches Sam’s eye, and he looks to see tears brimming over Dean’s lashes, trailing down his temples and to the pillow. His eyes are wet, and he gasps a wet breath, biting down on his bottom lip punishingly. Sam stills immediately, a hand reaching up to brush the wetness from Dean’s lashes. “‘m good. Don’t stop, don’t you fucking dare.” Dean says, but his voice is breathy, shaking and tremulous. Sam doesn’t know what to do. He’s paralyzed by Dean’s tears, but Dean is making little hitching movements with his hips, trying to slide Sam deeper.

Sam only rasps Dean’s name, a gentle prod that Dean shakes his head at. “Good.” Dean finally manages. “Harder.” He says, shifting his hips down to meet Sam’s tentative thrust, their bodies working in concert. “More.” Sam’s brain white-outs, and he speeds his thrusts. Every push into Dean’s body is ecstasy, every nerve and pore and inch of skin alight with mind-numbing pleasure. Sam doesn’t know how he lived without his until now—doesn’t know if he can force himself to live without it again.

Dean has fucked a lot of people, but Sam doesn’t think Dean has ever been theirs in the way he is Sam’s right now. He’s completely pliant in Sam’s arms, head rolling and hands tight in the short, sweat-slick hair of Sam’s nape. He keeps trying to say something, but he’s so fucked out that his mouth is only moving around nothing. That sick, possessive thrill runs through Sam again, and he’s dangerously close to coming apart.

“Look at you,” Sam mutters, leaning up to see the full sensuous line of Dean’s body. “God, Dean. So perfect. So beautiful baby, you’re so good to me. So fucking gorgeous.” Dean’s brow furrows, but his cock jerks between them, leaking precome onto his already soaked skin. Sam wraps a hand around his neglected dick, sliding fingers loosely around him. Dean sobs, jerking up into his touch. “Do you like that, hm baby? Being so good to me?” Sam leans down, licking a stripe along the hinge of Dean’s jaw. “Hearing how good you’re taking care of me?”

Dean’s eyes go comically wide, a wail ripping from his throat.

“Jesus Christ, Sam. Where the fuck did you learn to talk like that?” Dean’s pupils are blown and his words are mostly gasps, but his hips are still jerking against Sam’s hands. When he reaches up to cradle Sam’s face, his hands are shaking. He presses his forehead to Sam’s, breath panting directly into Sam’s mouth, who opens his mouth further to feel Dean’s breath directly from his lungs.

Sam smiles. “Trevor.” Dean puffs a laugh, a finger tilting so he can dig a nail into Sam’s sideburn. “Fuck you.” Sam’s chest is aching, warmth and adoration and emotions too big for Sam’s body beating against the inside of his ribs. “I love you,” Sam says, helpless to anything else. “God, I love you so much I think it’ll kill me.” He speeds his hand on Dean’s cock, tightening his grip just enough to finally provide the friction that he needs. Sam can feel the skin of Dean’s forehead furrowing against his own, as little punched-out noises are poured into Sam’s mouth. Sam pulls back as he feels Dean’s body tensing against his own, desperate to see Dean’s face as—

Dean comes apart in Sam’s arms, mouth snapping open around a noiseless cry and body going taught. His eyes—so green and familiar and beloved—are watery and fuzzy, pupils swallowing his irises. Sam feels the hot spill of Dean’s come in his hand, cock jerking and never-ending. Sam works him through it, hand slowing as Dean starts making little overstimulated noises. Sam chases his own release, grabbing Dean’s hips with both hands as he slams into him. “C’mon, Sammy,” Dean rasps, making small movements of his hips to meet Sam’s thrusts. Sam is getting close, so close he can taste it, the blinding crest of agony-ecstasy-Dean, and he moves to pull out. Dean’s hands snap out, grabbing Sam’s hips and pulling him back into the hot cradle of his body. “No, in. In me, Sammy, c’mon give it to me.” Dean’s babbling as he tightens his grip on his waist, eyes wide and watery and adoring. “I want to feel you—as far in as you can go.” It’s the last push, and with two, three, four pumps in, he’s coming.

His whole world explodes, and he buries his cock into Dean as far as it will go, feeling Dean clench around him, pulling him impossibly farther, hot and perfect and Sam’s. The crest of his pleasure threatens to undo him, and every fiber in his body slots into place, hums in perfect key. Sam collapses forward against Dean, as every muscle in his body goes limp. When he finally manages to blink his eyes open again, he can feel Dean squirming against him as he tries to breathe. Shit, Sam probably weighs a ton. Sam pulls himself out of Dean’s body, Dean making a little dazed noise. He just has the presence of mind to grab the nearest piece of clothing (Dean’s shirt that had fallen off the bed) to wipe them off. He rubs Dean’s cock, to a noise of sleepy protest/pleasure, and over his ass, still leaking come onto his thigh. When he’s satisfied, Sam turns over to turn the lamp off, wrangling Dean under the covers, and pressing him close. Dean rubs his face into the space between Sam’s face and the pillow like a cat, making a snort-grumbling noise. He pulls Sam’s leg over his waist, and Sam bends his knee so he can press against Dean’s calf. Dean pulls Sam against his chest, tucking his head over Sam’s. It’s so familiar, Sam pressed to Dean’s chest, legs sliding down until they’re intertwined. It makes tears press against Sam’s sleepy eyes, thinking about how many times he’d fallen asleep in the comforting nest of Dean’s body, too young to know that this love was damning. Too adoring and warm to resist. Dean presses his nose into Sam’s hair and inhales deeply. Sam would like to think that Dean’s thinking the same thing, that this familiar embrace means even a fraction as much as it means to Sam. But Dean’s slow breath betrays the fact that he’s already far away in sleep. And as Sam always does, he follows Dean.

It’s the fastest Sam had fallen asleep since Stanford.

~~~

When Sam wakes up, he’s surprised by how bright it is outside. He’s always up at the crack of dawn, rising with the sun. It drives—drove—Jess crazy, but his nightmares would wake him up more often than not.

Sometimes they were of the fire, of Jess on the ceiling, but some of them were snatches of Sam’s childhood. Hot vinyl sticking to Sam’s legs in a diner. Jeans three sizes too big. Dean holding Sam’s face in place as he taught him how to shave. Girls laughing behind Sam in geometry. Sam being pushed into a motel pool, mucky with algae, by a laughing Dean, sun-spotted with freckles and wearing paper-thin swim trunks from a gas station. Dad’s eyes in the Impala’s rear view mirror. Dad handing him his first knife, loving and hating the natural way it fit into his palm.

Sam rolls over, seeking warmth in a too-small bed, but there’s no one there.

A bone-deep knowledge, panic, shreds Sam’s insides like tissue paper. He sits up, looking around the room.

Dean’s gone. Dean is gone.

Dean rarely wakes up before Sam, if ever. Ever since Sam completed his growth-spurt, age fifteen, his anger and anxiety would propel him up at ungodly hours. He would lace up his worn-flat sneakers and run a mile or three before the sun finished rising. The thump of his heartbeat and the rush of adrenaline calmed him a way hunting never did. But Dean was never a morning person. He had to be cajoled out of bed with promises of coffee and whatever breakfast Sam had brought back.

All warmth from seconds ago has been leeched from the room, and Sam throws the blanket off. He rushes to the bathroom, but the door is open wide and Dean isn’t there. Sam stumbles back into the room, his head-rush finally catching up with him as he wilts against the wall. He can feel a curl of white-hot panic wedge itself between his ribs. Did Dean leave-leave? Sam, eyes wide, looks down at their bags. Their. Plural. Dean’s duffel is still next to his on the table, contents splayed open. Sam tries to breathe around the knife in his chest, but the bag does little to calm his racing heart.

He grabs a pair of jeans at random and pulls them up over his hips, only realizing they’re Dean’s when the hems brush the bottoms of his calves. He jerks open the door, blinking away the blinding morning light. Dew has sprinkled the forest beyond, and the air is fresh and bracing, but the Impala is gone. Gone.

Sam steps out, shivering a little in the cool morning breeze. He realizes, somewhere under the chorus of He’s gone, He’s gone, He’s gone, that he should have grabbed a shirt. He wanders, barefoot and dazed, forward into the parking lot. Maybe Dean moved the car away from the road? Sam follows the bank of rooms until the end, turning the corner to find an empty lot, with scattered Doritos bags and plastic wrappers and more forest beyond.

Sam must have gotten back in the room, but doesn’t register anything again until he’s staring at the wall, hands clenched in his lap. Sam runs last night over and over again in his brain. It’s a full rush of Dean, naked, pressed against tile and sheets and eyes wide, watering, as Sam pressed in, in.

Did…Did he pressure Dean into anything last night? Dean had a problem saying no to Sam. It was incredibly helpful when they were younger—it was funny when Dean let Sam have the other Hot Pocket, it was cool when Dean let Sam stay up past his bedtime, it was cool when Sam woke up one day in the fifth grade and a pair of new running shoes was sitting in his duffel like they had been there the whole time. Sam had a sway over his brother—phrase anything with a touch of that little-brother whine—and it came in handy before Sam really realized what that meant.

It stopped being funny when Sam told Dean he wanted a skateboard and Dean had been locked up overnight in Billings, Montana for shoplifting. It wasn’t funny when Sam asked Dean for an extra helping of dinner and Dean handed over his own portion, lying and saying he was already full. It wasn’t funny if…if. If Dean had said yes because Sam had asked him to.

Dean’s not an idiot, Sam tries to reason. And he’s not a pushover. If it was serious, he would say no.

But it doesn’t ease the tight cramp in his stomach, it doesn’t make the flare of panic recede. Sam is still sitting in an empty motel room, hours after having sex with Dean. Dean couldn’t stand to look at you. Couldn’t stand to sleep in the same bed as you.

And then, a noise as familiar to Sam as his own breathing. More, even. A sound as familiar as the rumble of Deans’ voice, as familiar as the crackle of electricity, as rain. The Impala’s door. Opening. And then closing. Sam sits up straight, heartbeat rising in his throat as he shoots to his feet. He’s stumbling up the door, fingertips on the doorknob when it swings open.

Dean is there—jolting back as Sam presses forward into his space. Eyes wide, dazed. Dad’s coat and ratty Metallica shirt and scuffed boots and bruises dotted across the length of his neck, a fresh pink. His fingers wrapped around the handle of a plastic bag, a carton in his other hand supporting two cups of—Sam inhales—coffee.

Sam manages to tear his eyes away from Dean to see the Impala parked over his shoulder, where it should be.

“Woah, Sam, what the fuck?” Dean continues to step back, and Sam starts to reach for him—No—when he realizes it’s because the cups perched precariously on the take-out container are wobbling. Dean’s arm moves, trying to stabilize the tower, but Sam reaches out and grabs it from him.

“Sorry,” He says, reflex. It’s a bizarrely mundane exchange, in the face of it all. Sam’s skin crawls. Dean pushes past him to put the food down, and Sam watches every movement hungrily.

It’s just food. Breakfast. Dean went out to get breakfast. Sam feels the tension in his stomach slowly loosen. Dean woke up early and went to get breakfast. It’s a dance as easy as breathing, it’s a routine so engrained its biological.

Sam finally leaves the doorway, closing the door behind him and shuffling to stand next to Dean. He puts the box and the cups on the table, shifting his weight slightly to press into Dean’s side. He tries to look into Dean’s face, but Dean keeps turning slightly, just out of sight as he unpacks the bag. Two bottles of orange juice. A bag of peanut M&Ms. A bag of Sam’s favorite trail mix. Two Slim Jims. A tube of toothpaste. He crumples the bag and crosses the room to his duffel bag, shoving it into the side pocket. Sam moves the coffee cups and opens the container to find a stack of four pancakes (two chocolate chip and two regular) and a handful of syrup containers.

(It’s bad if Dean got pancakes. Pancakes were a luxury when they were younger, eaten pretty routinely until Sam was eight, at which point Dean stopped buying them. I’m sick of ‘em, Dean had said, And I’m older so what I say goes. From then on it was bacon and egg sandwiches and soggy fruit cups. Sam later found a library book stolen from a library in Vermont in Dean’s duffel titled Feeding a Family: How to Raise a Healthy Child. The pages were dog-eared. It was one of those things that Sam would remember at Stanford that would punch the breath from his lungs. Twelve was too young to realize that your father didn’t care what you ate, that you had to ration your money on food that would provide sustenance for a child. Pancakes were a luxury food—when Sam was sick, when Sam got picked on at school, when Dad uprooted them suddenly from a school Sam really liked.)

Sam can feel his heartbeat in his ears but he tears the styrofoam container in two, lid separating from the base in a noise too loud for the silent room. He separates the food, chocolate chip for Dean and plain for him, dividing the syrup, coffee, orange juice, and plastic utensils evenly. By the time Dean turns around, Sam is shifting awkwardly in one of the chairs at the table, food ready.

Dean’s eyes flick up to his face, and he’s stopped by whatever he finds there.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that,” Dean says, but he sounds agonized, as if Sam is doing something supremely unfair. Sam wants to apologize—maybe, his head is pounding and his mouth is dry, he’s not sure what he wants—but is physically incapable of moving his eyes from Dean’s face.

If this is the end, Sam wants to see it coming with both eyes open.

Dean starts moving toward him, and Sam hears the chair creak. He must’ve leaned forward. Before Dean can make contact (hand reaching up, out, on reflex before falling back down his side), he stops. He clears his throat.

“Okay, we have to talk about it.”

Sam nods frantically, relieved. He thought he’d have to beat thoughts from Dean.

“Okay, I—“ “No, Sam.” Dean cuts him off, voice firm, and Sam falls immediately silent, feeling inexplicably chastised. “I’m going first.”

Dean moves to sit across from him, and Sam kind of wishes he had stayed away. His face is so close, the undeniable evidence of his anxiety on full display.

“This can never happen again.” Dean says, and Sam feels his entire world fall into one single pinprick of light. “It was a mistake. I don’t want this. I don’t want you. You’re my brother, Sammy. That’s it.” Darkness creeps in.

“Don’t do this,” Sam thinks he says, or he means to, but he can’t feel his tongue.

“I was desperate for some kinda connection or something. I don’t know.” Dean scrubs a hand through his hair. “Losing you made me all weird. But that’s all.” The worry of earlier comes back to Sam with a vengeance. Dean was vulnerable last night, and Sam had taken advantage.

Sam had.

Sam.

Sam’s probably breathing hard, somewhere, can hear someone raggedly breathing. Is it him? Dean’s still looking at him with hard eyes, as if he’s practiced this speech a hundred times before, as if he eats Sam alive for breakfast on days that end with ‘y.’

You sick freak, you freak. This was always going to happen, this was always—

“But you—“ told me you loved me, Sam wants to say, as petulant and desperate as a child for it not to be true. But…no he didn’t. Sam tries to run everything Dean said back in his head. I want you. First times are supposed to be special. Mine. Not love. Sam had filled in the blanks.

“You said you wanted me.” Sam has to finally settle on.

Dean’s face twists uncomfortably.

“Listen…uh. It’s not too late for you, ya know?”

Sam’s insides settle comically fast. Oh. This isn’t Dean not wanting him, this is Dean being a fucking dick about it. Relief, sharp and bitter, floods Sam’s mouth. He had started to think he had coerced Dean into something—violated Dean, in a real and unforgivable way. He thought Dean was just as desperate as he was, but for a different reason. But, no. The asshole was trying to be fucking noble. Sam still hears his heartbeat in his head, but can finally catch his breath. “Fuck you,” He says. Dean reacts as if Sam had lobbed a grenade on the table, pin mysteriously absent. He bristles. “Excuse me?”

Sam has to stand, nervous energy built and built and built with no release. He starts to walk to the door with the intention to pace, but Dean jumps up, snagging Sam by the bicep.

“Woah, wait a second here, man. Don’t—“

Sam shakes the arm off. “You’re going to ‘man’ me right now?” Sam asks. “And what the fuck is wrong with you? I thought I had assaulted you, asshole.” Dean blanches, backing up a step. “I never said—“ “But you’re just being a dick, like usual. And I’m not leaving—I’m not pulling what you pulled this morning.”

Dean blinks hard, and Sam can see him process what Sam waking up in an empty room probably signified to him. Dean’s face settles into a hard, dead look. It’s his Dad-face: no emotion, no twitch of expression, just solider. It makes Sam fucking infuriated to see it on Dean now.

“You wanna talk about leaving, Sammy?” Dean’s face is so flushed that Sam can’t see the spatter of freckles across his nose. “You wanna fucking talk about leaving?”

Sam’s body lights up in a white-hot pulse of anger-hurt-shock so acute that his face goes numb.

“That’s not fair.” He finally manages to say. “‘Cause leaving is all you know how to do.” Dean plows on, shoulders lifting like he’s expecting Sam to reel back and deck him. “I was seventeen!” Sam knows his voice is way too loud, even in his own ears, but can’t stop the trembling sick rolling up his body in waves. They’re too good at hurting each other—they know every single pressure point to target. “And you’re my kid brother!” Dean shouts. He pales, stumbling back. He sits down, hard, in the chair behind him. The room is deafeningly quiet, only Sam’s breaths and the sound of Dean scrubbing a hand over his face, the shush of skin on skin.

“Fuck, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is choked. “You’re my little brother.” Sam knows that getting in Dean’s space is the wrong move now, but it doesn’t stop the urge to go and press his face into Dean’s chest and keep it there.

He manages to curb the instinct, barely, but sits down on the edge of the bed facing the table. Dean sits with the weight of what he’s feeling, and Sam tries to give him time to process. Dad was a ticking time bomb, and Sam’s no better. Dean has a long fuse, and sits in his hurt before he lets anyone see it. Sam has gotten familiar with sitting in Dean’s tense silences. It always makes him feel like clawing his skin off—he’s not comfortable with sitting in the weight it. Dean inhales shakily. “I’ve been so good about it, you were never supposed to know.” He says finally, hand coming to wipe across his mouth. He looks up at Sam through red-rimmed eyes. “I’ve been working on it. I’ve been really damn good about it.”

“About wanting me?” Sam asks, hoping that Dean will say no. He’s talking about it like an addiction—like a habit he can’t break. Sam doesn’t want to be that. Dean keeps going, like he’s not listening. “The second I realized, I told myself I’d never do anything that…But you realized anyway? Shit, Sam. I’m so sorry.”

Dean’s shaking his head, mouth pressed into a thin line.

“It’s wrong. It’s so fucked up. I should have never let you—“

“Let me?” Sam repeats incredulously. “You were a pretty willing participant, if I remember.”

Dean flushes up to his ears, the tips as pink as a sunburn.

“It’s wrong. You’ll never get your kids, your wife, and your picket-fence-apple-pie life you’ve always wanted. You want normal? Fucking your brother is kind of the opposite of normal.”

Sam can feel his mouth twist down. It’s so crass, the way Dean says it. Sam’s not a prude—hasn’t been since Dean gave him the safe sex talk when he was thirteen. But still. Sam watches Dean’s face. “If you never want to kiss me again, I’d still be here.” He needs Dean to know that—he’s not a stopover onto something better, he’s it. Dean’s face shutters in a way Sam knows means he hit a nail on the head. “Stop it.”

Sam’s on a roll now, though. “I want you, damn the consequences. We’ve never lived by ‘normal,’ and I don’t see why we should start now.”

“Morally, Sam—forget everyone else.” Dean’s as recalcitrant as a mule, as dutiful and contrite as a penitent. Sam wonders if he’s ever not feared punishment from a higher-up—a striking hand from an unforgiving father. Sam wants to tear his own hair out.

“You literally said it yourself: You plan on going to hell, so what—“ “You believe in Heaven,” Dean says, like a challenge. Like struggling with his religion and struggling with his feelings for Dean aren’t the two cornerstones of Sam’s life. “I don’t think God could make me like this,” Sam says, “And decide to damn me for it anyway.” Dean stops at that, eyes wide. “You think someone made me like this?”

“Made us like this.” Sam nudges his foot forward until it hits Dean’s. Whatever Sam and Dean are, they are made of the same fibre, the same fabric. “The way I love you doesn’t feel wrong at its core. It just feels like you.”

Dean looks away sharply, casting his eyes to the ceiling before falling back down to his hands. His hands are shaking where he’s clasped them together. His voice trembles, as he says,

“No one should be allowed to love anything as much as I love you.” Dean exhales, a laugh married to a sob.“People weren’t built to carry this shit inside ‘em. It isn’t right, it isn’t sane. I—“ Sam moves forward, falling to Dean’s feet. He breaks the grasp that Dean’s hands have on each other and move them to each side of his face. It’s so similar to last night that Sam’s throat closes with it.

“I don’t want to die.” Dean says, so close to Sam’s own mouth that Sam can feel each word unfurl on his lips. “I don’t want to leave you like this—now that I can—“ Dean’s mouth twitches, and he’s so damn close to crying that Sam can see the tears building on his lashes. Sam swallows around the lump in his own throat. He’ll do anything to keep him. Any damn thing. The world—hell—will have to claw Dean Winchester from his hands.

“I’m with you until the end, okay?” Sam says, voice breaking. Dean’s thumb moves over his lash line, stopping a tear before it can fall. Sam feels the liquid cool on his cheek. “Whether…whether it’s in four months or forty years. I’m in this.”

Sam watches the bob of Dean’s throat as he swallows. He looks young, so damn young in the light filtering through the window and Sam’s heart in his hands. Sam can feel the thrum of his blood (their blood, their shared blood, molecules unbreakable, down to the foundations, down to DNA) under his fingers on his wrist. His eyes flick between Sam’s own, searching for a falter, a break. He will find none. “Until the end?” Sam leans up, so Dean can feel Sam’s mouth form the words on his own, “The last possible second.”

