nakedmoleratqueen

[p0orbaby]

Life Was So Simple Then

summary: you and leah embark on a trip through Europe in an effort to save your marriage

warnings: a smidge of angst but you’ll live

a/n: i may or may not be considering making this a series…

word count: 1.4k

-

The train moves at a comfortable hum, soothing in its way, while London shrinks behind you in pieces, in windows, in corners. The world outside your window looks surreal, vaguely greenish, fragmented by flashes of trees and brick houses. There’s something almost too quiet about it, an uneasy softness to the edges of this journey that is meant to patch you both back together.

You’ve been married for—what is it?—six years now. But you were Leah’s shadow long before that. You’ve been her plus-one, her background feature, her silent assistant in uncountable ways that now feel petty to list. The bitter edge surprises you as it rears up unbidden. You take a breath and decide you’ll name these feelings, as if naming things might tame them. Resentment. Grief. Stubborn hope. You and Leah have been through worse. But also… maybe not.

You glance at her. She’s examining her nails, mouth set into that default neutrality she pulls out when she’s feeling strange or anxious or tired. It’s her ready face, the one she’s kept in her kit since she was just a gangly teenager at Arsenal, desperate to be taken seriously, to get noticed for more than her posture and a fast left foot. You remember those early days. You remember being eighteen, in the stands, showing up for her even when you barely knew her. When all she had to offer was coffee in half-cleaned thermoses and lectures about work-life balance that were one part playful, two parts scolding, and strangely magnetic.

When you finally pulled her into that first kiss, it was a Thursday. You remember that because she had a match the next day. She’d stood there with her mouth half-open, one eyebrow raised, until she laughed that strange, short laugh, pulling you in by your wrist, the way she always did when she was uncertain about something but willing to give it a go. Afterward, you’d watched her lace up her shoes, this careful process that she performed like ritual. The order mattered: left, then right, then another knot. The same attention she brings to everything—coffee, calls, stretching, the single glass of wine she never finishes at dinner because it’s “almost too nice to ruin.”

Back then, she’d just been Leah. But then she’d become Leah Williamson, and you, married to her, got folded into the package. You’d get, “oh, that’s Leah’s wife!” from strangers at the shops, from mothers of kids at school fundraisers, from friends of friends who never bothered with your name. You hadn’t known how strange that would feel until it did, like there was this parallel version of yourself, waiting in the wings, and now this strange person had overtaken you. You’re still working on making peace with that, though there’s little peace about it.

Leah raises an eyebrow as if reading your mind, which is a trick she’s only gotten better at. “You’re very quiet. Am I allowed to ask if something’s wrong?”

“You could,” you say, but it sounds a little brittle, so you reach for her hand, entwining your fingers, hoping the gesture makes up for it. She doesn’t flinch, which is a start. You’re not entirely sure where you left off, after the months of silent dinners, of days bookended by her rising before dawn for physio appointments and crashing in bed long after you’d fallen asleep. Now, as her fingers brush your knuckles, you can almost feel that old connection, an unexpected sliver of warmth threading through the silence.

“Fine, be cryptic.” Her mouth quirks in a half-smile, the kind that used to come so naturally but has felt harder and harder to coax out. She lets go of your hand and turns back to her phone, skimming news alerts and whatever else she’s curated into a daily distraction routine. That’s new, too, the constant scrolling. It used to be just the morning Guardian and the Arsenal forums, but now she reads everything as if she’s half-waiting for some seismic news, some validation that she made the right decision. Retirement. The word feels abrupt, like something has been shaved off the ends. The other day she’d admitted to reading the tabloids. Just the sports ones, she’d said, in that overly casual voice she uses when she’s trying not to sound defensive.

“Did you pack the sandwiches?” Leah’s voice drifts up, and it takes you a second to process that she’s talking to you.

“Yes, your honour.” The words slip out like they used to, like you’re just starting out, laughing over drinks after midnight. You see her relax a little, a sign she’s actually been worrying about the sandwiches, and you realise she’s probably equally terrified that she’ll spend the entire trip thinking about where she’d rather be. The knowledge of her own shifting nature used to thrill her; she’d tell you she was “made of kinetic energy,” that she couldn’t ever be truly still. Now, it seems to disturb her.

“Well, just checking.” She doesn’t ask you to get them, and you don’t offer. You suspect there’s a silent mutual agreement that eating will come later, a familiar tactic she’s deployed whenever nerves or a big match made her too jittery to eat. You’ve read about married people developing shared instincts, unconscious patterns. But this knowledge, like all the habits you’ve developed over time, somehow doesn’t offer the comfort you’d expected. It’s like putting on a jacket that’s become a touch too tight, and you find yourself oddly self-conscious.

As you both sit in this semi-awkward silence, you try to remember the last time you truly sat together like this, uninterrupted. The thing is, you can’t. Even on the few weekends she’d been around the last season, it had always been meals with other players, birthday parties with people you barely knew, her agent dropping by with a sheaf of papers and a grin that you’ve come to resent, though you never say so. Leah had been “there” in a vague sense, the way a familiar armchair is there: functional, comfortable, reliable in theory. But Leah herself? The woman you fell in love with—that particular version of her seemed more and more like a house you once lived in but that someone else owns now.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks finally, in that deceptively soft tone that makes you feel like you’re on trial. She’s always done that, approached difficult conversations like they’re penalty shots. Direct, unflinching, too close to your heart.

“You, mostly.” The honesty slips out before you can stop it. “Us, I mean”

She lets out a soft sigh, nodding as if she understands something specific, though you suspect she doesn’t. Her understanding has become like that of someone who’s learned a language only halfway. There’s the ability to navigate, but no intuition, no rhythm.

“Does it feel strange to be doing this?” she asks. “Like, taking this whole trip to—what’s the word?—to reset?”

You nod, though it’s more than strange; it’s surreal. You’re on a mission to resurrect a version of each other that you barely recognise anymore. The stakes are uncomfortably high, like someone’s dared you both to restore something irrevocably broken.

“You know,” she says, “I used to imagine us doing something like this. But I thought we’d be sixty or something, grandkids on the way, planning things for fun, not… whatever this is.” She looks down, expression somewhere between regret and wonder.