~~~

Dean dies three months and twenty-nine days later, gasping blood between slick teeth, arm extended brokenly to where Sam is pinned to the wall. Sam wails into the open cavity of his chest. It’s worse than dying. It’s worse than living, too.

#supernatural #wincest fanfiction #samdean #wincest #cross posted on ao3 #fanfic #spn fanfic #sam and dean #sam winchester #dean winchester #supernatural season 3 #erotically codependent

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fallecee · 1 year

Text

Subtle-ish { Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x Reader }

(can we for one second just imagine that this is how he’s looking at you? thank you and goodnight.)

Summary: You’re kind of a tease, but something about Gaz is really getting to you. Is it even just teasing him anymore or are you hoping that he’ll actually take your flirting and longing glances serious? In other words, you play yourself and accidentally fall for the handsome sergeant.

warnings: none, but reader is nearly salivating at Gaz. Not using “y/n” so its more immersive (lol). Probably OOC, still trying to get my footing. Use of they/them.

author’s note: This is my first time attempting to write for any cod character, and its also my first fan fic, ever. Literally transitioning from writing for my literature class straight into self-indulgent stories. Also somehow this is real long, I cannot for the life of me write concisely.

It wasn’t a secret that you liked to joke around, especially with people who were usually quiet or stoic in less than appropriate moments. There was plenty of those around at base, so you had your fun. Often it got you into trouble, little moments of awkwardness and unreciprocated banter were the norm before you were introduced to task force 141 for a joint operation.

Sure, it was less than comfortable at first, maybe you weren’t being taken that serious, but your skills spoke for themselves. Pretty soon, your jokes were awarded little huffs of air in acknowledgement and maybe even a short chuckle on good days. But somewhere along the line, your banter had taken on a more flirty air. Frankly, it was hilarious the different responses and reactions you would get from each member, it amused you to no end.

There was one time you had made Price crack when he had asked you for a lighter, and instead of handing it to him, you offered to light his cigar for him. You made sure to get as close as possible, pursing your lips in faux concentration and everything, only to bat your lashes at him while staring directly into his eyes. He got his cigar lit but he also got a charming wink from you. You remember him shaking his head while backing away from your close proximity, mumbling something under his breath that sounded like “goddamn tease...” in a rumbling low tone. Safe to say, you were hooked on the feeling.

Soap was easy enough to get flustered, always a gentleman but more than willing to throw back flirty remarks your way. You definitely felt the most comfortable teasing him with your gazes and touches, nothing too graphic, just enough to get his attention and win a charming smirk or laugh. Price was a hit or miss most days, either he’d give you a small smile while patting down his facial hair or he’d stare at you in amusement, but nothing more. Ghost was... hard to approach. You were honestly hesitant to do anything physical, never wanting to push it too far, but he didn’t seem to mind your harmless flirting even if it was never reciprocated the way Soap did.

But your favourite of them all of them was Kyle. He was just so... adorable. He had been the most welcoming of all, maybe it was because you were the closest in age but you tended to cling to him, especially when you had first joined forces. Never a step behind you, it was like you were always on the same page, whether it was sharing music or communication on the field. You knew he was physically attractive but you had never really looked.

It might have started when you had become regular training and sparring partners. Price recognised your harmony and opted to keep you both training together most days. He liked to wear this black compression shirt while in the gym and it just... got to you. He was more lean than muscular, but god did he look good. It’s as if the shirt couldn’t get any tighter, accentuating every muscle in his back and upper arms. You felt like you were somehow being intrusive but you just couldn’t stop staring. He’d catch you and give you a boyish smile, probably thinking you’re watching him punch the bag or lift his weights which was definitely not what you were up to. So, naturally, in your mind your only remedy for the new hot pit in your stomach every time you looked at him, was to up the flirting.

That’s probably when it all went downhill, for you.

You’d go out of your way to be around him whenever you could, convincing yourself it was because he was the most fun to be around. Definitely wasn’t because he smelt like a mix of amber, wood and some cologne he’d borrowed from Soap. It most certainly wasn’t because he radiated a heat that you just gravitated towards, and it wasn’t his habit of checking in with you after every briefing and meeting to ask how you were. You’d steal a look whenever you could, leaning into his space like you were just naturally drawn to him. Suddenly it was like you had opened your eyes for the first time. Even your usual fist bumps before every mission or your sharing of earphones left a warm smile on your lips in a whole new way. You were going insane, and the feeling was addictive.

You tried staying subtle, balancing between genuine and playful flirting, not ready to reveal any of your feelings to him or anyone, not even yourself. You’d hold eye contact with his warm rich brown eyes for a little longer, linger closer to him, ask him more questions to hear his voice for longer. Your flirting was relentless and the way the tips of his ears would burn and how he’d look down at the floor while letting out a breathy laugh at your antics was becoming more than addictive, you wanted to get him flustered all the time. But it was definitely just because it was funny, and not because he looked so cute trying to hide his embarrassed smile.

The breaking point was when he’d asked you to hold up some pads so he could practice his punches. You’d happily obliged, unaware that it meant you’d spend hours in front of a sweaty, panting Kyle in his damned black compression shirt. You were really trying to concentrate, truly, but it was just so hard. After every few quick succession punches he’d stop and tip his head back, as if clearing his head. You were practically whimpering at the sight of his neck fully extended, the sigh leaving his lips as he took a quick break. Your mind was stuck on the way the sweat from his face dripped down, down, down, that you had completely missed your cue to move your hand to meet his punch when you realised he’d started again - his jab hitting you square at the side of your jaw.

You didn’t even register what had happed till you looked at Kyle’s concerned eyes. It took you a few seconds to even realise his hand was on your jaw, stroking where he had hit you, an apology coming out of his mouth at a rapid pace. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise you weren’t ready! It doesn’t hurt too much does it? God-” he was inspecting every inch of your face in concern.

“Gaz, I’m fine, really.” At your reassurance a playful half-smile flashes across his lips. “Distracted are we?”

If you could scream right then, you would. Because you were distracted, and now you were humiliated at the thought that he’d practically caught you ogling him like you were starving. “Keep it in your pants, Garrick.” Really he should be saying that to you. “What? Not gonna flirt back? Must really have you under my thumb then.”

Your eyes shot up at that. “Wait hold on-”

“Why do you think I wear this shirt? I feel your eyes on me every time I wear it. I’m flattered, really, It’s like you’re ripping it off of me in your head the way you stare.” He was just bragging now, he’d caught the supposed flirt with hearts in their eyes. “This is cruel.” is all you could manage under the weight of his playful gaze. “Come on, one more round and I’ll let you help me take the shirt off.”

There it is, you were done for.

All the blood in your body shot up to your face, and he definitely noticed how wide your eyes went. Laughing endearingly at how much of an effect he had on you, the untouchable tease.

From across the gym stood Soap and Ghost mid spar who had turned around at the sound of Kyle’s misplaced punch.

“Think they’ll stop calling me pretty boy now?” Soap is practially beaming a smile watching you put the pads back up ready to catch Gaz’s punches.

need him SOOOOO BAAADDDDDD

#cod mwii #cod mw gaz #cod mwf2 #cod mw2 #gaz cod #gaz #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #kyle garrick x reader #cod 141

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bubbled-clouds · 3 years

Text

fuck you technology i hope you die in a fucking hole you absolute bitch

#my computer decided to restart as soon as i joined the zoom meeting for physics #im in tears rn <3 #i literally cant afford to miss a fucking class this shit is fucking important #im going to cry #i told my dad and he’s like ‘well you should’ve restarted it this weekend’#HOW TH F U C K #AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHEN TO RESTART MY GODDAMN COMPUTER #if im 30 min late it counts as an absence #im literally shaking fucking hell i fucking hate technology so fucking much #AKDDVSKSBSK #A N G E R #ABSOLUTE ANGER AND FUCKING HATRED #i got in the zoom #im fairly certain i will be crying today #i fucking hate technology so fucking much i hope it disintegrates #and now mother came in and was lke ‘this is what your studying is’ seeing me on my ohone #i am #so close to just losing it #:’)#and we have guests coming over for a whole fucking week and theres probably going to be a college student man staying in my room and #sleeping in my fucking bed for a week #im just. u g h

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hakkais-hoe · 2 years

Note

May I request? Bonten executives react to finding out their asocial/distant (or chill/reserved) son (or gn) is being bullied (ex. Physically, Socially, S3x^4lly, etc) at school by gang delinquent students. Not just bullying, they're being treated so harshly and reader doesn't even tell their father for reasons of your choosing. Various finds out through either a friend, reader comes home way later at night injured, they see the damage for themselves, or worse. And it's crazy because reader could easily defend themselves, but they either feel like it'll be a waste of time, they deserve it, or again whatever you want.

This makes me so sad cos people often go through stuff like this and never tell anyone because of how it makes them feel or seem n I think it’s heartbreaking.

There’s going to be some very uncomfortable topics in this one so if you feel uncomfortable with anything please do not read them I’d hate to trigger anyone or upset them!!!

Age rating: 16+

Warnings: THEMES OF SEXUAL VIOLENCE!!, assault, verbal abuse, deadly weapon mention, gn pronouns/reader, murder, torture, teen reader, gang violence, offensive language.

Characters: Haitanis, Takeomi, Sanzu.

◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️◽️◾️

Ran Haitani

Finds out through a subordinate

Type: physical violence because you won’t join their gang.

“Uh Boss?… Boss!” Ran grumbles into the phone pressed to his ear before looking up at the nervous man in front of him.

“Well what the fuck do you want can’t you see I’m busy?” He snaps annoyed that he had to stop his conversation with Kakucho on the other end to listen to the snivelling subordinate standing before his desk.

“Uh so I was out earlier ‘no think I saw ya kid being dragged into one of those abandon factories with a load of kids in gang uniforms…” The man trails off when he sees Rans horrified face, his phone clatters to the floor as he frantically pushes away from his desk and heads straight for the door.

“You’re fuckin tellin me that you saw my fuckin kid being dragged into gang territory by some pathetic fuckin kids and instead of going to get them you decided to come all the way to my goddamn office to tell me?! If some things happened to my fucking child I’ll kill you!” Ran snarls already dragging his underling into the car to direct him to you.

When he sees you laying there on the floor covered in bruises, cuts and blood he goes berserk

Screams down the phone at Rindou to find the fuckers who hurt his kid

Immediately makes the other guy drive you to the hospital while he cradles you with tears streaming down his face

Begs you to tell him who did it and why you didn’t fight them back

He knows you’re very reserved when it comes to talking about yourself but he can’t cope with the through of how long this may have been going on

Can and will have the shit kicked out of every member of that gang

When you eventually tell him that you didn’t want to fight back because you didn’t want to end up like him, in a gang with murder convictions, he is beside himself with grief

Considers leaving Bonten to raise you better, he’s not around much but the threat of his family being hurt is always there and having a kid was always going to come with the consequence of people expecting them to be like him

Will move your schools and try to keep a much better eye on you

Might even get you a bodyguard

Installs a tracking app on your phone

Takeomi Akashi

Sees bruises staring to appear when you come home later than usual

Type: ostracised and abused by a gang at school, has thing thrown at you during class and even the teacher says noting

“Hey kiddo you’re home late again… what the fuck is that?!” Takeomi’s drink misses the table and shatters on the ground as he shoves out if his chair to meet you in two strides, his eyes filled with fury when he sees the large bruise forming under your eye socket.

“… noting dad, ‘m fine..” Your voice is muffled and tired, large warm hands cup your face so you have to look at your father’s worry filled face.

“This isn’t nothing! What the fuck, who the fuck did this to you?!” His voice is loud and ear shattering but filled with despair, worry and fear… your dad a man who’s taken on gangs… a executive in Japans worst criminal organisation. His voice is dripping with fear. Your eyes start to well up, you stutter before trying to brush him off once again. Takeomis hands grip your shoulders tightly forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Speak to me kid… I’m your dad just tell me what’s happened Yeh? Please I’m begging you.”

“At school… someone- someone found out who you were… I- they… they’ve been b- I can’t anymore…. Dad…” You wail finally breaking, tears stream down your usually static face. Takeomis horrified expression turns hard as ice.

“Names kid. I need names .”

They are very much going to get the shit kicked out of them

Will ruin their families with the rest of bontens help

Switches your school without a though

Has Benkei and Waka train you even more

Takes no chances when it comes to his kid ever again

Will but you weapons to keep on you for protection

He never wanted you to end up fighting so he tried to just show you self defence at first

Makes you learn actual fighting techniques now

Tracker on ya phone even if ya say no

TRIGGER WARNING SA!!!

Haruchiyo ‘Sanzu’ Akashi

A phone call from you at 3 am with just shouting

Type: assault that gets extreme, sexual assault.

“….”

“Kid? You alright it’s… three in the morning! What the fuck are you doing out?!”

“…-d … Dad! H-… HELP! D- *beep*-“ Sanzus phone drops from his hands at your shouts, the bellowing screams ripping through your lungs has Sanzus drug hazed brain spiralling. Ripping through the house, grabbing every weapon possible while throwing on clothes.

He’s in his car before he can breath, barrelling 100 over the speed limit as he tracks your phone. Tears threatening the spill over his eyes at the thought of something happening to his only child, his life.

“Rin… I need you all to follow me right now…

I don’t know what I’m going to do but someone is about to die and I don’t want my kid seeing that.” Sanzu snaps into the phone when he rings Rindou on the way to you.

Infront of him sits a blacked out derelict building, at the door three boys in matching uniforms stand laughing between them.

“Fuckin stupid bastard deserves it! Shoulda just called their dad like we asked now look at em gettin fucked by the boss!”

The words spewing from from the filthy pieces of shit in front of him have Sanzu seeing red, sword put in seconds their blood soaks his pyjamas to the skin. The doors are broken down and screams and shouts echo throughout the braking building.

Your screams. His baby’s screams. The child that he raised by his self. Screams of pure terror. And laughing someone’s laughing.

Pure hatred seeps into his veins as he barrels around the corner to see the worst nightmare a parent has. Horror, disgust, hatred. The barrel of his hun is shoved down the throat of the man pinning your screaming, thrashing form down in seconds. Another hun is ripped from his holster to mow down my one who dares to get close to him, he stares into the soul of the bastard before ripping him away from you. A heavy blood soaked coat lands on your body as your father pins the now shouting and pleading man below him.

He’s feral when it comes to his child

Doesn’t stop till everyone’s dead apart from the rapist below him

Would not hesitate to slice and dice anyone

Tortures the remaining gang members for weeks

Rindou and Ran get there and have to seize the rest of them

They try to grab your dad but he’s by your side before anyone can speak

Curls you under his chin as your shouts, screams and wails echo throughout the blood soaked room

“I’ve got you kid. No one will ever get to you again. I promise. Dad will do anything for you. I’m going to make them feel all the pain you’ve felt…” His eyes are ablaze as his voice seeps with pure malice.

You’re never going to school again, he’ll have you tutored in the bonten building where he can keep an eye on everything

You will always have a safety kit on you form now onwards or a gun he doesn’t care about how bad of a parent people think he is

You’re his world he’ll kill anyone for you, go to the ends of the earth for his kid, burn the world just like he would for his wife any fucking day.

Won’t let anyone near you, if someone gets too close his gun is out in seconds

Teaches you how to fight like a monster

Only trust a few people around you

Blames himself for everything but never has the gall to ask why you couldn’t tell him

Finds out that it had been going on for a while and you accidentally called him that night

Doesn’t cope well if anyone brings it up

Feral

Rindou Haitani

Rindou can also be pretty distant so he never questioned it until Ran pointed out a hand shaped bruise on your wrist one day

From then on he was always watching for a sign that someone was hurting you

Type: extortion, bullying, threats, physical assault

Bored eyes follow you when you get home from school, your dads eyes stare straight at you. His eyes are searching for something, making you unbelievably uncomfortable as you go to try leave he speaks.

“Are you being bullied? Is someone hurting you? Kid I need to know, your uncle Ran saw a bruise on your wrist last week… I need to know if somethings happening at school… please chick just tell me I’m your dad.” Rindous voice becomes gentle when he addresses you.

“No… I’m fine dad.” You mutter quietly before leaving to change. A text message lights up your phone, then another and another.

*get to the fucking park now*

*don’t ignore me you fucking retard*

*now or I’ll fucking kill you*

You sigh but never the less get ready to leave once again. Rindou looks up from the stove before stopping you in your tracks.

“Uh where ya going kiddo? It’s like 7 at night… and I cooked food!” Rindou practically wails gesturing at the food cooking. Mouth agape as you walk away out the door with a mere ‘I’ll eat later’.

Follows you after your out the door, quietly.

Sneaks around like a stalker, makes Ran come and catch up with him so they both follow you

Both of them hide in a bush when you stop in the park

A group of clearly wanna be gang members come to stand around you

“Took your fucking time Haitani! How annoying.” One of them snaps before smacking the back of your head. The others laugh in agreement punching or smacking you upside the head as if it was funny.

Rindou and Ran are seething behind the bushes, Ran grips Rindos shoulder as he surges forwards.

“Go buy us a fuckin drink! God you’re nothing like your dad are ya?! No way you’re a fuckin Haitani!”

“Must be adopted”

“Nahh bet the twats mum got knocked up by some other fucker!” Shouts and jeers fill the opening as you shove through, head down as you enter the shop next to the park.

The bushes rustle as Ran and Rin finally make their presence known, if looks could kill those fuckers would be 6ft deep n pushin up daisies.

“Well hello motherfuckers! Hope you’re ready to get the shit kicked out of you, pathetic fucking cunts. That’s my fucking kid you’re bullying” Rindou snarls already cracking his knuckles and throwing his coat off, Ran does the same and pulls his trusty baton from his waistband.

Each and every bastard had their shit rocked within the time it takes you to buy drinks

When you leave the shop you see two figures sat on a large pile of bodies

Your dad and uncle sit atop of groaning gang members who’ve been abusing you for months in and out of school

Ran waves happily at you with bruised knuckles and a grin

Your dad however looks more than furious as he looks up from where his chin had been resting on his hands

“What the fuck were you thinkin… did you think you’d just wait it out and they’d stop? Or they’d give up? Why didn’t you lay them out? I taught you to fight, I know you could have dealt with these weak fuckers easily, so why didn’t you kid?” Rindous voice is angry but he never raises it, never once does he shout at you.

“I’m not you dad. I’m not you, I don’t want to hurt people.” For once on your life you snap in the face of your dad and uncle.

He wants to cry but hold it in

Realises that not everyone wants to throw fists when they’re annoyed or dislocate joints without a thought

Ask if you want to switch schools and goes through them with you before you choose

Tries to keep you away from any gang or violent activity

▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️

Taglist: @loonashadow @reiners-milkbiddies @wakasagurl @haitink @honeybachira @soushswag @coldcoffeeholic @bontensbabygirl @sunahyejin

#tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers imagines #tokyorev headcanons #sanzu haruchiyo #bonten sanzu #rindou haitani #ran haitani #takeomi akashi #bonten #bonten rindou #bonten ran #bonten takeomi #dark content

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waitineedaname · 3 years

Note

"Accidently ending a phone call with your roommate with a casual ‘I love you’ seems like a very good reason to move out"

For benrey @ gordon?

“And can you pick up some oat milk while you’re there? I just realized I’m out.”

“Man, oat milk freaks me out,” Benrey said, pushing their shopping cart towards the dairy section anyway. “Like, do oats even have, uh. Others?”

“Others?” There was a beat of silence as Gordon attempted to figure out exactly what the hell Benrey was talking about. “You mean udders?”

“Yeah. Cow things.”

“Dude, that’s not how oat milk works.” Gordon’s laugh made Benrey’s cheap phone speakers crackle.

“Then how does it work? Huh? Mister scientician?” Benrey propped the phone between their ear and shoulder as they opened the fridge door to grab the brand of oat milk he knew Gordon liked.

“I don’t fucking know! I’m not a goddamn milk scientist.” Even through a phone call, Benrey could hear the smile on Gordon’s face. “They squeeze juice out of the oats or smush them into a paste or something. I don’t know. Stop making me think about how oat milk works, it’s going to make me not want to drink it anymore.”

“Cool, so I’ll buy milk with extra lactose then.”

“You will not, unless you wanna deal with me laying on the couch complaining all afternoon because my stomach hurts.”

“You do that anyway.”

“Fuck off, man.” Gordon’s tone of voice didn’t carry any bite to it. “Alright, I gotta go, I’m almost at the end of the queue to pick Joshie up. I’ll see you back at home, okay?”

“Mhm. Love you, bye.” Benrey hung up and shoved their phone back in their jacket pocket. They unfolded the shopping list and attempted to decipher the mix of their own chicken scratch, Gordon’s doctor handwriting, and the occasional misspelled request for snacks in Joshua’s six year old handwriting. Okay, they had to get those frozen chicken nuggets Joshua liked, another pack of seltzer, a can of black beans since Gordon was planning to cook dinner tonight-

Thinking about Gordon made them suddenly freeze in place as they realized what they’d just done. Did… Did they just say “love you” on the phone with Gordon?

Aw, fuck.

They’d been living with Gordon for a while now. It hadn’t always been an easy thing for either of them. When they’d been freshly respawned, both of them had been jumpy around each other at best, and at worst, they were at each other’s throats trying to kill each other. It took a long time and a lot of uncomfortable conversations for them to get to the point where they could interact without an unbearable amount of tension. From there, they were able to start rebuilding an actual friendship. Turns out, they got along a lot better when they weren’t in mortal danger. Who knew!

Living with Gordon involved a lot of rules, both spoken and unspoken. They involved stuff like “don’t ask weird questions about Gordon’s feet,” “if one of them gets too angry, walk it off instead of actually fighting,” and “no gross body horror in front of Gordon’s son.” It also involved shit like “please for the love of god don’t put empty juice cartons back in the fridge” and “don’t stain the carpets with Sweet Voice, this is a rental and that security deposit is worth getting back.” So far, Benrey hadn’t had too much trouble following the rules. They had been a security guard, after all; following rules was supposed to be their thing. Besides, they were a low price to pay to get to spend time with Gordon.

One of those early unspoken rules, however, had been “keep the flirting to a minimum.” That one had been a little tricky at first, but it had been necessary, especially back when they still weren’t on the best of terms. Benrey learned that when Gordon was already worked up, blowing a kiss did the opposite of diffusing the situation. This was news to Benrey. Who didn’t love a little kiss from their buddies? Lame.

That had been an early rule, though, and one that had kind of faded into the background over time. The longer they lived together, the more physically affectionate they both got, and a little domesticity is only to be expected when you share a household. It was nice. Comfortable.

And then Benrey had to go and say “I love you” on the phone. What the fuck.

That had to be crossing a line, right? Gordon was fine with some handholding and some cuddling and they’d make dinner together once a week, but this had to be pushing it.

Benrey went through the rote motions of buying the rest of their groceries without really paying attention, too busy panicking. There was only one option. They had to move out. This was fine. This was totally fine. They could just crash on Tommy’s couch until they find a place of their own because there was no way this wasn’t going to make Gordon freak the fuck out. As much as they loved fucking with Gordon, they’d learned there was the fun kind of freaking him out and the bad kind of freaking him out. They were fairly certain this fell into the bad category.

By the time that they were walking up to their apartment door, they were already mentally packing up all their things, resigned to their fate. They were so stuck in their own head that Joshua barreling into their legs when they opened the door actually startled them.

“Benny!” Joshua cheered, clinging to their jeans.

“Hey, li’l dude.” Benrey carefully tried to push past the kid without tripping over him on the way to the kitchen. Tragically, that’s where Gordon also happened to be.

“Hey, what took you so long?” Gordon asked, taking some of the grocery bags from them. “I thought you’d gotten lost in Costco again.”

Benrey grunted noncommittally and started putting away groceries instead of answering Gordon. Maybe if they didn’t look at him, they could avoid confronting whatever Gordon’s reaction was. Yeah, definitely, this seemed like a sustainable, reasonable decision to make. Yep.

“Dude.” Gordon’s hand suddenly appeared on their forearm. Benrey stared at it, then looked up at Gordon’s concerned face. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?”

“You’re putting carrots in the utensil drawer.”

Benrey looked down at their hands again. Oh. So they were.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you got back from the store,” Gordon said, gently taking the carrots away from them. “Did something happen? You wanna talk about it?”

Benrey screwed their mouth up. No, they didn’t want to talk about it, but learning how to talk through things like adults was something they both had agreed to do. That had been a rule introduced by an exasperated Tommy, sick of mediating their bullshit. So, they sighed and looked away while Gordon put the carrots in the vegetable drawer of the fridge. “I was thinking about how I’ve gotta move out.”

“What?” Gordon stood up too fast and smacked his head on the freezer door. He swore loudly, and Benrey reached over to hand him a bag of frozen peas to put on the back of his head. “Thanks. But also, what? Since when are you moving out?”

“Uh, since now?” Benrey said, confused. Shouldn’t it be obvious?

“Why?”

“‘Cause I said I love you on the phone? Dummy? You, uh, a fucking old man got bad brain disease, not remembering things?” They said, defaulting to picking on Gordon to avoid focusing on anything else. Gordon stared blankly at them for a moment, then, against all odds, a grin spread across his face.

“Benrey,” He said, and Benrey decided he didn't like that tone one bit, “Are you embarrassed?”

“Whuh? No.” There was no way they could be embarrassed. That definitely wasn't what was going on here. Nope. Not a bit, “...Maybe.”

“Dude, you don't have to be embarrassed about that.” Gordon laughed. “Do you know how often I've said stupid Freudian slips? I called my sixth grade teacher mom once and wanted to change my name and move to Canada. I've been there.”

“It wasn't, uh… It wasn't too much? Not crossing a line or anything?”

“Nah, man. It was kinda sweet.” Gordon flashed him a smile and finished putting away the last of the groceries.

“Cool.” Benrey relaxed, letting go of the tension that had been building in their shoulders. “That's good ‘cause I was gonna fight you for custody of your Xbox.” Gordon snorted.

“Good fucking luck, you’re too much of a Playstation guy to win that case.”

The evening passed relatively uneventfully from there. Gordon enlisted Benrey’s help in cooking dinner, and Joshua eagerly told them all about the cool dinosaur facts he’d learned in class that day. They went through the easy routine of watching just one episode (which of course always turned into several episodes) of Joshua’s choice of TV, then Benrey helped wash up in the kitchen while Gordon put Josh to bed. Gordon joined them as they finished washing dishes and squeezed Benrey’s shoulder affectionately when they were done.

“Alright, man, I think I’m gonna head to bed early tonight.”

Benrey nodded. “Cool. I’ll be quiet.”

“Don’t worry about it. G’night, dude.”

“Night, Gordon.”

“Oh, and Benrey?” Gordon paused in the doorway of his bedroom and waited until Benrey glanced up at him. Gordon smiled. “Love you too.”

He shut the door before Benrey could respond, leaving Benrey to stare blankly at the door. They let out a groan, careful not to wake Joshua. Oh, Gordon was going to be the death of them.

#hlvrai #frenrey #gordon feetman #benrey #my writing #okay to reblog #this is not my best work but my brain is toxic slutch rn so here you go!!!#I did not proofread this at ALL have fun lol

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rose2jam · 3 years

Text

Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult, an essay by Rose Jam

So, let’s talk about Cults. Disclaimer: This is just information I’ve gathered over the years from my personal fascination with religious cults. I’m in no way an expert or a psychologist or whatever. This is just my personal understanding from the research I’ve done.

A cult is started when a wildly charismatic Leader feels like they have a purpose, a higher calling, or a mission to be fulfilled (or they could also just be an egomaniac). Maybe they really do feel like what makes them special comes directly from a higher power, be that God, or the Heir of Slytherin, but either way, this person has a pathological need to be worshiped, and they need followers in order to do that.

So, how does one obtain Followers easily? By finding the misunderstood misfits of society, and promising them something. The people who feel like no one else understands them, or their ideologies. But this Leader? This Leader GETS IT, MAN! The Leader understands them perfectly, vindicates them, and makes them promises along the way. Like, if they stick with the Leader, then not only will they finally be understood, but they themselves will also be revered. That they will rise above all of the others who have put them down for so long, and will come out on top as a superior being.

Any of this sounding familiar?

Charles Manson preyed on young people in the middle of the hippie movement, mostly women, who were feeling lost, lonely, and in need of guidance, or in terms of the men he recruited, seeking power over others. Not all of these people were poor or helpless; some of them came from middle class, or even rich homes and families. Yes, some of them came from broken homes, but all of them felt “broken” themselves, in some way. So Manson used their desires to have a family to draw them in. He then used LSD and other drugs to keep them under his control, and he created a manipulative environment where the members of his “family” felt they could never leave him, and if they didn’t follow his commands, something horrible would happen to them. I’m not going to go into full detail on the Manson Family Murders, but if you’re personally interested, check out the Podcast “Cults” on Spotify.