“Yeah. Me too.” You allow yourself a small laugh. “I thought we’d be the kind of couple who’d stay on for tea in strange little pubs and get lost in French villages and drink wine in the countryside”

She snorts, “I’m not sure if I’d drink the tea. Have you seen the quality of some of the pubs out there?” The joke feels just shy of funny, but you force a laugh, hoping she doesn’t notice the effort.

“But you’re right,” she says, finally. “I thought the same. That’s the dream, right? And I don’t know…” She trails off, staring out the window, at the blur of countryside, the unremarkable patches of brown and green that scroll by. “I don’t know if I even know what I wanted anymore. Or what I still want”

The words hang heavy, a confession too thick for this tight, narrow train car. It’s too early in the journey to delve into it fully, too fragile a moment for honesty of this weight. You reach for her hand again, a steadying anchor. Her grip is warm, though her fingers feel a little too light, as if she’s not fully committed to the touch, a detail that pierces your heart like a needle.

“Then maybe…” you start, pausing, wondering if the words are too simple for what needs to be said. “Maybe that’s what we’re here to find out”

[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Language, ANGST, Fluff, John being a dick

Word Count: 5697

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The air in the bar felt thick, heavy with the scent of spiced cider and a faint edge of old whiskey, blending into the murmur of low conversations and a crackling rock song on the jukebox. You’d come here tonight for a quiet drink, something to chase away the chill of early autumn and the memories that always seemed to creep up on you this time of year. But all thoughts of peace vanished the moment you saw him.

Dean Winchester.

He was older, his jawline sharper, more rugged than you remembered. But it was him, sitting across the bar, just as cocky and self-assured as he’d been five years ago. He was laughing at something, a low, rough laugh, and you could just make out his voice. Next to him was a younger guy with shaggy hair—his little brother, you guessed. The kid was a bit taller than you’d imagined, but something in the way Dean looked at him told you it had to be Sam.

Five years.

It had been five years since Dean Winchester had walked out of your life, without so much as a word or even a backward glance.

Three months was all it had taken for him to slip past your defenses, just long enough to make you feel something real—just long enough for him to break your heart.

You’d told yourself you’d moved on, but now, seeing him here, you weren’t so sure.

You didn’t know if you were more shocked or furious. What the hell was he doing here, sitting at the bar in your town, like he hadn’t left a storm behind him? You felt your hands curl into fists at your sides, trying to keep your breathing steady as you watched him lean into his conversation, completely unaware of your presence.

You clenched your fists tighter, the old hurt and bitterness simmering to the surface. Five years might as well have been five days with the way the memories rushed back.

Dean had been your first everything—first real crush, first kiss, first love, first time.

He had a way of making you feel like you were the only person in the world, like nothing else mattered when you were together. But then, without so much as a word, he was gone. Left you staring at empty halls, his laugh an echo that haunted you long after he disappeared. You’d never gotten an answer, just silence.

And now, here he was, like some ghost from a past you’d never properly buried.

Taking a steadying breath, you pushed away the hesitation. You weren’t a teenager anymore; you deserved answers. And damn it, he needed to know that some things didn’t just disappear.

You took another step forward, just enough for him to catch sight of you from the corner of his eye. His head turned, and when he saw you, his face went slack with surprise, the hint of a smile fading as quickly as it had come. His green eyes—those same ones that had once looked at you like you were his whole world—widened slightly.

“(Y/N)?”, he said, your name a quiet murmur, almost like a question, as though he couldn’t believe it was really you.

The casual surprise in his tone snapped something inside you. For a second, you just stared back, holding his gaze, letting him feel every bit of anger that had built up over the years.

“Surprised?”, you asked, letting a little edge slip into your voice. “You look pretty good for a ghost, Winchester”.

He blinked, the surprise melting into something else—guilt, maybe, or regret, though he tried to hide it quickly behind that familiar cocky smirk. But it didn’t reach his eyes, and you could see he was still searching for the right words, like he hadn’t quite prepared for this confrontation.

“Didn’t think I’d run into anyone from back then”, he finally said, a little hesitant, his voice quieter than usual.

“Back then?”, you laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You mean five years ago, when you left without a word? Disappeared like none of it mattered?”.

His expression softened, and he glanced away, jaw tightening. “Look, (Y/N), it’s… it’s complicated”.

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms as you looked Dean up and down, letting the silence settle between you. The discomfort in his face was almost satisfying, but it didn’t ease the ache in your chest. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Sam giving you a small, awkward wave, clearly recognizing you too. He looked between you and Dean, shifting on his feet.

“Uh, yeah… I, um, need to use the restroom”, Sam mumbled, flashing an apologetic smile before slipping away, clearly eager to avoid whatever confrontation was brewing between you and his brother.

“Complicated”, you repeated, letting the word hang heavy between you. “That’s all you’ve got after all this time?”.

He flinched, looking up to meet your eyes, and for the first time, you saw something raw there, a vulnerability he hadn’t let you see back then.

“(Y/N), I know it sounds like an excuse”, he began, his voice dropping low, careful, like he didn’t want anyone to overhear what he was about to say. “But I had no choice. My dad… he needed me, and we had a job to do. I couldn’t stay, couldn’t keep you in that mess”.

You scoffed, trying to brush off the way his words still managed to stir something deep inside you, that same helpless longing you’d tried so hard to bury. “Right”, you mumbled, voice thick with the bitterness you’d been carrying. “So you just left, thinking it’d be better for me. Meanwhile, I was left to… to deal with the fact that I fell for you, Dean. Fell hard, too”.

He looked up, his expression softening with surprise and guilt, but you pressed on, feeling the words rush out, bitter and relentless.

“You waltzed in, got under my skin, made me believe… Fuck. I was such an idiot”. You shook your head, feeling the sting of it, years after you’d tried to laugh it off, to forget. “Every guy after you didn’t stand a chance, you know that? No one ever got close because, no matter what I told myself, I couldn’t get you out of my head. You twisted me up so bad in those few weeks, like some lovesick kid, just waiting for someone who never even bothered to say goodbye”.

Dean’s shoulders dropping slightly as he listened, as if your words were pressing down on him. He didn’t look away, though—he let you speak, let you throw every hurt and frustration at him without backing down. When you finally stopped, breath catching in your throat, he exhaled, like he was trying to find something, anything, to say that might make this better.