So back to basics, this Leader draws in Followers with flowery promises of community, power, family, or whatever. But once the Leader has that following, the terror will begin. Cult Leaders are usually master manipulators, and have completely brainwashed their followers into believing the “us vs them” mentality, that the outside world is evil, that the outside world will only harm them, that the outside world would never understand what they’re doing on the inside. And that the Leader is the only one who knows the truth, so they better stick with him. Or maybe the Leader has gaslit his followers so completely, that they become dependent on him for everything, to the point where they don’t know how they would possibly function without the Leader. Or, the Leader has created an environment that’s so hostile, that Followers are too afraid of what might happen to them if they tried to leave, or didn’t do what the Leader commanded. Typically, it’s a combination of all of the above. Destructive cults will either hurt others outside of their circle (The Manson Family, Sect of Nacozari), harm themselves (Heaven’s Gate, The Ant Hill Kids), or both (The People’s Temple, Aum Sinrikyo).

Now that I’ve laid this foundation, I’m going to tell you why it was practically inevitable that Severus Snape would join a cult.

Snape’s childhood ultimately laid the foundation for the mental state he would be in when he decided to join the Death Eaters. He grew up in an abusive household, where his father, the muggle, had his magical wife so thoroughly whipped, that she couldn’t (or chose not to) use magic to defend herself, or her son (1). Eileen had obviously told Severus about magic, about Hogwarts, about what a wonderful place it was, and what a wonderful gift magic could be. Severus also watched as Tobias beat the magic out of her. (I know it’s debated whether Tobias actually physically abused his family, but he certainly verbally/mentally/emotionally abused them, so the term “beat” could be used figuratively as well). I don’t think it’s unreasonable to believe that Severus developed an extreme hatred of muggles with “burn the witch” mentalities from a very young age because of this.

Enter Lily, perhaps the only other magical person in his life besides his mother up to this point. He sees her using magic out in the open, perhaps recklessly, for fun, and he sees an opportunity to make a friend (and, admittedly, to be smarter than someone about something for a while). He was so eager to tell her all about magic, because getting to learn magic, and go to Hogwarts, has possibly been the only thing keeping him going in his young life. And now he’s made a friend, a real friend who doesn’t think he’s weird because he’s magical. Unlike Petunia, yet another muggle who makes fun of him for being weird (2). And Lily actually seems to like him back. For a kid who probably hasn’t received a lot of affection in his life, this is monumental. This friendship is everything. Why wouldn’t he love her?

So the time finally comes to go to Hogwarts. Severus gets to escape his abusive household, and finally has an opportunity to embrace magic for the first time in his life. But almost immediately, he’s met with a hic-up. Specifically, James Potter and Sirius Black. So Severus is no longer facing abuse exclusively from muggles who think he’s weird, but now he’s also getting it from other magical people who think he’s weird (3). And this started on the fucking TRAIN before he even GOT to Hogwarts. You can’t tell me that wouldn’t sour a kids dream right off the fucking bat. And then, when he finally gets there, he’s separated from his only friend, by being sorted into different houses (4). What a way for a life-long dream to be thoroughly dashed in less than 24 hours.

Let’s look at Snape’s Hogwarts experience. He’s a good student, and he pours himself into learning as much magic as possible, and at being the best he can possibly be, probably motivated by a desire to be better than what his Father thinks possible. During this time, he is regularly bullied and abused by the Marauders. Sometime before his 5th year, the Incident at the Shrieking Shack took place. It definitely sucks to have been so thoroughly fucking duped, and put into a life-threatening situation involving a goddamn werewolf (5). But perhaps even worse than that, the salt in the wound, was that no one fucking did anything about it (6). He saw Sirius and James and Remus get out of that situation without facing any sort of proper punishment (as in, they all still stayed at the school as opposed to being expelled like they DEFINITELY SHOULD HAVE BEEN (At least Sirius should have been)). Dumbledore was looking out for the Marauders, but no one was looking out for Severus. On top of that, Severus isn’t allowed to TELL anyone about it, not even Lily. So, he goes through what was possibly one of the most traumatic experiences of his life, and he can’t even tell anyone that it happened.

So, what sort of support system does Severus have during all this? He has Lily, sure (who literally told him he should be GRATEFUL to James, one of his abusers). But, what he really has, is Slytherin House (7). I’ll say it plainly: Severus was sorted into a house that was already full of existing cult members. McGonagall says in Sorcerer’s Stone that “Your house will be like your family” (she at least says it in the movies, I’m too lazy to get up and reference my books rn lol). So, Severus’ family, his support system, for 10 months out of every year, is a house that is already full to the brim with pureblood elitists with prejudiced ideals, who would absolutely vindicate Severus in his dislike for muggles. As a kid first getting sorted into the house, it’s obviously not unreasonable to become friends with the people you’re literally living with. His dorm mates became his family. So, when his dorm mates started to become Death Eaters… This is headcanon, I fully admit, but like, fuck, Severus didn’t have a lot of friends, and was probably already drifting apart from Lily. Do you really think he was going to tell the people he had to live with every single day, not to mention the only people that had been supporting him for years, to go fuck themselves for using Dark Magic? Especially when he was probably feeling like he was on the verge of thinking that their rhetoric made some sense?

On to Snape’s Worst Memory (8). At this point, he’s spent 5 years in Slytherin House, with fellow students who casually throw around the M word. He gets attacked by James and Sirius, he’s practically defenseless, and then the girl who he’d considered his closest friend for so long… has to force herself not to smile when he’s thrown upside down and exposed to everyone on the grounds. Sure, she was trying to defend him at first, but she also fucking nearly smiled at his humiliation, his pain, his abuse. So he hurls the one word that he knows is going to cut the deepest, that will hopefully hurt her as badly as she has hurt him. And it works.

Severus had been beaten down his entire life. By Muggles and Magic Folk alike. And finally, he’s betrayed by Lily, his last lifeline to the light. He betrayed her as well, of course. But he did try to show remorse. And she doesn’t forgive him (9), which was her prerogative, of course.

So. Who does he have left?

I’ve placed little (numbers) throughout my writing here. Each of those numbers denote the specific events that led Severus to becoming an angry young man, who hates muggles, hates (some) magic folk, and resulted in him feeling weak, helpless, and desperate. For what? For power, for a family, for a community. For a world where he is no longer the weird one. For a world where he’s respected, strong. For the world he thought he was going to be a part of, when he arrived at Hogwarts in his first year.

And it just so happens that this is the exact world that Voldemort is (allegedly) trying to create.

Severus Snape was angry, and vulnerable, and as such, he was practically the poster child for the type of person who would be susceptible to falling for a cult. Maybe he was recruited by his friends in Slytherin House. Maybe he was recruited directly. Either way, charismatic Tom Riddle came along, understood how he felt, where he was coming from, told him he deserved better, and offered him all of the things he never had in his life. And being at rock bottom, being the lowest of the low, to Severus it must have seemed like a miracle of an opportunity, or perhaps, like the only chance he had left.

Now, let me be extremely clear; everything I’ve written is not trying to EXCUSE Severus Snape for his actions. There is always a point where personal responsibility must come into play. Except for children born into cults or victims of kidnapping, nearly every person who has ever joined a cult has made the personal decision to join it. I’m just trying to express how unbelievably easy it is, for a Cult Leader to find people with damaged lives and low self-worth, to suck them in with promises of a fulfilling life and grandeur, and for those people to be easily swept up and brainwashed into believing that what they are doing is right. (Or that what they are doing is required, because the alternative is more horrifying.)

The type of people who joined the Death Eaters are the same type of people who joined Heaven’s Gate, or The People’s Temple, or yes, The Manson Family. Now, I’m just going to say, from my own personal point of view, I do not vilify anyone who’s ever joined a destructive cult. On the contrary, I feel sorry for them. Because most people who join a cult, don’t necessarily do it signing up for the… end result of what happened to them. Some of them totally do, like Heaven’s Gate. Most of them knew that the end result was going to be the “evacuation of their earthly vessel”. But the people who joined the Manson Family, for instance, did not initially join it KNOWING how it was going to end. They were part of the family long before Manson even came up with Helter Skelter, and by the time the Tate-LaBianca Murders took place, they were already too far gone to go against it.

I highly recommend anyone who’s interested in a humanizing view of former cult members, to read the essay “Leslie Van Houten: A Friendship” by John Waters. https://www.huffpost.com/entry/leslie-van-houten-a-frien_b_246953

Or, at the very least, listen to this 7 minute NPR interview with John Waters about the essay https://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=111585116

It’s the story of how notorious film maker John Waters, became friends with former Manson Girl, Leslie Van Houten, and about how she broke away from the cult after her conviction, how she’s spent the last 51 years of her life recovering from the psychotic influence of a maniac who’d promised her the world, and how even though she was convicted to life WITH a possibility of parole, it’s never been granted to her, despite the fact that she has done literally everything possible to try and atone for her crimes.

Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart. I’m pretty much the only person I know who feels sorry for Leslie Van Houten and other cult members who were brainwashed, abused, and manipulated into doing a lot of the horrible things they’ve done. But there are people in the world, who have committed FAR more heinous crimes than the Manson Family murders, and who are far less repentant than Leslie, but because those crimes weren’t as notorious, they get to walk free.

Addendum: When I first posted this, I had a few people point out to me that they had always associated Voldemort and the Death Eaters with Hitler and Nazi Germany. This is a perfectly fair point, but one that I personally don’t jive with, and the reason is simply the numbers. There were literally millions of people in the Nazi party during WW2. Death Eaters don’t even reach triple digits, as far as I’m aware. As I hinted at in this essay, I consider Voldemort and the Death Eaters to be MUCH closer to Charles Manson and the Manson Family. The Manson Family 100% had Nazi ideology, of course. "Helter Skelter” was Charles Manson’s prediction that there was going to be a massive race war; one that the Whites were going to lose, and that he and his Pure White family would emerge from it in order to rule over the remaining Blacks. Kinda... sounds like a Death Eater thing, huh?

Sorry. Back to Snape. There is a lot we don’t know about Severus’ actual time as a Death Eater. I think it can be reasonably assumed he’s never actually killed anyone before Dumbledore (In Prince’s Tale, Severus questions if his soul would be safe from killing Dumbledore, and Dumbledore implies that his soul would not be damaged by helping an old man avoid pain and humiliation. This leads me to believe that Severus never committed any soul-damaging murders before this). Beyond being a sneaky spy and delivering the prophecy to Voldemort, his time as a Death Eater is all up for conjecture.

Severus does make one important deviation from the typical cult member mold, however. In the end, he manages to break away from the cult. The scales fall from his eyes. In a figurative sense, the LSD has worn off. What made him sober up, was the threat to his last lifeline to the light. The one good fucking thing he’d ever had in his miserable life. He was brought back by genuine love. Ya know, the ENTIRE MESSAGE OF THE HP SERIES. And not only did he leave the cult, but he then spent the rest of his life actively attempting to destroy it, and atone for the mistakes he’s made, in an effort to bring back the world he’d been excited for, as an 11-year-old kid, so full of hope.

#Snape Meta #Severus Snape #Pro Snape #Snapedom #Snape Community #This will be the TRUE test of the tags #Essay Jam #Why It Was Practically Inevitable That Severus Snape Would Join A Cult

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jiminrings · 3 years

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i think stem!koo would compare himself with the other guy and start questioning if that’s more oc’s type and if he’s just the outlier. maybe even tries mimicking the other guy to see oc’s reaction… like if oc was talking to hobi and guk saw and then when they meet up a few day later oc’s like???? why are you blonde?

cold senior!y/n x stem major!koo masterlist :D

besides hoseok having the divine ability to throw pretty cool parties, it turns out he’s actually pretty cool too — too bad jungkook doesn’t know how to handle his jealousy at all.

“would you hate me?”

there’s no morning like today, really

no morning like today because all three of you woke up before 10 am

setting alarms when there are no classes is the equivalent of setting yourself up and you will not subject yourself to that!! — you wake up at like 12 pm max

yoongi would typically wake up at 4 in the morning, groggily realize that it’s iNDEED 4 in the morning, and go back to sleep — he wakes up seven hours later <3

jin’s sleeping pattern (or as what he calls un-blinking hours) fluctuates so oftenly and is therefore non-existent — he wakes up only when you wake him up!!

the three of you just started coming out of your rooms one-by-one and were in a daze looking at each other :|

no morning like today because now that the three of you woke up practically at the same exact time for an unknown reason, you asked if you can have jungkook come over for breakfast and they agreed

“do you guys mind if i invite jungkook for breakfast?”

“nah. go ahead.”

“it’s alright i understand i-?? what did you just say?”

jungkook also feels like there’s definitely something in the air this morning and it’s not weed lol

jin greeted him and yoongi nodded at him??? it felt as weird yet gratifying as a nickelodeon show crossover

all of you are immersed in casual and playful chatter in a somehow haze!! seokjin’s on autopilot preparing four (!!) bowls and yoongi’s getting the family (!!) cutlery instead of the disposable visitor ones

which is why the moment you ask a seemingly-loaded question, everyone just immediately snappeD out of it and was brought back to reality

“would you hate me?”

“never.” (jungkook fervently shakes his head no that his neck felt like it was unscrewed at one point)

“i would gaslight everyone and everything for you.” (yoongi snickers with his hands across his chest, actually thinking that he could also gaslight anything for you even if it’s an inanimate object)

“depends.” (jin carelessly shrugs as he tries to convince himself that you wouldn’t commit arson to his dream shared house with you and yoongi)

...

well they really didn’t let you finish ://

“thank you, but i didn’t mean it that way,” you snicker in thought at each of their answers, giving jungkook a grateful pat on his knee

yoongi almost scowls at that but he, along with jin, catches your incessant gaze

oh the question is meant for the two of them???

“would you hate me if i convince the two of you to split with me the cost of a canvas painting?”

a what

since wHEN are you into canvas paintings???

the two of them have their mouths slightly ajar and even jungkook’s joining in because even if he’s nOt included in this conversation, he’s also surprised???

“like an old abstract painting?” jin grimaces and therefore breaks the silence, blindly folding in his fluffy pancake mix to look at your reaction

“god, no,” you shudder already at the thought of an old painting with asbestos you can’t gauge the meaning of being hung at the large empty wall, “it’s for our dorm.”

.... oh?

they aren’t really against chipping in for an item that only yOU would benefit from, but it’s kinda exciting to think that all three of you are involved

“how big is this painting that you’re talking about?”

yoongi asks in deep thought, already thinking about nails and screws (which probably aren’t allowed) and the backup heavy-duty mounting tape

he’s curious already!!!! screw him!!!

“really?” your eyes considerably widen, looking at the teo of them, both shrugging at each other and that’s already your seal of approval!!! see!! you didn’t even have to plead :D

“A1 — that’s what the guy said. i found him on instagram!!”

yoongi narrows his eyes at you unironically, tch-ing at what you just said

“i don’t speak in barbecue sauce, y/n.”

.,.,.,...,. pls

jin snorts extra loudly because yoongi’s completely serious and not kidding at all when he only knows A1 as a goddamn brand of sauce instead of an actual measurement

“A1 means 23x33 inches in sizing, dumbass.”

the guy at the receiving end of chuckles only nods with newfound knowledge, already mapping it out

“what’s it about? i-i can chip in too if you’d like!!”

jungkook interjects sincerely, raising his hand out of classroom habit to which he sheepishly brings down

“it’s okay, koo. you don’t need to,” you reply back sincerely and effectively shut out the egging that yoongi and jin are giving him, something along the lines of “hey jungkook!! what if you pay for it whole, hm? you can come over for breakfast next time if you do.”

jungkook was really about to steal your phone and enter his card information in a sECOND if only you didn’t stop him

“the painting is to die for, y’know?” you hype it up as much as you could, holding jungkook’s hands in place so he can stop reaching for his wallet

“it’s a painting of a sheep on a field, with the mountains behind it, that says atleast we’re under the same sky!!”

it’s pretty much safe to say that jin and yoongs were ready to lay down their money right then and there

neither of you can put a finger on it but it just tOUCHES your heart!! it’s a piece that pops up in your mind every now and then and feels like a fond memory while at it

“...and sent! quick too — he already gave me the payment confirmation.”

that’s nice!! not even five minutes after you sent your proof of payment and he already acknowledged it

the fact that it’s already paid for now aND is probably gonna get delivered within a matter of days is exciting, really

“i think i’d toss and turn in bed until that painting arrives,” yoongi yawns in admission, going into town with the powdered sugar on his pancakes that you physically had to stop him

“i’d save that painting first when there’s a fire,” jin snickers but it’s not that well-received, getting a pointed glare in return from yoongi, “fine. i’ll save y/n first and then the painting.”

this is your happy place :-)

your three favorite boys in the whole entire world in the sAME room!! and they’re not arguing!! there’s now dwelling in the past!!

just mediocre tolerance from yoongi and jin’s side, then half-giddiness and half-nervousness from jungkook’s side

“when it arrives, i’ll take a picture of the three of you and get it printed!”

kook offers and it earns him a ruffle on his hair, surprisingly from jin, that makes him almost chOke on the most delicious pancakes he’s ever tasted

“thank you, koo.”

jungkook’s getting used to this, actually

normally he’d expect a kiss on his cheek for his wonderful offer!! or maybe a hand on his thigh!! but he’s slowly starting to realize that you’re not always a physically affectionate lover

he’s admittedly the clingier out of the two of you but it’s okay!! right!!!!!!! it is :D

he’s sitting beside you right now on the couch anyway!! he’ll take that

yoongi, however, will nOT take it because that’s his spot and jungkook’s taking it away from him >:( he’s only noticed now out of the twenty minutes the four of you have been sitting here

he’s sneakily scraping off the powdered sugar from his pancakes and to the edge of his plate, ready to spill it on jungkook so he’d have an excuse of pushing him to the bathroom and take his spot beside you

just one more scrape and-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCKKKKKKKKKKKK-!!!!!!

literally everyone jolts with the abrupt knocking on your door and it even panics you a little

“w-who’s that?” jungkook fidgets on his seat and raises his feet on the cushions (no one can scold him bc everyone is also preoccupied) and his hand grips on your forearm out of instinct

“are you expecting anyone?” you ask jin because this may just be namjoon who’s rushing to get inside because students might see him

“no one,” he shakes his head and turns to yoongi, “this yours?”

yoongi shakes his head, his hand still clutching at his chest, “didn’t even order anything online these past two weeks.”

this is okay!! robbers don’t knock on the door, right? :-)

you make the initiative to stand up but you get tugged almost immediately by the three of them, shrugging them off as calmly as you could

“i’ll just see, alright?”

you peep on the keyhole and you relax immediately, just seeing a delivery guy with a huge package

you open the door and jungkook sputters of why the hell you would, about to skid towards you when-

“hoseok?”

is that-

is that jung hoseok??

jung hoseok as in your junior, the one who’s notoriously known for throwing the coolest parties ever?? to which he gets even the seal of approval from his seniors??

the same hoseok who threw the party wherein jungkook was ditched by jimin and you needed to walk him home? the one who threw the party wherein tae slipped outside and you needed to take him to the hospital??

tHAT hoseok????

he’s kinda cool for all of that actually

“Y/N???”

he’s just as surprised as you are, mouth actually dropping agape

the both of you are so surprised that neither of you seem to acknowledge the mammoth of a package that he’s holding

...

....

“oh my god, you’re the one who ordered my painting!!!”

hoseok actually leaps to hug you and it’s a miracle that you’re not knocked over with his sheer force, giddily jumping up and down as if embracing you is not enough

he pulls off before you could even poke at him, instead holding you by your shoulders and jostling you lightly now

jungkook’s watching the whole thing unfold and he’s still quite stuck on the couch, head tilting in confusion

why.... is hoseok.... hugging you.....

why........ are you letting him..... hug you

“oh my god!!! you’re the one!!!!! i-i thought no one would buy from me because i’m a small business and i don’t have a lot of works right now and my style is different but — yoongi!!!!”

hoseok attaches to yoongi next and the older guy just chuckles, patting him on the back

they’re not really close and no one really hugs their senior like that, most especially yoongi, but here they are

“let me guess, you’re one of the three who bought it, right?? y/n messaged me saying that she has two friends chipping in and asked me that if i could, add in some freebies!! and i did!!!”

man,, hoseok is quick

“we didn’t know you’re the one who made it,” you admit which gets a lot of nodding from both parties

“i didn’t know either that you guys were the one who bought it!” hoseok exclaims and turns his head to jin, “mr. kim!!! thank you so much!! you complete the trio, right?”

you and yoongi are bAFFLED at hoseok hugging seokjin, or rather mr. kim, aka an official of student affairs

what’s even more baffling is that jin doesn’t look surprised at all

“you two — i- uhm? i don’t-...”

“... hoseok’s my plug. our plug, actually.”

hoseok doesn’t even look the least bit fazed, even nodding and laughing as he raises his hand

“i’m a business major!!”

ok wait maybe that does explain everything

jungkook’s so lost looking at the scene in front of him and frankly, he doesn’t know if he’s still included at this point

he’s frazzled when hoseok’s eyes slightly widen at the sight of him but later grin at him, looking back at you to wiggle his eyebrows

“and jungkook, is a stem major.”

it seems like no one but jungkook is surprised at hoseok’s sudden barging presence in the dorm

no one is batting an eye when he invites himself to stay and plop on the couch

“here, you can have mine.”

jungkook helplessly looks at you when you offer yOUR plate (that has one whole pancake left) to hoseok and leave him be

no one’s questioning him because after all, the three of you are busy unwrapping the package while he continues to explain

“what was i saying again? oh right!! i panicked when i saw the money transferred to my account because even if we were chatting, at first i was a littlE hesitant because like, bogus buyers amirite??” he speaks through a mouthful of pancakes, “and then you paid!! and i saw the address and tHEN i was really excited and like panicked? i didn’t want to get it shipped when you’re this near because that’s expensive!! and i wanted to thank the three of you personally!!”

“— which is why i sprinted all the way here!!”

that explains hoseok’s breathless and sweaty state, the whole tale of him bumping into the dean at one point and almost stomping on a pigeon making everyone entertained

everyone besides jungkook.

is it just him or is everyone’s eye twitching right now

is this his dorm? no. but does he feel like hoseok’s intruding, regardless if he lives in here or in the perspective of a fellow visitor? yes.

apparently, nONE out of the three of you seem to think so

because it’s all so good!! hoseok probably lives in your dorm too because why else would you give up your breakfast for him??

the three of you are actively fawning over the painting and jungkook’s just sO sure that it’s giving hoseok the biggest ego boost of his life ://

they just share a class or two, they aren’t really close anyways

hoseok’s the type to be intimidating and popular at the same time but surprisingly, he’s friendly in a way

ok maybe jungkook’s just getting a little over in his head rn

if he leaves, then it’s also hoseok’s time to leave!!!

he’s already practicing the words in his head

“come on hoseok, they’re the furthest thing away from being done at fawning. let’s walk together back to the dorms.”

he’s about to say it when-

“anyone have a headband i can borrow?”

hoseok asks aloud and effectively catches everyone’s attention, making you stand up in agreement

what the fuck is actually happening

jungkook watches you hand one of the headbands you wear during your games to hoseok, a guy you barely know, like it’s no big deal?????

that headband smells like your hair!!! the hair that he loves to bury his nose into and plays with!!!

that’s yours and you’re giving it to hIM?

jungkook’s stomach actually drops even if he just finished eating minutes ago, ina daze looking at hoseok putting it on his blonde hair

he doesn’t know what’s stemming from his heart nor what his tummy’s telling him, but jungkook doesn’t like it at all.

“i’m going home,” kook murmurs behind you who’s instructing yoongi and jin to level the painting some more, snaking his arm around your waist

“really? oh, okay. text me when you get home.”

you only sweetly smile at him and jungkook’s actually awaiting the offer of you walking him home, but it doesn’t come

that’s okay!

“bye. love you.”

he softly says yet it’s enough for everyone to hear, his hand still secured snugly on your waist

jungkook’s about to go for a kiss on your cheek because he’s sURE that both yoongi and jin would scowl at him if he took it any further, but he catches hoseok at the corner of his eye and it’s all out the door

he unexpectedly presses a chaste kiss on your lips and playfully drags out the mwah! at the end, much to the daggers your friends send him

that’s enough!! hoseok already saw — you’re taken by him. jungkook doesn’t need to worry now that hoseok knows :)

...

....

...... he may have spoken too soon

he’s already established that you’re taken by him, that’s great! even hoseok teases him when they see each other the next day

was that an ego boost? yes

what wasn’t an ego boost is seeing hoseok talking to him and parading the halls with your headband on!!

that’s yOUR headband!!! not his!!! what happened to merely borrowing it?

did he just happen to steal it from you, or did you just let him steal it from you?

jungkook positively thinks that’s the end of this whole heart-clenching

hoseok has your headband but jungkook has you. it’s clear who’s actually winning in life

but god is jungkook wrong again

he texted you in the same morning on what you were doing since you had your classes cancelled for today with no professors coming in

going to brunch with hobi instead of sleeping all day. jin’s in the office and yoongi’s out on grocery duty. have fun w your classes :)

Hobi???

Uhm I literally just passed him in the halls two minutes ago

really? lmao that means he’s skipping class then

no because hold on

hoseok’s sKIPPING class to go to brunch with you?

you’re going to brunch with him???

HOBI?????

jungkook uncomfortably tucks his phone back into his pocket as class starts, chewing at his bottom lip

do you want him to skip classes so he could go to brunch with you?

better yet, is hoseok better than him because it’s no problem for him to skip classes??

now that he thinks about it, jungkook hasn't skipped even a single day of classes ever since freshman year

he used to take pride on his attendance but now he uh kinda wants a blank mark on his card actually

he could go to lengths of skipping classes if you asked him to!! he can!! of course he'll do that for you

but you don't ask him to and it's obvious that you only learned now how hoseok's able to meet you in the first place, but the reason behind it didn't seem to faze you

in fact, it looks like you're even amused

jungkook has to physically shake his head to get rid of his thoughts but that doesn't do anything

he's still thinking about you and hoseok during class.

he's trying not to dwell on it but it's difficult when he's always reminded of it

every time he comes over, the painting is GLARING at him and that's the reason jungkook just keeps his eyes on you for literally the whole time that he's there

your phone sometimes dings and it's a tiktok notification of hoseok sending you one

everything he does, hoseok and his outrageously blonde hair just seems to follow him

you had cat fur on the sleeve of your hoodie because you pet the campus cat awhile ago and jungkook was about to shriek because even that reminded him of the guy

all he's done this week is become bothered and frustrated to the point that even jimin, oftenly the most clueless and easy-going guy in the room, noticed it

"trouble in paradise?"

jimin's cool voice is the first thing that snaps him out of his anti-hoseok tirade in his mind, his eyes landing on his roommate lazily

it's actually jimin's red hair that makes jungkook look twice because when he saw him in the morning, he was still blonde

....,.,. blonde....?

"jimin?"

"hmm? am i right? is it rEALLY trouble in-"

"remember that time you ditched me in hoseok's party? or that time i made your paper because you forgot and you were hung-over and then you ended up getting an A?"

jimin's head tilts at jungkook's enumeration, blinking owlishly at him

".... yeah?"

"good," jungkook nods in acknwoledgement at jimin's recall, "because i think i'm gonna cash in the favors that you owe me."

it's pouring

it hasn't rained in so long and it's raining sO hard that you might have to look for a candle later on

it was on the news anyway that it was gonna rain this hard but no one really expected that it'd be this hard!!

nonetheless, jungkook soothed your worries and said he'd come over because the two of you haven't seen each other in like three days

maybe it's just you but something feels off with jungkook

oddly, he's gotten a little bit more attached to you yet weirdly distant at the same time

for some reason, he asks a lot more questions too

just yesterday, he sent you a screenshot of a white polo, asked if it looked good, and proceeded to immediately purchase it once you said it looked nice

just because you don't frequently comment on what you notice, doesn't exactly mEAN you don't care about it

jungkook's a big boy!! an adult!! if he wants to say something to you, then he says it

he always has the words in his head, that much you know

but yOU, however.,.,.,

you really don't have the words right now

because as soon as you open the door, your eyes land on your boyfriend

your boyfriend in his usual hoodie who's been growing out his hair and is looking very much blonde and different

“you’re blonde?”

you rhetorically ask in shock and you're clueless to the fact that you look like a fish out of water, your hands unconsciously darting out to his chest

“hmm, you like it?”

jungkook hums and tries to keep the giddiness he feels at bay just seeing you look gobsmacked, your hands moving from his collarbones to his neck and finally, to his hair

you offer no answer because you find yourself kissing jungkook before you could even let him in and close the door

he mewls in satisfaction when you kiss him deeper and cup his cheeks, his hands finding no hesitance in pushing your bodies closer by the waist

"my handsome boy," you mumble at one point in the kiss, eternally grateful that the two of you are the only one in the dorm right now

jungkook preens at your attention, mumbling to your lips before he makes the move to kiss you determinedly

“you like me better than hoseok?”

in a single second, he doesn't feel you kissing back at all

he's so confused as he pulls away, dark brows, in contrast to his blonde hair, knitted in confusion

“quit it.”

there's no actual edge to your tone but you feel like it, an incoming realization starting to dawn on you

jungkook's oblivious to your boiling irritation, clueless to how the dots are connecting in your mind and how you're not sure on how to tackle them

“what did i do? i was just asking you if you like me better than him.”

he says nonchalantly and it's the tone that irks you — as if his seemingly harmless question didn't reveal what he really wanted to get at

“i’m with you, jungkook. has that not been established enough yet?”

your voice is still calm yet you trudge away from him, your boyfriend quick on his heels to trail behind you

“i mean you did kiss me on the mouth just now,” jungkook points out as if you weren't aware. “because i’m blonde just like hoseok.”

“oh my god."

it was just a strong hunch at first but hearing it first-hand from jungkook accelerates your sentiment for what he did even faster, your eyes rolling to the back of your head that rubs him the wrong way

he runs his hand through his hair out of habit, reminding you even more that it's bleached and blonde yet for all the wrong intentions

“is asking you so wrong? why are you getting defensive?”

you snicker at his inquiry, hands across your chest that just challenges him to do the same

“what’s wrong is that you dyed your hair blonde for no other reason besides the fact that hoseok is!”

now that jungkook hears it from you, his eyes narrow

“can’t i just be inspired?” he snaps, “can’t i be inspired to look this way because you look at him in that way?”

what?

wHAT????

“what way, jungkook?”

seemingly caught in a blindspot, he tries to backtrack

“i-i’m not-“

you're having none of it and to be honest, you're not even sure if it just pure anger that you're feeling at the moment

“you spent hours in a salon, is that it?" you prod him and that makes jungkook avoid your eyes, huffing under his breath, "got jimin to help you out?" that actually hits a nerve on him and makes his eyes zero in on you with much annoyance, "what did you go through just because you’re so inspired?”

“you look at hoseok like you’re in love with him!”

“i’m not in love with hoseok, jungkook!" you articulate every word but even that seems to anger jungkook further, "why would you even think of that?”

“because you’re only supposed to look at me that way. y-you’re not supposed to go to brunch with a guy alone when you just met him. you’re not supposed to lend him your headbands when he can just buy them! you’re not supposed to do the things you’d do with me with other guys!”

“he’s my friend. just like yoongi and jin are. i can do these things with them but that doesn’t mean i love you any less.”

jungkook rolls his eyes and even your profession of love doesn't budge him at all

“there you are with your guy friends again.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

you feel him treading to dangerous territory but you stand your ground regardless, your voice shaking when you add

“yoongi and jin came into my life way before you did, jungkook.”

it was to simply remind him but he feels as if it's out of spite, looking at you pointedly before patronizingly chuckling

“i know. i can never win with you, that’s it, right? just because you’re older than me by a year and you have friends that want to beat me up — you always win!”

his voice raises by the end of his sentence and it's his words that make you grind your teeth together and your nostrils flare, lip dangerously close to trembling

“i’m sorry if i’m jealous and i don’t know what to do because this is the first time i’ve become a boyfriend, alright?"

jungkook throws his head back and gestures to you, shaking his head while he's so close to crying because of his pent-up insecurity

“i’m sorry that i don’t know what to do and you always do because you probably had like ten boyfriends before me, right?? i’m so inexperienced and new to you that you can’t even stand me and-“

there's pin-drop silence in the room.

jungkook only realizes his words belatedly and the weight that they carry, eyes in a stand-still on you who looks the furthest thing from being appeased at him

you're actually hurt.

“how dare you, jungkook.”

your fists are balled to the point that the tips of your fingers feel numb from the pause in circulation, but oddly enough, jungkook feels the most remorseful when he sees your figure deflate and therefore relax

“don’t come home, it’s pouring. or go back to your dorm, whatever. i don’t care.”

he's planted by his feet but he realizes to move when you're walking out of your own dorm, prying away his hand from your elbow

“you can sleep in my room. i’m sleeping out tonight.”

part two

as always, lmk what you think!! i love answering asks :D what do you want to see from the lunchbox lovers next? send them here <3

#stem koo #stem koo misc.#jungkook angst #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook fic #jungkook oneshots #jungkook fanfic #jungkook au #jungkook college au #jungkook scenarios

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hopelesshawks · 3 years

Note

Hey hey pspspsps if ur down to write some genshin headcanons👀👀 I’d loveee to see some modern au Tohma, Xiao, Kaeya, Childe, Zhongli and Diluc headcanons 👀👀 like college age mayhaps 👀👀

Ohhh ok BUCKLE UP KIDS it’s Genshin modern college au headcanons here we go!