“(Y/N)”, he started, voice rough. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to come back, to give you some kind of answer. But I knew if I did, I wouldn’t be able to leave again. And my life, this life I was born into… it wasn’t fair to pull you into it. It wasn’t fair to you”.

You shook your head, fighting the sting of tears, refusing to let him see just how deep this still hurt. “So you just decided for me? Dean, I’m not some fragile thing. I could’ve handled it”.

Dean sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck, frustration and regret etched into his face. “Hell, (Y/N), you were only sixteen at the time. Sixteen. You were… you were just a kid. You wouldn't have been able to handle it”, he murmured, the words coming out almost reluctantly, like admitting them hurt as much as hearing them.

Your voice came out sharper than you intended, laced with every bit of bitterness and hurt you’d kept buried for years. “What, old enough to get fucked but not old enough to be talked to?”.

Dean flinched, the words hitting him like a slap. For a second, he didn’t look up, the guilt and shame clear on his face as he shifted uncomfortably, searching for the right words. “That… that’s not what I wanted it to be”, he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted you to feel used, like it didn’t mean anything. Because it did… you meant something to me, (Y/N). More than I knew how to handle back then”.

Dean took a deep breath, his gaze shifting to the floor again as he struggled with words he couldn’t seem to say. The regret was clear in his eyes, the weight of things left unsaid hanging heavy between you.

You could almost see the thoughts playing out in his mind, the memories stirring. Back then, you’d been the only girl to ever make him feel something real—something beyond the easy, shallow hookups he’d drowned himself in afterward. Every girl since had been nothing more than a distraction, a way to bury the ache that losing you had left behind. But with you… it had always been different. You were the one he could never quite forget.

But none of that slipped past his lips. Instead, he stood there, wrestling with the weight of his own silence, unable to give you the honesty you deserved. Maybe he feared it would only hurt you more, or maybe he knew that nothing he said would make this right.

Finally, he looked up, his gaze meeting yours with a quiet, almost desperate plea. “You’re right. You deserved so much better than what I gave you. I thought about coming back more times than I can count. Thought about finding you, explaining… But every time, I stopped myself. Figured you’d moved on, that you were happier without me dragging you down. And… I was scared”. He laughed softly, bitterly. “I was scared of exactly this. Of seeing how much I’d hurt you”.

His words hit you like a wave, but you kept your expression steady, refusing to let the hurt show again.

You sighed, feeling the weight of all those years settle in your chest, a bittersweet ache you’d learned to live with but never really let go of. “I thought so highly of you back then, Dean”, you murmured, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone. “I guess I was just a stupid little girl, thinking you were… I don’t know, some kind of hero”.

Your gaze flickered over him, taking in the familiar jawline, the strong shoulders, the way he still carried himself with that careless confidence. He looked so much the same that it hurt—like no time had passed at all, like he hadn’t been the ghost haunting your memories, the person you’d tried to convince yourself you were over. And yet, here he was, just as handsome, and the old ache you thought you’d buried crept back in, uninvited and relentless.

Dean looked away, swallowing hard, like your words struck something raw in him. When he met your eyes again, he looked almost small, a shadow of the confident guy you’d known, as if every regret he carried had finally caught up to him.

“You weren’t stupid, (Y/N)”, he said quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “You saw something in me I couldn’t see in myself. And maybe I didn’t deserve it. Hell, I know I didn’t. But you were never stupid for believing in me. You were… you were just too good for someone like me. Still are”.

The honesty in his voice was like a knife, cutting through every defense you’d built. You’d wanted him to admit what he’d done, to see how he’d hurt you, but hearing it now, hearing him lay it out in plain words, didn’t bring the satisfaction you’d imagined. It only left a hollow ache where your anger had been.

Dean watched you, his gaze softening as the anger in your eyes began to fade, replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable. You’d spent years thinking he was just another guy who wanted what he could get and didn’t care who he hurt to get it. A fling, a mistake, a heartbreak that was yours alone to carry. But as you looked at him now, the regret in his face, the years of silence suddenly seemed to make a little more sense. Maybe it hadn’t been so simple after all.

You could almost see him back then, barely nineteen, just a kid himself, weighed down by responsibilities he never asked for.

-Flashback-

The sun was barely breaking over the horizon that day, casting a dim light across the worn-down motel room they’d been staying in for the past weeks. Dean had just started to drift back to sleep after another restless night when he heard his dad. He groaned, barely cracking his eyes open as his dad’s voice cut through the motel room.

“Dean! Get your ass up, we’re moving out in ten!”.

Dean shot up, a surge of panic replacing the sleep in his veins. “What? Now?”, he mumbled, scrambling out of bed, his heart sinking. They weren’t supposed to leave this town for at least a few more days—long enough for him to say goodbye, to figure out how to explain things to you without breaking every promise he’d made. Long enough to try to leave things right, to tell you why he couldn’t stay.

But John was already packing, barely glancing at him as he tossed weapons into duffel bags, his movements efficient, mechanical. “Got a new job lined up. No time to waste”. He gave Dean a hard look, that unyielding gaze Dean knew better than to question. “You knew we wouldn’t be here forever, son. It’s time to go”.

Dean swallowed hard, dread clawing at him as he glanced over at Sam, who was shoving his clothes into a bag, already resigned to the drill of their lives, even at fifteen. But this time, leaving didn’t feel like any of the others.

He’d thought he had more time with you. Thought maybe he’d found something real, something worth hanging onto, in the middle of all this chaos. He thought maybe you’d understand, maybe you’d wait. Or at least, that he could tell you the truth. That you were more than a distraction from a life that had always felt too heavy for him.

Dean swallowed hard, his jaw tightening as he tried to gather the courage to push back, to buy himself just a little more time. He cast a quick glance at his dad, trying to keep his tone casual, like it was no big deal.

“Can’t we at least wait until tomorrow? There’s… there’s something I need to take care of”, he mumbled, hoping that his dad might, for once, let him have this.

But John scoffed, barely pausing in his packing as he tossed another weapon into the duffel. “A thing to take care of?”. He looked up, his mouth twisting into a bitter, sarcastic grin. “Let me guess… that girl. The one who’s got you sneaking around like some lovesick little puppy”.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, his heart sinking as he caught the mocking gleam in his father’s eyes. “It’s not like that”, he said, though even he could hear the weak protest in his voice.

“Sure it isn’t”. John’s voice dripped with sarcasm as he shook his head, chuckling darkly. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to, Dean? I told you weeks ago to cut ends with her. You think this life has room for little Miss Perfect? Some snob who thinks she’s too good for all of this?”.

Dean clenched his fists, his pulse racing as he fought the urge to defend you, to say that you weren’t like that—that you weren’t some spoiled girl who thought herself better than their life. But he knew better than to argue. He’d heard this tone before, the edge that warned him that any pushback would only make things worse.

John went on, shaking his head with an incredulous laugh. “Can’t believe you’re even thinking about her right now. Thought I raised you better than that, son. No girl—especially not some high school princess—is worth dragging yourself through the mud for. What, you think you stand a chance of keeping her? That she’d stick around if she knew the real you? Give me a damn break”.

Dean’s face burned with anger and shame, his heart twisting at the casual cruelty in his father’s voice. He wanted to yell, to tell him that you weren’t just some fling, that you mattered. But every instinct he’d been raised with told him to keep his mouth shut, to hold his feelings tight, because showing them would only lead to disappointment, to the same disapproval he’d grown up under.

John’s gaze hardened, his expression turning cold as he looked Dean up and down, unimpressed. “Get your head out of the clouds, Dean. No piece of ass is worth it, and I’ll tell you right now—no girl’s worth going soft for. Not in this life. So pack up, and let’s go. You’re not risking everything just because you’re chasing after some girl who doesn’t belong here”.

Dean felt a sting in his chest, a hollow ache settling in as he fought to keep his expression steady, to hide just how much those words hurt. In that moment, he realized that arguing would only make things worse, that his dad would never understand. So he swallowed the hurt, burying it as he always did, and forced himself to keep his voice steady, distant.

“Yes, sir”, he muttered, voice barely more than a whisper, feeling the words settle like stones in his gut. He didn’t look up as he zipped his duffel bag shut, his throat tight as he wrestled with the urge to run out the door, to find you, to tell you goodbye.

But he stayed. He let his father’s words sink in, let them mold around his heart like armor. And when he finally climbed into the Impala, eyes fixed on the road ahead, he forced himself to believe what John had said—that you’d be better off without him, that whatever you’d shared was only a distraction from a life he’d never be free from.

As they pulled out of town, he forced himself not to look back, to focus on the road, on the only life he’d ever known. But the image of you, the sound of your laughter, the warmth you’d brought to his life lingered in his mind, haunting him like a ghost he’d never truly escape.

-End of the flashback-

Dean’s eyes flickered back up to you, and you could see the anger and disappointment simmering there, shadows of the memories that had clearly never left him. His father’s words, that hard, dismissive scorn, lingered in the depths of his gaze, and for a moment, you caught a glimpse of the pain he’d buried all those years ago.

“I wanted to say goodbye”, he mumbled, almost to himself, the words barely making it past his lips. There was a heaviness in his tone, the regret palpable, and for a brief moment, he looked like that nineteen-year-old kid again, held back by forces he’d been powerless to resist.

Without another word, he drained the rest of his whiskey, his fingers tightening around the glass before he set it down. Then, with a quiet sigh, he rose to his feet, pulling his jacket on, the same guarded, closed-off look returning to his face. You felt the ache in your chest deepen as he moved, like he was preparing to leave you behind all over again.

He took a long breath, his gaze drifting over you, lingering in a way that seemed almost painful for him. You could see the conflict in his eyes, a war waging between the urge to stay and the instinct to leave—to protect you from the life he couldn’t escape. Even after all these years, there was something raw and vulnerable in the way he looked at you, as if seeing you now hurt just as much as leaving you had.

You saw his eyes trace over your face, lingering for a moment too long, taking you in as if trying to memorize you all over again. The softness in his gaze twisted something inside you, a reminder of what you’d once shared, of the way he’d looked at you when he thought no one else was watching.

“You know”, he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, “you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen”. He paused, catching himself, a bittersweet smile pulling at his lips. “Well… woman, by now”.

You felt your cheeks flush despite yourself, but you held his gaze, feeling the weight of his words, the years of unspoken things between you. It was the truth, you realized—the same honesty he’d kept hidden all those years ago. But there was a sadness there too, an ache that told you he didn’t think he could ever give you what you deserved.

“Dean”, you whispered, stepping closer, searching his face. “You don’t have to leave again".

He clenched his jaw, glancing away for a second, wrestling with himself, his hands clenching in the pockets of his jacket. “I want to stay. Hell, I want nothing more than to stay“.

Without thinking, Dean reached out, his hand warm as it cupped your face, his thumb brushing tenderly over your cheek. He held you like you were something fragile, something he was afraid to let go of but equally afraid to keep holding onto. His gaze softened, his voice dropping to a whisper, rough and broken. “But I do have to leave, sweetheart”, he murmured, almost like he was convincing himself. “I always have to leave”.

The word slipped from his lips, “sweetheart”, and in an instant, you were sixteen all over again.

-Flashback-

The rain had come out of nowhere, heavy drops pelting down in sheets, turning the quiet evening into a storm as you and Dean huddled under the diner’s awning, laughing as you watched the parking lot become a sea of puddles. He was supposed to be walking you home after sharing a couple of milkshakes and a basket of fries, each of you pretending it wasn’t a date but knowing it was.

The rain showed no signs of letting up, and Dean glanced down the street, then back at you, running a hand through his damp hair as he chuckled. “Guess that puts a dent in my plans of playing gentleman and walking you home”.

You smiled, half-shivering as the wind picked up. “I’d say your plans were doomed from the start”.

He laughed, that easy, genuine laugh you’d already grown to love in the few days you’d known him. Then his gaze shifted toward the motel just down the road, a short, drenched run from where you stood. He hesitated, as if deciding whether to risk suggesting it, then shrugged. “We’re just five minutes from where I’m staying… probably closer than your place. Why don’t we wait it out there? Just until the rain lets up”.