Warnings for alcohol mention and very brief mention of recreational drug use

I feel like I should disclaimer that I’m in a coed frat and went to a small to mid size technical school that’s pretty nerdy so my experience with frats is probably very different and not nearly as gross as the like general US State School experience can be

Tohma

Smooth talker, big man on campus 100%

Probably joined a frat literally the minute he could for the connections and so he could meet even more people

Dude has been throwing ragers since like the first month of his freshman year, you don’t know how he knows so many goddamn people on campus he just does

Seems like a player and hopeless flirt but is actually such a dorky little himbo when you get to know him

If you need any kind of recommendation on anything he’s your guy. From the best spots to nap on campus to the best restaurants within walking distance.

In a relationship he’s super open about his affection and probably is into PDA. It’s not a possessive thing, he’s just so in awe he gets to have you that he wants to enjoy every second of it so why miss out on a hug or kiss from you just because there’s a few people around

Xiao

The first several times you interacted you were probably forced too. Like you were partners on a group assignment so he had to deal with you for a little bit and eventually warmed up

Has a reputation among the rest of your class for how standoffish he is so when he started hanging out with you a few of the other people from your year legit were just like “h o w” and you can’t even give them a proper answer tbh because even you don’t know

Is probably some kind of writing/English/history major

Not only is willing to fight anyone who tries to imply his degree isn’t as useful as a STEM one, but actually has gotten in multiple, some of which almost came down to an actual physical fight before you dragged him away

Definitely pouted about you pulling him away but will yell at you if you call it pouting

In a relationship there is almost no PDA. He might hold your hand and if someone makes him jealous enough he may pull you a little closer and/or put himself between the two of you but for the most part he feels like his relationship is no one else’s goddamn business and he has no interest in giving people a show

Kaeya

The biggest little shit as always

Also joined a frat but is mostly in it for the free booze and he says the brotherhood but you’re pretty sure he just likes the way the other members hang on his every word when he speaks

Doesn’t believe in the cult-like level of loyalty some frats expect and so will 1000% report any of his fellow brothers who try to be shady/scummy/gross. No one would dare get mad at him for it so it’s actually helped the frat stay a healthy environment, 10/10 could trust the guys there with your drinks

Honestly at this point the frat is pretty much just Kaeya’s Followers(tm) and by his senior year the juniors get worried about it because “uhhh who becomes Kaeya when Kaeya graduates” and when they try to ask Kaeya this question he just winks and gives an answer that is entirely unhelpful and sounds like it’s at least 80% bullshit

Never seems to go to class and yet somehow always has amazing grades

In a relationship acts very flirty and is constantly teasing you in public, but stops short of anything above mild pda and in private gets really soft and sweet he’ll deny it if you try to point this out in front of others though

Childe

Is in the literal douchiest frat on campus fuck the Fatui like you’re constantly trying to get him to de-brother but he’s got a misplaced loyalty to them that keeps him in the organization

First time you met him you wanted to punch him in the face but he also quickly becomes the only thing stopping you from failing out of a class the two of you share and over the course of that time he manages to win you over at least a little bit

It’s all fun and games until someone pisses him off. He’s another one that you have to try and drag away from physical altercations on a semi-regular basis

Once he notices that you care enough to try and drag him away or worry about him if he’s injured in a fight, he starts picking more of them just to see your reaction

Even if y’all’s relationship is entirely platonic he flirts with you. He thinks it’s funny when he can manage to fluster you so he tries to make a game out of it even if he doesn’t actually mean any of the things he’s saying

If you guys are in a relationship he definitely packs on the PDA, partially to fluster you, partially because he’s possessive and he doesn’t like the way some of his frat brothers look at you sometimes so he wants everyone to be totally clear on who exactly you belong to

Zhongli

Still rich, still never has any fucking money on him. The number of times you’ve had to cover for this man because he’s forgotten his wallet in his dorm or straight up lost it is honestly ridiculous at this point but you can’t even be mad at it because he invites you to his family’s beach house and shit to compensate

He’s the kind of rich where his family has had money forever so he genuinely doesn’t even realize that some things aren’t normal experiences like not everyone grew up with a butler and all designer clothes, etc.

Definitely an Econ major because his parents want him to take over the family corporation but on the low has 0 intentions of doing so and actually intends to create his own start up after graduation and do something he wants to do without having to answer to anyone

He’s so pretty and for what? Mans is oblivious as fuck. Literally half the people on campus that are into dudes have a crush on him but he has no idea and if you try to point it out to him he’ll wave you off

In a relationship he’s either taking you to the shitty Mexican restaurant on campus that’s open until like 3am on weekends or five star restaurants, no in between. You’re either eating like royalty because he knows you deserve it, or eating like broke college kids because he wants the ✨experience✨

He gives me gentlemanly PDA vibes, like he’s not gonna makeout with you in the quad but he’ll kiss your hand or your cheek, hold you close to him, and otherwise make it clear that he’s very much happily in love with you

Diluc

Not only is this man not in a frat, he probably actively campaigns against their existence and isn’t quiet about hating them

Always goes to class and thus always has amazing grades

Won’t get into physical fights the way Childe and Xiao do even though he could hold his own in one if he wanted to, but regularly gets into debates with people and is not afraid to drag you into the middle of it even if it has nothing to do with you

Doesn’t drink which frequently means him playing caretaker/mom friend when y’all go to parties together and while he might complain about it he secretly loves that you trust him to take care of you if you get sloppy drunk/high/crossed

Flusters easily but good at hiding it. If you flirt with this man in public his expression won’t change while he’s telling you to stop fucking around but his face will be going as red as his hair

In a relationship he’s not a fan of PDA but is a fan of you, so while he probably keeps the affection to a minimum while you’re out and about he still is maintaining some sort of physical contact with you most of the time or at the very least is keeping you close

#hhrequests #hopeless.olivia #genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin headcanons #genshin tohma #tohma headcanons #genshin xiao #xiao headcanons #genshin kaeya #kaeya headcanons #genshin childe #childe headcanons #genshin zhongli #zhongli headcanons #genshin diluc #diluc headcanons

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

Forever and Never

A/N: A long one because it was a fun one. My absolute favorite chapter!

Warnings: mentions of marijuana, rape, blood and violence

Word Count: 6135

—————————————

Six: The Breakfast Club

“What are you thinking about?”

“H-Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’re smiling for the first time today. What are you thinking about?”

“...Stan.”

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

Apparently, I had slept through all of my alarms because when I awoke the next day, it was almost nine. Cursing aloud, I sprang out of bed and zoomed to my closet, ripping out any clothes I could find. Not having time to pull together something totally retro as per usual, I threw on a maroon hoodie, wedged into blue skinny jeans, and slipped on my white sneakers. I applied deodorant and stuck a piece of gum into my mouth before slinging my backpack on. The school was a fifteen-minute walk from my house. I was going to be so fucking late. I was skipping every other step on my way downstairs when I heard a voice call out to me.

“Whoa, you’re still here?”

On my right was Jacob, sitting in the living room and watching television. He stood from the couch and slowly approached me with a smirk. “What are you doing here still?”

“What are you doing here still?”

“I don’t have classes today, Bug,” He lightly teased before gently pushing me towards the door. “Let’s go before you miss anymore school. Hopefully, you don’t get detention.”

“I won’t, Jake.”

I did. As soon as I opened the door to my English class, all eyes were on me like a newcoming circus act. Ms Anderson’s eyes cut to me the second I stepped in and before I knew it, she was stomping towards me, gently ushering me out of the room with her. When we were alone, she crossed her arms and stared down at me. I felt like a child getting scolded for breaking an expensive vase or something. “(Y/N), this is your fourth tardy this month.”

“I know…”

“Is there something we need to talk about?”

There are so many things I need to talk about.

“No… I just… um… I-It’s been a rough few days…”

“Well, I would let this slide, but I’ve already broken the rules twice for you. I’m sorry, dear, but I’m going to have to give you detention. Okay?”

Dammit, Jake… “Okay, fine. Can I just go back to class now?” I sighed. My teacher nodded and opened the door for me. Stepping inside, I was met with the smiles of Dina, Stan and Ricky all directed towards me. I returned the smiles towards my two friends before taking my seat beside Dina. Throughout class, two eyes bore into the back of my head, and I tried my best not to turn and look at who they belonged to. He was catching on. On my way to choir, I heard Ricky calling out to me. He was pushing and shoving past students until he was by my side.

“Babe, what’s been going on with you?” He gently nudged me, but my eyes stayed trained forward. “Oh, so the silent treatment… Are you gonna tell me what I did or am I gonna have to figure it out?” Silence. “Right, okay. I get it. Hey, listen, when you’re out of your bitchy mood, make sure to come talk to me.” And with that, he turned and walked in the opposite direction. Letting out a breath, I slowed my pace along with the beat of my heart. I never wanted anyone to dictate the way I felt, the way my anxiety sky-rocketed when they were around. But it seemed I was letting Ricky do everything to me.

When lunchtime rolled around, I wanted nothing more than to eat my first meal of the day. All throughout English and choir, my stomach had been curling into itself and I felt stupid for not at least grabbing a granola bar before I left home. After grabbing my food, I joined Stan at a near-vacant lunch table. He had been mindlessly picking at his lunch when I sat across from him. “Good afternoon, beautiful.” I whispered. Hearing my voice, he didn’t need to look up.

“Hey, (Y/N)...”

“(Y/N)? Whoa, what’s wrong?”

“Uh, it’s just Syd. She won’t talk to me…”

A pang of jealousy went through my heart. Knowing we’d never talk about our kiss the other night didn’t prevent my wave of disappointment whenever he mentioned Sydney. I mean, how do you even kiss a girl and then talk about a totally different one days later? As much as I love Stan, he could be an idiot sometimes…

I hadn’t even noticed I was spacing out until his voice spoke loud enough for me to snap back into reality. He had been staring at me with raised brows, an expectant look on his face. “O-Oh, sorry… Uh, do you wanna hang out later? Like, when we get home?” I calmly asked, my eyes flickering to the fading bruise decorating his eye. He shifted in his seat and returned back to his lunch.

“Um… I’ll see.�� He mumbled, my throat constricting at his words.

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

Whitaker watched me like a hawk as I turned into the girls’ restroom.

“Don’t think I don’t know that trick, (Y/L/N)! You better get to the gymnasium as soon as you’re done!”

“Yes, sir.” I mumbled and closed the door behind me. To be honest, I didn’t think he knew that trick and was absolutely planning on spending the entirety of my detention in the restroom. Letting out a sigh, I leaned against the wall and texted Jacob.

Me: I got detention. Pick me up at 7 please?

Jake: Haha! I’ll be there, don’t worry

Jake: And don’t try hiding out in the bathrooms. Whitaker knows that trick

Me: Noted

Pocketing my phone, I pushed the door open and trudged to the gym. Even with the doors closed, I could hear Whitaker screaming at whoever else was inside. With a small groan, I lazily used my body to open one of the doors, the principal’s voice quieting as the screech of the hinges echoed throughout the room.

“Ms (Y/L/N), I would have thought that after getting detention for tardiness, you’d learn to be more punctual. Take a seat!” Whitaker boomed. Rolling my eyes, I moved over to the bleachers, surprised to see Sydney, Stan, Brad, Dina and… Jenny Tuffield.

I could be irritated with people all I wanted, but I never completely ignored or even spat insults or such at them, unless they truly did something to hurt me or the ones I care about. Hence the reason I ignore Ricky. But Jenny brought out a side of me I really despised. It was a side of myself that thought of the worst things to say and spewed them out without hesitation, resulting in a back-and-forth war between the two of us. It usually ended with death threats and flipping the birds to each other, but we’ve never physically fought. That could change one day, who knows? I could feel her sickening smirk as I passed her to sit in front of Stan, who looked bewildered to see that I was here with him in detention. I patted his knee before turning back to Whitaker, who had been waiting for me to do as I was told. Satisfied, he continued on.

“Now that you all are here,” He cut me a look. “I want you to take the next few hours and think about your mistakes. And carve out in your mind a plan for change. Determine how to improve yourselves. Define what the word ‘respect’ means to you.”

Get a job, dude…

“Now you can start by respecting this beautiful gymnasium. Between now and seven p.m., you’re gonna scrape up every goddamn piece of gum from the bleachers,” He stepped forward and slammed a box down in front of us, no doubt full of the tools needed for our manual labor. The six of us all rolled our eyes as Whitaker stepped back again. “Get started.”

“Uh, Mr Whitaker, sir,” I heard Stan from behind me. “Um… Will there be a break for snacks or dinner?”

Silence was his answer. Whitaker stared at Stan as if he’d just asked him to lick his shoes before exiting the gym. From behind me, I felt him lean forward towards Sydney, picking up on their very quiet and very short exchange.

“Hey, I’m really sorry-”

“No. I’m not talking to you, okay?”

Reaching over, I tugged on Stan’s jacket sleeve, the boy shuffling so that our faces were right beside each other. “What are you doing in here?”

“I called File a motherfucker.”

“You- What?”

“Okay,” Dina’s voice interrupted us, causing everyone to turn to her as she stood from her spot beside Brad. “I know none of us wanna be here right now, but I was thinking, if we divide and conquer the bleachers, maybe we could be done before seven and Whitaker will let us out early, so…” Her suggestion earned a smile from her boyfriend and a sarcastic remark from Jenny, who I nearly forgot even existed. She clapped her hands, everyone turning to her.

“Go team!” She mimicked your everyday cheerleader as Dina sat back down, a look of irritation on her face.

“I’m not a cheerleader.”

“Maybe you should be.”

“Maybe you should be in prison.”

“Ooh. That’s my wet dream…” She drawled out, running her tongue over her top teeth. I rolled my eyes and turned my head away.

“I don’t know, guys,” Stan spoke up. “This gum has been here for decades. I don’t think Whitaker actually checks. It’s just a social experiment, like a simulation.”

“Oh. Well, someone’s been smoking their supply.” Brad quipped. I narrowed my eyes and was about to give a sly remark when Jenny interrupted.

“You know what?” She whipped her body around to face us all, that wicked smile stretched across her face. “I have an idea. Why don’t we play Fuck, Marry, Kill?”

I couldn’t help myself. “What are you, thirteen?” I snarled. Our fellow delinquents stared between us with unease. “You say it like we’re about to huff some fucking gasoline. Are you supposed to be some kind of badass?”

Her eyes slid over to me, her grin widening. “Awe, Zip, I haven’t spoken to you in so long, I thought you died…”

“I wish you died…”

“So, who goes first?” Her head snapped towards everyone else, her finger moving towards each person in the room. “Eenie… meenie… miney… Brad.” She whispered out. Brad looked towards his girlfriend.

“Guess if I had to-”

“No. Not another word.” Dina shook her head.

“Oh, what about you, Miss Goody-Goody? Or are you too afraid to play?” Jenny gave a fake pout.

“Why would I be afraid?”

“Cool then. Fuck, Marry, Kill. Stanley Barber… Mr Whitaker… and… Syd.”

“Well, clearly, I’m killing Whitaker.”

“So are you gonna fuck Syd or marry her?”

Dina exhaled through her nose before looking to her right, eyes locking with Sydney. “Total life goal to marry your best friend, if Syd’ll have me.” She softly spoke, bringing a small smile to my face at their soft exchange. Of course, though, Jenny had to ruin it.

“Oh, so then it’s you and Stan in an all-day bone sesh. Ugh, you little slut.”

So over the sound of her fucking voice, I threw my head back in annoyance. “Jesus Christ, Jenny, you are so fucking boring!”

“No need to tell him about it,” She laughed tauntingly. “I’m guessing you wanna go next, since you got my attention. Or are you saving all of the sex and marriage for your little boyfriend?”

“Oh, bite me.”

“Ooh, where?”

Snapping, I slapped my hand down on the space beside me, my gaze set and locked on her. “No one gives a shit about you, Jenny!”

“And people care about you, Zip?! Where’s your fucking dad?!”

Fire in my eyes, I lunged towards her, but felt hands grabbing onto my shoulders and sitting me back down. The hands soothingly rubbed my arms as Jenny cackled. “Come on, (Y/N), it’s just all fun here… Now, for you, your very own Ricky Berry… Stan… and Dina.”

Scratching my cheek, I rolled my eyes so far back, I could feel them do a three-sixty rotation. “Fucking hell, you never give up. Fine, I’d marry Dina, fuck Stan, kill Ricky.”