You nodded, feeling your cheeks warm despite the cold, and with that unspoken agreement, you broke into a run together, both of you soaked within seconds as you sprinted down the empty street. By the time you stumbled inside his dingy motel room, breathless and laughing, you were dripping wet, water pooling around your feet as you shook out your arms and tried to wring out your hair.

“Looks like we didn’t exactly outrun the storm”, you teased, brushing a strand of soaked hair from your face as you looked around the cramped room, your nerves setting in as the reality of being alone with him settled over you.

Dean grinned, pulling off his jacket and tossing it over a chair. His own hair was plastered to his forehead, and water dripped from the collar of his T-shirt, but he looked at you with that familiar, slightly mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Guess not. But you know, there are worse places to be”.

There was a pause, a stillness that settled between you, the laughter fading as you met his gaze, the dim light from the single lamp casting a soft glow over his face. You saw something shift in his expression, a quiet vulnerability that made your heart race as he took a hesitant step toward you.

Without thinking, you closed the distance, your breaths mingling as you both moved closer, the world outside the room slipping away. Dean’s hand lifted, his fingers tracing along your jawline, gentle but deliberate, like he was afraid of scaring you off. His thumb brushed over your cheek, leaving a trail of warmth that made you shiver, and he leaned in, his lips hovering just a breath away from yours.

“Is this okay?”, he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his gaze searching yours.

You nodded, too lost in the moment to speak, and that was all he needed.

He closed the gap, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft, almost hesitant, like he was still holding back, afraid to take more than he was allowed. But as you melted into him, as your arms wrapped around his shoulders and his hand slipped to the small of your back, the kiss deepened, the world fading to nothing but the feel of him, the warmth of his touch.

His other hand tangled in your damp hair, pulling you closer as if he needed this as much as you did. The intensity of it surprised you, the way he kissed you like you were something he’d been searching for but hadn’t dared to hope he’d find. You felt every unspoken word, every promise he couldn’t make, in the way his hands held you, in the way his lips moved with yours.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and a little dazed, he looked at you with a softness you hadn’t seen before, a quiet reverence that made your heart ache. “You’re… something else, Sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, a confession that felt like a secret he hadn’t meant to share.

The rain outside was forgotten, the cold fading as you looked at him, feeling, in that moment, that he was the only person in the world.

-End of the flashback-

The memory faded, but the feeling lingered, that same warmth flooding your chest even now, five years later. Standing here with him, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek, the years between you seemed to vanish, leaving only that undeniable pull that had drawn you to him back then—the one that still left you breathless.

Dean’s eyes softened as he looked at you, his hand still cradling your face, his touch just as tender, just as careful as it had been that night. You felt the years of anger and hurt begin to unravel, slipping away in the quiet, unspoken apology in his gaze. Even now, after everything, he still had the power to make you feel like that sixteen-year-old girl, standing in the glow of his attention, melting under the weight of his presence.

Dean’s gaze held yours, his thumb tracing one last gentle line over your cheek, the faintest tremor in his touch. His voice, low and rough, barely broke through the silence as he murmured, “But this time… you get a goodbye”. His words hung in the air, laced with a finality that tugged painfully at your heart. His hand slipped away, falling slowly, as though he were reluctant to break the connection, and you felt the warmth of his touch linger on your skin even after it was gone.

Just then, you saw movement from the corner of your eye, and Sam stepped out from where he’d been standing a little way off, his presence cautious, like he was unsure if this was the right moment to interrupt. His gaze flicked between you and Dean, a mixture of concern and understanding in his eyes.

Dean glanced over at his brother, his jaw tightening briefly, then gave a short nod as if signaling that it was time. Sam shifted, visibly uncomfortable, but nodded back, clearly catching onto something unspoken between them.

You looked at Dean, your chest heavy, a thousand words hovering on the edge of your lips, none of them able to break the ache settling inside you. He was here now, right in front of you, and yet it felt like he was already gone again, slipping through your fingers like he always had.

“Dean…”, you began, your voice barely more than a whisper, not even sure what you wanted to say—only that the thought of him leaving, of watching him disappear one more time, felt unbearable.

Dean’s gaze lingered on you, his expression a mix of longing and regret. He gave you that small, sad smile again, the one that barely reached his eyes but held a world of unspoken words. "Take care, sweetheart", he murmured, his voice rough, each syllable feeling like a farewell he wasn’t quite ready to give. He brushed his fingers lightly over your arm, the touch so soft it sent goosebumps skittering across your skin, a reminder of the warmth he’d once brought into your life, now bittersweet and fading too quickly.

He turned to leave, his back already to you, and something inside you snapped—an urge, a need to hold onto this moment, to keep him here just a second longer. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand catching his arm, stopping him in his tracks. He turned back, surprise flickering in his eyes as he looked down at you, and before you could second-guess yourself, you closed the distance between you.

Rising onto your toes, you slid your hand up to the back of his neck, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His breath catching as you pulled him down, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft yet fierce, filled with the years of longing and questions you’d never had the chance to voice. He hesitated, just for a heartbeat, and then his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close as he returned the kiss with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hand cupped the back of your head, fingers tangling gently in your hair, as his lips moved with yours, slow and purposeful, as if trying to make up for all the lost time in this one stolen moment. The world around you faded, the sounds of the bar, the ticking clock, all slipping away as you sank into him, feeling the strength of his arms, the familiarity of his touch. You felt his heart beating against yours, strong and steady, grounding you in a way only he ever had.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, breath mingling in the small space between you. His gaze was softened, his expression more vulnerable than you’d ever seen, as though he was as taken by surprise as you were by the depth of what had just passed between you.

“That’s a proper goodbye”, you whispered, a faint blush coloring your cheeks despite yourself, but you held his gaze, not wanting to break the connection.

His lips curved into the faintest of smiles, a glint of that familiar warmth sparking in his eyes. You reached into your bag, your fingers brushing against the worn card you always kept there—a small, simple card from your bookstore, printed with your name and number. You handed it to him, your hand lingering as he took it from you, his fingers brushing yours in a touch that felt both comforting and electric.

“Call me”, you said softly, barely above a whisper, your voice carrying a warmth and a hope you hadn’t let yourself feel in years. “When you’re around again… I’ll pay you back with a milkshake”.

He looked down at the card in his hand, tracing his thumb over the print before glancing back at you, a mixture of amusement and something deeper in his eyes. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just held your gaze, as if committing this moment, this feeling, to memory.

Finally, he nodded, tucking the card carefully into his pocket. “I’ll hold you to that”, he said, his voice low, a promise wrapped in that quiet tone.

With one last lingering look, he turned, his hand trailing down your arm until his fingers slipped away. And as he left, you felt a strange sense of peace settle in your chest, a hope that maybe this time, things wouldn’t end with silence and an empty space where he’d been. The ache was still there, but it was softened by the warmth of his touch, his kiss, and the quiet promise that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t the end.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 Not gonna lie.. I think this is my favorite so far

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573

[marchsfreakshow]

Red Nail Polish [Stan Bowes]

Smut / tiny bit of angst

Your boss never really spoke to you that much. Not really. So, you weren't particularly expecting a call from him at 12am asking you to come over.

This request is from AGESSS ago but I finally found some inspiration. Anon who requested it, if you're still here this is for you<3

Fair warning I haven't seen Pose for a bit so it might sound a bit ooc sorry.

Warnings: once again too much plot for a smut fic lol, brief 'sir' kink, Stan being kinda pathetic, oral (m), reader is a little mean occasionally.

18+! MINORS DNI READ MY SFW WORKS

No one's perspective

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Stan never spoke to you. Tell a lie, he did. Occasionally. Brief hellos while he walked to a meeting maybe. Small talk maybe going over whatever he asked you to do.

There was never more than that. No lingering glances in your direction, no knowing smiles. Seemed like nothing. That's all your relationship was.

You worked like this for a few months.

Never speaking much together. Maybe you gave him lunch if he asked. You always found him cute though. The way his hair just sat the same every day, the way his eyes always gave you the same soft look when he walked past you. It was, slightly perfect. Too perfect.

Men have their secrets, you assumed he probably had his. That's probably why you liked his eyes. Too much of a past to stare at, too much to get into with your own boss who you barely spoke more than... 4 words to. You couldn't really casually go up to Stan and ask him, "Hey sir how's your home life? It's going good? Yea, your eyes say otherwise." You weren't insane!

The hours were long.

The weeks were tedious.

Eventually getting a few more words into Stan. Small conversations over lunch that didn't amount to much. The man found himself enjoying your company. "You do anything over the weekend?" He asked, adjusting himself in his chair a bit. Did he look uncomfortable? Probably.

The silence was nice, so you were slightly taken aback by his out of nowhere question. "Uh, went to see a production of Two Gentlemen Of Verona. That was nice."

"Oh, nice. On your own?"

On my own? What was that meant to mean?

"Yeah."

"Right."

The rest of lunch continued. Stan seemed off. On the edge of his seat, literally. He was uncomfortably perched on his chair, attempting to attain something just out of grasp. You noticed his fidgeting; flicking of his nails, slight playing with his food, eyes flickering around to avoid your own eyes. You wanted to pry but also figured you didn't talk enough to ask if he was okay. Stan would probably say that he's fine and you'd get right back to the slightest bit of uncomfortable silence.

Back to work.

Back to small smiles, little questions, and writing notes to yourself. For the next couple of hours. Boring and repetitive until 5:30pm. Everyone caught themselves up and left immediately. You found yourself a face in the crowd, heading towards your car before Stan got a moment to say 'Have a good evening' to you.

It was a lonely evening. He was used to hearing the TV play some children's shows for a while, hearing the little ones talk excitedly about what they did at school. Just being excited for no reason. But, no, he was greeted with silence this night. It was deafening. He had to be alone with his thoughts. It was another quick meal in the microwave. He had to face the rare few dishes still lingering in the sink. Mouldy food starting to stick to the porcelain. Only served as a reminder of the reality Stan currently lived in.

A lonely movie, lying on the couch in whatever clothes he could find. Staring up at the ceiling, blank-minded, thinking nothing. The movie waved past his ears. "Can I talk to you?"

Stan's phone call at 12am wasn't what you were expecting. You were half lying in bed, reading still. Very close to finishing the book, and that was what you were focused on. "Sir... Stan, it's 12am."

"sir...hey, call me that again," he murmured under his breath, closing his eyes. Lost in his thoughts of your voice. Maybe you shouldn't've been giving in to his desires. Stan had mentioned his wife, and his kids multiple times. He told you plenty of stories, but he seemed slightly out of it tonight.

Despite your lingering thoughts, you said 'fuck it' and responded quietly, your book closed on your lap. "Why sir? Something happened?"

"Yeah, actually. I, um, I was wondering if you could... come over."

A chuckle. "Stan.. it's midnight."

"I know. I know...just, please. I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." Stan eventually told you his address, and you made a quick mental note. Agreeing eventually, and you hung up. Maybe you should pack an overnight bag. Yeah, maybe you should.

The drive took more time than you expected. You didn't properly change out of your home clothes either, just slipping on some underwear and trousers that weren't so... messy. Knocking quickly with the overnight bag still in the backseat of your car. "Ah, hi." Stan looked a mess, more than you felt right now and it almost broke your heart.

"Hey...why did you want me to come over?"

Stan took your hand, led you inside, and closed the door once you stood in the living room. It was certainly more messy than you would have expected. A bit of trash, a messed up couch, a random movie still playing dully on the TV. This... certainly wasn't what you were expecting. "Stan?" You asked, peeking out to the hallway.

"Sorry...sorry." The man sniffled. He quickly ran a hand over his face then took a few steps back into the living room. "Uh, come sit down. I'll, get you a drink." The words, the steps and his look only added to your confusion. Sure he was certainly...alone now, but the mess, and his clothes.

You took a few steps towards Stan and immediately held onto his arms. "Stan. What's going on?" Cutting him off of any words he was about to say. Stan looked at you, then at your hands on his arms. Then back into your eyes.

"She's gone."

Eyes wide. "Oh." How do you comfort people again? More specifically, how do you comfort your suddenly divorced boss who definitely hasn't been invading your thoughts recently? His eyes found the floor, like it was the most interesting thing in the room and said nothing for a moment.