Jenny lowly whistled as the hands on my arms slowly slid away. “But Zip, I thought you two were in love,” Her grin was something of evil as her brows bounced. “You guys had so much fun, fucking at his party. Oh! Or is it because you were drunk off your ass and he wasn’t?”

“Jenny, shut the fuck up-”

“No consent whatsoever… Boyfriend of the year…”

Having Jenny see me break down in front of everyone was not a moment in time I’d ever want to experience. She already got what she wanted, a reaction from me. She didn’t need a bonus. So, standing to my feet, I darted to the locker room, trying my best to block out Jenny’s laughing. I couldn’t help the tears that cascaded down my cheeks as I stood in front of one of the mirrors, hastily wiping them away.

Why are you letting her get to you? Why are you letting Ricky get to you? He can’t hurt you anymore, stop crying about it!

The creaking of the door sent my body into a stiffened, frozen state. That was, until I heard his voice, “Hey, lovely…” Turning my head to Stan, I sighed out.

“Hey, beautiful…” I sniffled as he made his way over to me. We stood in a comfortable silence, Stan understanding that I needed a moment to compose myself. “S-Sorry about that. You know I just fucking hate her guts-”

“No, I get it. We all hate her guts.” He cracked a smile. I quietly chuckled and stuffed my hands into my hoodie pockets. “Do you wanna talk about it, (Y/N)?”

“Not really… I don’t wanna think about it right now…”

“I know, but, like, it’s good to talk to someone about… you know, traumatic things that happen so it doesn’t bottle up-”

“Yeah, I know, Stan, I just can’t- I can’t think about it right now. We can do it, like, later… Not at school.”

He slowly nodded. “Totally. I understand. So… you ready to head back out? We’re not actually scraping gum. So we can just sit and talk.”

“I’d love to just sit and talk with you.”

Ten minutes later, everyone was spread out, Syd more than anyone. I had no idea where she’d gone, but apparently she stormed out shortly after I did. I guess Jenny knew how to get under everyone’s skin that day. Said girl was sitting against a brick wall away from the bleachers, where the other two pairs of us were. Brad and Dina were hugged up on each other, whispering into each other’s ears and quietly laughing. Stan and I were on the edge of the bleachers, the boy stretched across the one on the first level, and I on the second. As he fiddled with his rubix cube, my index finger reached out and gently traced his facial features. I started off with his brow, careful of his wound on the edge. It was clearing up and that caused a smile to appear on my face. Next, I let my fingertip brush across his lashes and he furrowed his brows, trying to focus on his cube. My finger then glided down the bridge of his nose. I quietly laughed when his eyes comically crossed to look at my finger. With a giggle, Stan jutted his chin upwards to gently kiss my fingertip. “Stop distracting me.”

My hand lazily dropped to his hair as I whispered out an apology. Not too long afterwards, I heard a voice quietly call out Stan’s name, but he was too fixated on his toy. My eyes looked to Sydney, who was standing in the doorway, desperately trying to get the boy’s attention. When she called out to him again, he actually looked at her. Looking between the two of us, she frantically motioned for Stan to come outside. When he only raised a brow, she did it again. Letting out a sigh, he wordlessly handed me his cube before sitting up and following Syd out of the gym, closing the door behind him to allow them privacy. Puffing out a sigh, I began playing with the multicolored cube in my hands. I never was very good with rubix cubes, my patience always ran too thin to finish them. That time didn’t seem to be an exception, either, because minutes in, I set it down and rested my head down to hopefully sleep off the rest of detention.

As I began to doze off, I heard the double doors screech upon Sydney’s arrival. She anxiously walked past me over towards the other side of the gym, where Dina and Brad had moved to suck face. I heard her call out to her friend a few times before she loudly spoke, “Look, Dina, I need a tampon right now.”

“Just dig in my bag.”

“I… I do need you, but for… but for something else.” She stuttered out. And with that, the two exited the gym. Suspicious about what my friends were plotting without me, I slowly sat up from my lying position and sat normally on the bleacher, waiting for one of them to come back. Hearing footsteps approach me, I knew it either had to be Brad or Jenny, and I was praying to the stars it was the former. As unusual as it sounded. The bleacher moaned under Brad’s weight as he sat beside me.

“Hey, Zip,” He greeted with a smile. I side-eyed him for a second before turning my gaze to my shoes. Scoffing, he shifted his legs. “You’re ignoring me now? Oh, come on. We’re friends, Zip. Good friends.”

“We are not friends, Bradley,” I almost laughed. “You’re friends with Ricky and I want nothing to do with him, so… I guess you know where the two of us stand.”

“Okay, well… Regardless, as Ricky’s best friend, I can say for him that what he did was fucked up. Right?”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“Right! But listen, we all make mistakes, Zip. Ricky really loves you, you know that, right? He would never do anything to hurt you.”

I was silent for a bit, only to prevent myself from decking Brad in the nose. “Well, he clearly didn’t love me enough. Not enough to respect my right to consent-”

“Zip-”

“And you know what, Brad?” I slowly stood to my feet. “I’ve had enough of you defending everything he does! You can tell Ricky to get lost and leave me the hell alone!”

Before he could utter another word, I marched straight through the double doors. Three figures stood ahead, and I was more than ready to push past them, but I recognized each of them. Halting in my tracks, I saw Dina, Syd and Stan all nervously staring at me. Confused, I put my weight on both my feet. “Uh… what’s going on?”

Dina was the first to answer. “We… need your help distracting the janitor to get his keys.”

“W-What? Why?”

“Well, Stan and Syd hooked up in the library and got it on camera-”

“You guys hooked up again?” I turned to my best friend, who quickly turned to Sydney. She frowned and stood up straighter.

“You told her?”

“S-She’s my best friend! She tells me when she has sex!”

Widening my eyes, I let out a scoff. “I had sex, I don’t have sex.”

“Well, whatever, can you do it?” Sydney changed the subject. I looked between the three in confusion.

“Okay, but why me?”

“Because you have boobs. Like, a nice size.”

“Uh-”

“And,” Dina cut in. “Because you’re a great actress. The best out of all of us.”

My lips quirked up into a small smile, Dina satisfied that she boosted my confidence enough for me to accept. Lucky for them, my locker was just across from the gym, so I unlocked it and pulled out a spare tee. ‘Can’t seduce anyone wearing that’, Dina told me.

Shortly after, Stan and I were in a corner as I changed my top. He was nervously staring down at his shoes as I pulled my hoodie off. “I didn’t want you to be the distraction. Are you sure you’ll be okay doing this?”

“I’m not seducing him, Stan,” I chucked my hoodie towards him. He looked up to catch it, but as soon as his eyes raked over my almost bare chest, they darted downwards again. “That’s just a back-up plan.”

“O-Oh, okay…” He nodded as I pulled my shirt on.

Minutes later, I entered the classroom Carl the Janitor had been cleaning. He looked up at me and nodded. “Hey, (Y/N).”

“Hi, Carl. Listen. So, I kinda snuck out of rehearsal earlier and I need to get back into the auditorium. But guess what? The door’s locked. I really don’t want Ms Turner to find me out. Do you think you could help me? Please?” I tapped my fingertips together as he sighed.

“You know I can get in trouble doing that…”

“I-I know, but it would mean so much to me. I promise I won’t get you caught.”

“Well, what about the back entrance? She never locks those doors.”

He was right. Clearing my throat, I looked to the side. “W-Well, she did today…”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion for what felt like forever before relenting, handing his ring of keys over. “Okay, just get them back to me in twenty minutes.”

“You’re the best, thank you.” I grinned and stepped out of the room. Swinging around the corner, I found Dina and Syd waiting for me. Upon my arrival, they both grinned. “Nothing wrong with asking politely, ladies. We got less than twenty.” I cheekily smiled, handing the keys over to Sydney. Dina chuckled and crossed her arms as I took my hoodie from Syd and pulled it back on.

“So, what’s the plan?”

“The plan is quite simple.” Stan’s voice appeared as he approached us, two microwavable burritos in his hands.

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

“First, we distract Whitaker with burritos. I’m gonna put these in the microwave and blast these bad boys up on high, and then…”

The explosion muffled by the closed door was enough to get Mr Whitaker rushing out of the teachers’ lounge. “What the hell- What the hell is goin’ on down there?! Jesus!”

“...Whitaker will hear it and come runnin’. When he takes off from the teachers’ lounge, the coast’ll be clear straight through to the principal’s office, and then we make our move.”

As the principal moved past the closet we were all hiding in, Stan slowly opened the door, giving the four of us the chance to run out. As Dina and I silently followed Whitaker, Stan and Syd headed towards his office, keys in the latter’s hands.

“Syd, you’re the key man… Key lady.”

“Wait, why am I the key lady?”

“Because you’re… good with your hands.”

“Ew.”

“Dina and (Y/N), you two are lookout. You keep eyes on Whitaker.”

I crouched down and peeked around the corner as Dina did the same right above me. Whitaker had just opened the door to the microwave, the smoke engulfing him as he coughed and fanned it away.

“The burrito bomb should keep him busy for awhile.”

The two of us watched in amusement as he grabbed the fire extinguisher from the fire emergency supplies and sprayed it into the closet.

“That man cannot resist a fire extinguisher, which will give us the time we need to get in. Burrito bombs are disgusting. Last time I set one off, my whole house smelled like bean farts.”

“True story.”

“Gross.”

Sooner than we expected, Whitaker took off from the crime scene in a hurried pace. Dina and I quickly rushed towards our friends, the girl waving her arms in the air as I readied the door to the closet for us.

“Anything goes wrong, lookout crew, you signal us… and everyone take cover.”

Once Stan and Syd noticed Dina, they scurried off down the hall to hide. I pulled Dina into the closet with me and silently closed the door as we crouched down.

“That is literally the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s fair. It’s totally fair. Can you think of a better one?”

…

“Our best hiding spot’s probably behind the trophy case. And we wait…”

A collective sigh of relief filled the closet as the savior ringing echoed through the halls.

“...for the smoke alarm. Which will buy us more time. Which we will need, because there are a shit-ton of keys. Like a metric shit-ton, it’s ridiculous.”

After our principal took off away from his office again, the closet door slowly creaked open as Dina and I watched Syd and Stan successfully enter the principal’s office.

“Once we’re in, we head straight for the security system in the closet. And that’s it!”

The smoke alarm cut off its insistent ringing within seconds. My heart thumped in my throat as Whitaker’s form stormed down the hallway, towards his office in angry strides. Thankfully, Syd and Stan ducked down before he caught sight of them. As soon as he passed us, I gently nudged Dina out of the closet. “Go create some big distraction that’ll lure him away,” I whispered under my breath. “I’ll keep him from the door.” I stood up straight as Dina nodded and silently hurried down the opposite end of the hall.

“Whatever you do, do not panic. Do not bail… or we are screwed.”

Whitaker was seconds from the door and I had yet to come up with a way to get him distracted again.

“Okay, but what happens if your plan goes to shit?”

Finding the key on his ring, he began jiggling it into the lock.

“It won’t.”

I stepped out of the closet, breathing labored in panic.

“But what if it does?”

When the lock sounded, I let out an ear-splitting scream that had Whitaker jumping three feet in the air. When his gaze settled on me, he marched my way, steam practically shooting from his ears. “(Y/L/N), what the hell is the matter with you?!”

“U-Uh- Uh, something happened down that way!” I blurted out, pointing down in Dina’s direction. His head followed my finger before it snapped back to me.

“Well?! What ha-”

A crash sounded.

“Improvise.”

The poor man shook his head in exhaustion. “I’m too goddamn old for this shit…” He whined before taking off down the hall, away from his office. Once the coast was clear, Syd and Stan peeked up, watching as I gave them a thumbs-up. They gratefully smiled my way before standing and finishing the job.

“And if all goes well, as it should, we grab the footage, our sexcapade remains private, and nobody gets expelled.”

My shoulders sagged as Sydney walked out of the office with Stan behind her, holding up the flashdrive in her hand.

“Let’s hope this shit works.”

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

It totally worked. After our brilliant scheme, the four of us sat in front of the lockers to rest, my form sandwiched between Stan and Dina. He kissed the flashdrive and let out a breath. “Oh, I thought we were screwed…”

“We were screwed, but holy shit, we did it.” Dina quietly laughed along with the rest of us.

“Thank you guys,” Sydney smiled, the three of us turning to her. “Seriously.” She chuckled as I reached my hand over to Stan’s pocket. Catching onto what I was doing, he fished his case out himself.

“Wonderful idea, Nugget,” He pecked the back of my hand with his lips before I could move it away and slid a joint from his case. “Any takers?”

“You’re not serious.” Dina frowned as Stan took out his lighter. He nodded to her with furrowed brows.

“He is.” I grinned fondly at my best friend as he lit up the end of his joint and inhaled the smoke before handing it over to me. I happily accepted it and took a hit as Dina glanced around us, hoping no adults were around to witness the scandalous act. She choked out a laugh when Sydney accepted the joint from me.

“Since when do you smoke weed?”

Sydney slyly smiled and stretched the smoke over to her, my own hand taking it to give her better access. “Oh, come on, Dina. Everyone’s doing it. Don’t you wanna be cool like us?” We all giggled and watched as Dina hesitantly took a hit from the joint. Her own snorting encouraged our laughter to increase, the four of us blissfully unaware of what lay ahead of us just in the locker room down the hall.

We sat in that hallway for the next half hour, talking about everything and nothing as our time of release approached closer. When the joint was finished, we entered the gym to enjoy our fading highs in peace. Dina headed over to the bleachers, and Stan and I sat on the bench beside the locker room, as Sydney headed inside to use the bathroom. The two of us sat in a comfortable silence as he shifted the colorful columns of his cube. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, and soon after, I felt his head rest against mine. “So… are you gonna need a ride home?” He whispered.

“No. Jake is picking me up.”

“That’s good, that’s good. Um… now do you wanna talk about how you’re doing? I know that, like, we’re still in school and we’re not entirely alone, but I just wanted to see how you were after you had to-”

“I’m doing better,” I interrupted his rambling. “Thank you.”

His hands froze their fiddling before one shyly crept close to mine. I felt his fingers graze my thigh as he interlocked our fingers in a tight hold. “Of course, Nugget.” He muttered right as Dina walked to the door to the locker room, giving me a smirk before walking inside. Stan then held up his rubix cube and chuckled. “Wanna try and solve it together?”

“Oh, my god, yes.” I laughed. And with that, we were using our free hands to turn and shift the cube around, hushed laughter filling the gymnasium as we told each other ‘no, not that way’, ‘turn the blue one’, and ‘yeah, yeah, that one’ for the next minute and a half of peace. Once our time was up, the door to the locker room slammed open and a teary-eyed Dina stormed out, a frantic Brad behind her.

“Babe, wait, please. Syd’s lying, I swear to god! Please! She’s lying!” As Dina walked out of the gym, Whitaker walked in, watching her go. “You’re not seriously breaking up with me right now!”

“Hey! Which one of you punks eats burritos?” Our principal shouted, Stan and I stifling our laughter in each other’s hair and shoulder. “Alright, I don’t know what the hell went on tonight, but I wanna see everyone in my office first thing in the morning!” He gave us one last look before exiting again. As soon as he was gone, Brad turned to Syd with a clenched jaw.

“I offered you a truce, and you fucked it up. This is on you. You remember that.” He pointed at her before angrily stomping out. Stan and I detangled ourselves from each other as Jenny walked out of the locker room with crossed arms.

“Ah, another day in paradise,” She looked between the three of us as her smile faded. “So, you guys wanna get wasted?”

I scoffed. “Fuck off, Jenny.”

Waving Stan and Syd goodbye minutes later, I joined Jacob in his car. He smiled over at me as I clipped my seatbelt on over myself. “So? How boring was it?”

“Oh, a total fucking snoozefest.” I rolled my eyes, my cousin chuckling and pulling off towards our home. Halfway through the car ride, I heard him turn down his music and sigh.

“Bug, what’s going on with you?”

“Huh?” I turned to him with raised brows.

“You’re… You’re different. You’re quiet, you skip dinner sometimes, you’re sleeping in. You never do that, especially the quiet part. Jesus, you’re so loud-”

“Okay, asshole, I get it!” I laughed quietly before going completely silent again. Not realizing I proved his point, I jumped when he poked my arm.

“See? Something’s wrong with you. What is it? Is it Ricky?”

“I-” I don’t know why I wanted to keep the whole situation a secret. Things like this needed to come into light and Ricky deserved to be exposed. Sensing my hesitancy, Jacob nodded.

“There we go. What did he do this time? Did he forget an anniversary? No? Did he… cheat?” Silence. “Did he do worse?” My eyes darted away. “(Y/N), did he do worse…?”

“I don’t know if I should say, Jake-”

“You absolutely should say it, (Y/N). Did he hit you?”

“No.”