People like hugs right? That should work. Enveloping Stan in a hug, your arms around his neck. Holding him close for a moment as he reluctantly wrapped his arms around your back. Awkward, but somehow comforting. It went on for a little bit too long, and once you pulled yourself away, his eyes found the floor again.

He wasn't really thinking much. You blinked and he kissed you. Wait what? His hands on your cheeks. This was not happening. Before he continued to kiss you, you took a step away. "Stan-"

"Fuck. Sorry." The man uttered, sitting on the couch instead. He looked quite sorry for himself. A bit of a pathetic sight really. It tugged at whatever empathetic heartstrings you had left. Stan clearly did something, and you probably should've left right then and there. I mean, were you really thinking about this? There are multiple reasons for his wife leaving, presumably with the two little kiddies. "Look, I just.." He trailed off once he saw you settle between his legs.

"um.."

"You're obviously feeling upset, and I know you did something but I don't really know any other way to comfort you." You muttered, taking a loop in the sweatpants and pulling it so the waistband became looser. Stan brought his hips up for a moment so you could pull the fabric from his hips and let it settle around his ankles.

"you really don't have to.." He protested. Stan's protests were weak. He clearly hadn't been touched for a while. Or he was incredibly attracted to you. While yes technically, you didn't have to, you felt some semblance of upset for Stan and his situation. And you figured this would be the best way to temporarily help him out. Fuck it, you might get a raise out of this tomorrow once the man came to his senses, you didn't know.

Stan's lack of pleasure for a while was obvious. He was achingly hard already, and you had barely slipped your hand into his boxers. Bit sad really. But you digressed. Slowly touching him under the fabric for a few moments, hearing his breathing get heavier, and occasional little moans escaping him. Eventually, though, Stan pulled your hand away just to tug his boxers down his legs to join his sweats.

Ah, you knew what to do now. You muttered nothing to yourself, as you rested your fingers around Stan's cock again. Taking a breath, leaning in. Your tongue resting on the underside for a moment. "Ha.."

"You okay?" You asked, pulling yourself away for a moment, looking up at Stan.

"It's uh, it's been a while.."

"Figured." Ouch. That stung in Stan's heart for a moment. The feeling immediately replaced once your lips were wrapped around his dick once again. He couldn't decide whether or not he wanted to watch you or let his head fall back against the couch. So, he eventually decided to let his head fall against the couch as you started to take more of him down your throat. One hand resting next to him on the couch and the other hesitant to rest on your head. He didn't know what type of person you were, so he could've tried to push you down and you would've hated that.

But, you just continued without a care in the world. Eyes screwed shut as your cheeks hollowed with every movement. You pulled away from time to time to breathe, revelling in the sound of Stan's small groans, whimpers and gasps. They were the sweet sounds and made it all the better. The sounds of a lonely boss who you honestly, were still decently interested in.

Yea. You were definitely going to get a raise out of this.

Stan let out another groan, keeping his fingers taut against your hair. As soon as you felt the telltale sign in your mouth, you pulled yourself away, heavily breathing still. Starting instead to jerk Stan off quickly, keeping the same pace for another few moments, until he came in your hand. Dripping down his cock and your fingers as Stan bucked up to ride himself through his orgasm since you didn't seem to help him.

"a-ah shit. I'm sorry.." He muttered once he realised he made a mess of your hand. Coincidentally, a tissue box was by the TV stand, so you stood up, cum over your hand and grabbed the box, bringing it over to Stan. Not as satisfying as Stan had hoped, but it was something and it made him feel a little better.

Silently, you cleaned your hand up, throwing the stained tissues in the bin quickly. Stan followed, slowly cleaning himself up and dressing himself back up. Cue awkward silence for a few moments. "Thanks."

"Yeah. Course."

Another few moments of silence between the two of you, ads playing in the background on the TV. Looking around the living room as you just sat there for a moment. Stan finally said something, just your name. Looking over to you with a hopeful look. "Can we...can I..take you somewh-"

"No." Stan blinked and then looked over at the wall, feeling slight whiplash at you saying no immediately. "Whatever the fuck happened... whatever the fuck you did... It clearly only just happened. And I don't think that's a good idea."

"You just-"

"Yeah, I'm fully aware of what I just did Stan."

A beat of silence. Both of you felt like at least one of you said something wrong. You figured it was Stan. Who goes and suggests a date to their secretary right after their wife left them? "...a few weeks?"

"Try a few months sir." You knew exactly what you were doing with that word. Stan knew too. There was no need for you to call him that right now. Glancing at each other.

But you got up silently and walked out to your car, leaving Stan in confusion for a couple of minutes. Once you came back in, overnight bag in hand, Stan got the idea. Well, he hoped it was the right idea. Being led through the house until you were in his room.

You were sure this was going to result in way more than a raise by this point.

⊹˚.⋆ ₊꒷ᘏᘏ︶ଓ︶꒷꒦⊹˚ᗢ₊꒷︶ଓ︶꒷

Tags: @babygorewhore / @taintandviolent / @oceanblvd111 / @nahoyasboyfriend / @slutforgarlogan / @briaroftheroses @american-horror-whore /. @evanpeterspeter / @feefymo / @fear-is-truth / @lacucarachapisser / @saintlucretia / @jazz-berry / @t8-ak47 / @lemoniiiiiii / @xrag-dollx

[holdmecloser-gandydancer]

Impractical Magic

read here or on ao3!

“Can you believe this shit?” Taako demands, immediately jolting Kravitz from his totally-not-a-nap on the couch. He wracks his brain for what shit he should be in disbelief about, though nothing immediately rears its head.

“Believe what shit?” Kravitz asks, still riding the bleary nap energy. Based on the hare-like glint in Taako’s eye, he’s pretty sure his naptime is out to pasture. Rather than answering, Taako drops a glossy copy of the most recent issue of Waterdeep Weekly onto Kravitz’s lap.

“Page 27,” Taako says, all but dropping onto the couch beside Kravitz like a strong willed and weak constituted heroine on a fainting couch in an old movie.