“No? Did he… you know, touch you?” His tone softened as tears welled up in my eyes. “Bug, what happened…?”

“H-He raped me…” I cried and covered my face. “I got drunk on his birthday and he took advantage of it. A-And then he lied and said we were both drunk. B-But everyone else said he wasn’t even drunk.”

A beat of silence passed before the roar of the engine slid in pitch. I looked up at the houses and street signs that flew past us in a blur. “J-Jake, what are you doing?!”

“We’re gonna pay Ricky a visit.”

Before I knew it, we were in front of Ricky’s house. Jacob silently released himself from his restraint and exited the car. I sunk down in my own seat as I watched Ricky walk out of his home and towards his car. Upon seeing Jacob, he happily waved, but his smile vanished when Jacob decked him in the face so hard he fell to the ground. My breathing sped up as I jumped out of the car, speeding over to the two. “Jake! Stop!” I screamed as he straddled Ricky, landing punch after punch on his face. Ricky cried out and tried to push him off, but it was no use. Jacob was so much stronger than him. I knew pulling on him and screaming at him would do nothing, so I looked up and turned all around, watching as some neighbors peeked out their windows and front doors to watch the scene unfold. When I heard a crunch, I whipped back towards them and almost hurled at the bloodied mess that was Ricky’s face. “Jake, come on!” I screamed and pulled him off.

Stumbling to his feet, Jacob grabbed Ricky by his collar and lifted him close. “I don’t ever wanna see you near her. I don’t wanna hear that you spoke to her, I don’t even wanna know that you looked at her,” He growled, Ricky frantically nodding. “Don’t ever associate yourself with my sister ever again or I will make sure your eyes are swollen shut next time. Got it? Got it?!”

“Yes.” Ricky wheezed out before he was dropped to the ground.

“We’re going home, Jake! Jake, let’s fucking go home!” I screamed and ran to his car, getting in the driver seat. Chest heaving, he strode back over to the car and got in the passenger seat, sighing heavily as I drove away, leaving behind a groaning Ricky. I hadn’t even noticed his bloodied and bruised knuckles until I parked the car. Like a worried mother, I helped him out and over to the front porch.

“Hey, lovely!” I heard Stan call out. Looking up, I saw that he and Syd were just about to enter his house. “Do you wanna-”

I fished out my keys and hurriedly unlocked the door, pushing my cousin inside and shutting the door behind us. After ordering him into the bathroom, I found some bandages and hydrogen peroxide and joined him inside. The next few minutes were spent in silence, save for the soft hisses that escaped him when I dabbed the chemical onto his cuts. As I wrapped his hands, I felt his eyes on me. “(Y/N)?”

“Yes?”

“If he tries anything ever again, tell me immediately.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious,” He ducked his head down to meet my eyes, his own shining with unshed tears. “I promise you, he won’t lay a finger on you as long as I’m around.”

Setting down the blood-covered cotton ball, I nodded and allowed my lip to quiver.

“I know.”

—————————————

Taglist: @nate-isnt-great @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow

#i am not okay with this #ianowt #ianowt x reader #stanley barber #stanley barber x reader #wyatt oleff #wyatt oleff x reader #i am not okay with this x reader #ianowt fanfic #ianowt stanley barber #forever and never

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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Ok, yoga thots...instead of finding him a class, Nush offers to show him the basics. At her or his apartment. My yoga instructor was very...hands on. He wasn’t shy about coming up behind you and yanking your hips into the proper alignment or moving you into the correct pose. I can imagine Nush being the same. Telling Marcus to relax into it, pushing and pulling him into down dog or warrior, etc. and neither of them are unaffected by the seemingly careless but inherently intimate touches.

Once their relationship is more established, I can him turning the tables on her; teasing her with light touches to “correct” her form. Pulling her hips firmly back into him when she’s in down dog because “she really needs to extend into and out of the pose”. Yeah...yoga thots 🥵

For you @silverwolf319 Enjoy the fluff to sexiness ❤️❤️❤️

Marcus Pike is a good man. He does not spend the hours you practise yoga having impure thoughts about what he knows is enclosed in your brightly tie-dyed sports bra and how those tightly fitting leggings leave nothing to his imagination. He wouldn’t dream of the possible different positions he could comfortably take you in, on that yoga mat that is almost permanently unrolled on his balcony. He does not think about the strength, curve and definition of muscle in your thighs when you pedal your legs in downward dog. Or how, those thighs look wrapped around his head or how they could easily snap his neck with their goddamn strength.

What a way to go!

Today, you have those shiny silver shorts on - the ones that when you bought them, you loved them so much that you did what you thought were comical shimmies all around the apartment in them and although all Marcus could do initially was laugh, they soon were strewn upon the floor.

They keep catching the morning sun, making your ass sparkle like a sexy disco ball. In stark contrast, your black vest top is like a second skin absorbing some of the shock factor of your lower half. Instead of Marcus’ usual position of sitting at his dining table in the chair opposite the door, he has decided to join you, out on the balcony.

“What do you want? Have you come to disrupt my path to Nirvana?” You cheekily question the purity of his intentions, whilst settling yourself on your mat, cross-legged with your weight evenly across your sit bones, about to begin mindful breathing.

Marcus reaches out to encircle his arms around you in a hug, kissing the side of your forehead, “Teach an old man some new tricks. Your brother was fit to be tied when he found out I only do running and weights. He said that as the yoga queen, you are the deity I need to bow to.”

“That’s not what he said.”

“Okay, so I’m paraphrasing... slightly.”

Marcus grins at the small huff you exhale as he knows full well that means he’s got his own way, “Fine, but just remember that yoga goes way beyond the physical asanas. Sometimes just thanking your body for breathing is all you need to achieve from your practice.”

“My breathing is okay - but my IT bands and my hamstrings are not,” he concedes.

“Alright clever clogs, you’ve just been for a run haven’t you?” Marcus nods at you by way of confirmation, “Thought so, stinky boy.”

Teasingly waggling his sweaty pits towards you - that by no stretch of the imagination actually smelled - he loves watching your pretence of disgust whilst trying to swallow a giggle, “Right, we’re going to start by stretching your spine six ways.”

“Is that even possible?” He asks, eyes widening and skin looking a little ashy.

“This is just your warm up, idiot,” you swat at his shoulder playfully, “Sit however you feel comfortable, put your left hand on the outside of your right knee and now as you breathe out, I want you to twist to the right. With every exhale, try to twist a bit more.”

Crunch-

Marcus’ face contorts in horror at the sounds coming from his body, “Should my spine have made that noise?”

“Yep. Now you’re going to do the twist the opposite way- right hand on left knee and then twist to the left.”

Clunk-

“That already feels pretty good - can I go eat pancakes now?”

He loves how you narrow your eyes, shaking your head at his level of commitment to the exercise, “Now, we’ll do a lateral stretch- right hand beside your hip and arc the left arm over your head,” you place your hands on Marcus’s back and chest to stop him from collapsing forwards, opening his heart up, “‘K, now you need to do the other side.”

“Now, I want you to come to all fours, with your back like a tabletop. You’re going to do a Cat and Cow here and then your back should be warm.”

After arching and curving his back until you are satisfied, he allows you to help him up into his first ever downward dog - he enjoys you guiding his hips back and telling him to bend his knees a little until his back is perfectly straight.

“Try holding this for ten breaths. This is a brilliant pose for runners as it strengthens your hamstrings, calves and foot arches.”

Marcus listens more carefully than you give him credit for, enjoying your no nonsense attitude. The little adjustments you do to him, make him more comfortable than he ever thought he’d be upside down with his ass in the air. And you’re right - of course you are - but being outside, breathing deeply and listening to the bird song is just making him feel so relaxed.

“Ok Bubs, I want you to bring your knee towards your hands and plant your right foot between your hands,” you gently instruct him, “Do it slowly, there’s no race. Now drop your left leg to the floor and sweep your arms up to the sky to balance. This is a low lunge - quite often called runners lunge- as it’s great for your IT bands and hamstrings.”

Marcus enjoys the all too brief feeling of your hands on his bottom to help him tuck his coccyx under before helping him back into a downward dog to work his left side. He watches you walk over to the edge of the balcony, the slight movement in your shorts throwing sunlight back at him.

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

“Is it time for that lying down and sleeping pose yet?” Marcus questions pleadingly.

He loves the small laugh you give him, as you turn back towards him - eyes sparkling with mischief.

“No savasana yet, I thought we could have some fun with some couple poses,” oh that cock of your eyebrow has all the blood in Marcus’ body rushing to one area.

“Ok the first one is you holding me up in a plank position - your feet holding my lower tummy and your hands holding mine.”

Marcus places his socked feet gently against your hip bones, threading his much thicker fingers between yours, “Ready?”

He feels you take a small bounce up and catches your weight on his feet, straightening his legs, hoisting you up into the air.

“EAGLEEEEEE!” you squeal, eliciting a hearty chuckle from Marcus - the vibration making you almost lose your balance and wobble precariously, “ARGH!”

“Trust me, sweetheart. I’m not gonna let you fall - I promise,” Marcus promises wholeheartedly.

“I know you won’t,” he hears the little catch in your voice as you quietly answer, “Are you ready to let go of my hands? Keep your feet where they are - I’ll use my tummy muscles to keep myself up.”

Gradually unthreading his fingers from yours, Marcus lets go as you lift your chest into the pose. Seeing the shape you’re now in, he starts to hum the Superman theme, “I’m not sure I like these poses - you’re too far away from me and I’m touching even less of you than before,” his bottom lip sticks out in a juicy sulk.

“Oh, you want to be closer?”

“Uh yeah?”

“Ok, put me down,” you request as Marcus sets you mostly gently back onto your feet, “I’m going to help you into a bound angle pose - it’s not tricky and it feels really good as it opens up your pelvis, allowing good blood flow to the area.”

“Hah, certainly don’t have any problem in that area with you around,” Marcus winks at you.

Marcus relaxes his legs in front of him as you bend his knees outwards, placing the soles of his feet together, slowly bringing his heels in towards his groin. He shuffles his bum so that he sits directly on his sit bones, remembering what you’ve nagged him about before.

“You wanted to be close, right?” you check again, “I’m going to put myself between your legs and wrap my feet around your back now.”

“Mmm, this is better,” Marcus shuts his eyes as you settle against him, enjoying the sensation of you weaving your arms around the broad expanse of his back and resting your head against his shoulder. Looping his arms around you, he settles his head into your neck, inhaling the soft floral scent of your perfume. His eyelashes flutter butterfly kisses as his whole body relaxes into you.

Your buttery soft skin begs to be kissed and licked, nuzzled and nibbled. The closeness of your bodies has Marcus feeling giddy and drunk, despite the grounding of the floor beneath him. Focusing on the softness of your breasts pressing into him, he tries to mimic your deep inhalations and exhalations - desperately trying to suck in the air that you’ve just breathed out so that the same air can circulate through his body.

Feeling your hands move, snaking into the dark curls of his hair, Marcus pulls back slightly to gaze into your eyes before he kisses you. Soft, full lips meet yours - kissing you is always a revelation to him, astonishing him and caressing his very soul. Your gentle touches teach him the depths of your love, your intelligence and how you utterly rule him with the tenderness of your tongue.

Clutching you closer to him - as if he could try absorbing your body into his - Marcus holds you tightly, allowing your absolute adoration of him to become the glue that mends the shards of his shattered heart. Slowly bridging the gaps and reconnecting parts that have been trampled by decades of painful love - non reciprocal and undeserving- glueing it, fixing it, rewinding it back to that moment where the only love you are concerned with is that of the unconditional one of your family.

The spinning headiness from the cocktail of safety and vulnerability in the sweetness of your kisses, never fails to sweep Marcus away. Blinking the wetness that has gathered in the corners of his eyes, he draws back, attempting to swallow back the lump that has formed in his throat.

“Hey,” he feels you searching his face for the reason for his tears, enjoying how your thumbs stroke his cheeks, “Are you ok?”

“Sweetheart, ‘m’ok,” he quietly murmurs, leaning forward to brush the dampness of his face into the dark silk of your hair, “I know you’ve said that sometimes yoga makes you open your heart but I didn’t realise how literal that was.”

He loves how much you treasure his openness - never any mocking or roll of the eyes for that. For so many it was always too much - far too intense and seen as needy. Nuzzling into the scent of lazy summer evenings in Provence, he presses sweet kisses into your hair, scratching lightly at your scalp enjoying the small moans of pleasure.

With your foreheads resting lightly -sitting so close that a piece of paper cannot pass between the pair of you - your breathing and heartbeats meet in synchronicity. A slight tilt of your head with the offer of your lips and Marcus is sinking back into you. Lost in taste that is so entirely you -your breakfast of black coffee and bitter marmalade- tantalising his senses.

His hands untangle from the tendrils of your hair to seek out the even softer parts of you, stopping momentarily to stroke the sides of your chest - hitting the underwire of your bra, searching for the softness encased above. Marcus scoops the rounded flesh of your breasts in his bear-like paws as his thumbs search for the sensitive, responsive nubs. He loves how your body keens into his touch - how you naturally deepen the kisses, ladening them with such an intense sensuality that it never ceases to steal the very breath from his lungs.

With a growl into your mouth as you scratch your nails into his back, he feels you arch into his touch making him squeeze your nipples tighter between his gun-calloused thumb and forefinger - a gradually softening memory of his time back in the States.

Entirely confident that you can feel the pleasure that you are bringing him, Marcus grinds his hips further into you - the warmth of your core pressing teasingly against his hardness, making him feral in his need to claim you. A small mirror of his movement from you makes him drop his hands from your breasts and grab the succulent muscle of your bum - the sudden movement making him pull you on top of him, rocking your hips forward, as he lies back between your knees.

Looping his fingers into the glittering elastic of your shorts, he goes to pull them down but is stopped by your gentle grip around his wrists and a small shake of your head, “I want to make you feel good, baby. Let me take care of you.”

Marcus’ eyes roll back as you lean forward, pinning his hands above his head. Every small kiss you press into his skin leaves an imprint on his heart as you place them all the way down the velvety creased forehead, the aquiline arch of his nose and the patchy beard on his chin before licking down his throat. He enjoys the soft path that your breasts trail ahead of the warmth from your mouth, the sensation from the weight of them causing his cock to twitch.

A small flush runs through him as you lift the soft cotton of his t-shirt, a hint of embarrassment at the softness of his tummy. His hands unconsciously move to cover himself up, which in one smooth movement you have back above his head as you lick down his chest, sucking and nibbling each nipple as you edge ever lower to his treasure trail.

Feeling your fingers slide beneath the waistband of his running shorts as your mouth peppers kitten licks and kisses across his Adonis belt, he lifts his hips slightly to allow his shorts and boxers to be lowered. As his cock, which curves slightly to the left, springs free, it hits just beside his tummy button leaving a small bead of pre-cum. Marcus swallows hard, watching as you lap it up without a second thought, your hand wrapping the base of his length guiding the proud tip into the valley between your breasts.

The sensation of his cock being massaged there, encased by the soft pliable flesh, almost makes him explode right then, decorating your skin with a precious pearl necklace. The flicks of your tongue over the tip and gentle tugs of his balls, make Marcus’ mind empty of all thoughts as the surges of pleasure become more and more intense.

Marcus can’t help the guttural groans that escape his lips as you wrap the warm wetness of your mouth around his cock and suck. He holds your hair back from your face so he can watch his inches disappear between your lips. As your mouth, hands and tongue work in harmony together, he knows he won’t last long. The pressure builds and his hips arch up, chasinghis high. He cannot help but fill the morning air with his cries of ecstasy as he fills your mouth with a flood of cum. Pulse after pulse of semen bursts forth as you keep up the deliciously deep pressure around the base of his shaft.

He loves how you still keep his rapidly softening cock in your mouth - an absolute reassurance that there was no rush to come down from his heights of pleasure. Eventually, using the hands Marcus has wrapped around your head, he urges you to slide back up along his body. As you reach eye level with him, he surges forward crashing his lips into yours, unable to say thank you in any other way.

He loves how he can taste himself on your tongue. He loves how your normally relatively organised hair has been ruffled into standing out at mad-scientist angles. He loves the softness in your eyes and how your chest is still rising and falling quickly.

He loves.

He loves you.

Tag list : @yespolkadotkitty @astroboots @green-socks @bison-writes @mouthymandalorian @tardisfangurl @mrsparknuts @danniburgh @absurdthirst @sirowsky @leonieb @disgruntledspacedad @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lunaserenade @agirllovespancakes @zukoyonce @pedropascalito-deactivated20210 @theravenreads @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

With massive thanks as ever to the beauteous @yespolkadotkitty for her betas of my soft core porn ❤️

#pedro pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal#ppascaledit #the mentalist #the mentalist fanfic #pedro pascal smut #marcus pike x oc reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike #marcus pike x reader #smut

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