“‘And the hottest attraction this fall isn’t the beautiful foliage seen in the forests outside Goldcliff, rather it’s the scariest haunted house in the plane nestled in the heart of the city. While the identity of the Shriek Shack’s proprietor remains unknown, tales of its electrifying frights drip from the tongues of its patrons—the minute that the team of onsite clerics are able to revivfy them, of course! That’s right, for fifty gold, you can have the chance to get scared to death???’ Taako, you’ve got to be joking, this is some elaborate prank you’re pulling on me, right?” Kravitz all but begs. He squints at the page in front of him as though it’s suddenly going to fold itself into a paper crane and apologize for rustling his jimmies like that. Sadly, no such luck. “Fifty gold is already highway robbery for a haunted house, but certainly this is false advertising. Certainly they don’t intend to make my life harder. I can feel my blood pressure going sky-high and I don’t even have blood.”

Taako reclaims the magazine and puts his head in Kravitz’s lap. “The audacity of this so-called publication to highlight this utter charlatan and yet my famous Halloween parties have yet to receive a feature.”

Kravitz pauses, weighing his responses very carefully. “The same Halloween parties that, while elaborate and spectacular, very purposefully have an extremely limited guest list?”

“Yeah,” Taako says without a hint of irony. He drapes the magazine across his face as though he could osmosis a story about himself from his brain and onto the pages.

“I thought you were happy to be out of the limelight for a while? I mean, as out of it as you can be for being one of the saviors of the universe. Just the other day we went to Fantasy Kroger and nobody stopped to ogle you or to ask for an autograph or to demand why their kid couldn’t enroll in your school.”

Taako pauses behind his paper fortress. “And that’s nice. Peace and quiet is nice. But, I dunno, it’s nice to have your hard work acknowledged. I don’t really know what more I cou—wait a damn minute.” He sits up abruptly. “Krav, we’ve simply got to get spookier.”

Kravitz frowns and looks around. “I’m…I’m the grim reaper. I don’t know how to get spookier than this.”

Taako smiles a smile that makes Kravitz think his skin’s going to be worn as a suit someday. “I’ve got plenty of ideas.”

—--------------------------------------

Taako paces the length of the dining room, waiting for the gaggle of people he's amassed to settle. Of course, why settle when he bribed them with a loaded hot chocolate bar? It's when Magnus's mug threatens to unleash a deluge of hot chocolate, marshmallows, whipped cream, sprinkles, and a quarter bottle of caramel drizzle on the freshly polished terrazzo tile that Taako formally calls the meeting to order.

“In front of each of you is a copy of the latest Waterdeep Weekly with a particular story earmarked and annotated for you.” A symphony of fluttering pages follows his perfectly planned pause. “Simply put, whatever clown is putting on this haunted house has another thing coming if they think they can be the biggest in the biz. Halloween is like my Fantasy Toyotathon or whatever boring people like. I refuse to be out done,” Taako says like a general readying his platoon for war.

“What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?” Lup asks, fruitlessly defending her mound of whipped cream from Barry's lactose-intolerant hands.

Taako shrugs. “I'm gonna make the best haunted house this side of the Sword Coast and I'm employing only the spookiest people I know.”

“Okay, team undead over there, I understand,” Merle says, nodding towards Lup, Barry and Kravitz. “But the rest of us? The kid? What exactly’s our purpose?”

Taako tsks and pulls a large dry erase board from thin air. He uncaps a marker with his teeth and does his best to talk around the cap. “Merle, Merle, Merle, each and every person here is vital to the plan. Yes, I've got the spookiest cadre in the planes over here, I've got Agnes getting intel on whomst exactly is behind the Shriek Shack, Magnus is here to move heavy shit and to make sure whatever we've got going on is very scary since he's a baby, and Lucretia is here to make sure I don't land myself in legal trouble with some of my ideas.” As he lists each person and their role, he doodles a little picture of them doing precisely that.

“Which leaves?”

Taako spits the marker cap at the table, sending it clattering onto the floor, surely never to be seen again if the cats have anything to do with it. “Which leaves you and Davenport to drum up business! Go spread the word. Let everyone know that Taako and Co., trademark pending, will be hosting the most exclusive haunted attraction Faerun has ever seen. There’s going to be frights, there’s going to be terror, there’s going to be free candy! Really lay that on thick to families with gaggles of kids, that’ll get them for sure. Frankly, that should sell it enough on its own. Everyone loves free shit.”

Merle nods along as Taako explains, seemingly at ease with the answer. The rest of the group squints at the exchange, more than a little unconvinced.

Davenport furrows his brow and taps his fingers a few times on the table. He pushes his now lukewarm mug of hot chocolate aside. “So let me get this straight,” he says at last. “You want Merle and me, coupla old guys, one of whom always smells like a dispensary, to go into town to drum up business by stopping kids and offering them free candy?”

Lup snorts, but quickly coughs and buries her face into Barry’s shoulder as a cover. Everyone else averts their eyes as Taako’s gaze threatens to burn holes into the walls. He’s partially through his doodle of Merle and Davenport handing out free candy to kids when Davenport finishes speaking.

“Well, when you put it like that, no I don’t. But I’m certain the two of you numbskulls can figure something out,” Taako says, taking a large and loud sip from his cocoa.

—----------------------------------

“Okay, let’s hear your haunt pitch.”

“Taako, do you really need our help? Lup’s been working on our costume for months. Do you know how many sequins she’s sewed onto those shorts? She’s been learning to tap dance for a costume,” Barry says from the couch.

“Barold, there’s nothing stopping the two of you from doing your Roxy Hoard costume—”

“Rocky Horror. Columbia and Eddie.”

“—sure, that, I guess. Never seen it.”

Barry sits up abruptly, looking at Taako with his mouth agape. “Sorry, you of all people haven’t seen it?”

Taako shrugs. “I don’t like musicals, they’re far too obnoxious.”

“You made us watch a shaky Sweeney Todd bootleg that looked like it was filmed on a Gameboy the other night.”

“You are deflectiiiiiiing,” Taako sing-songs, putting a kibosh on the musical discussion. “You can wear the costumes on Halloween, this event is the week before and just to prove a point. But I get it. All this obfuscation on your end is just because you’re scared that you won’t be able to bring anything scary to the table.”

Barry blinks once, then twice, then thrice. “You don’t think I can be scary?” He’s a necromancer, of all things.

“Oh no, dear Barry, I think I misrepresented myself. I know for a fact you can’t be scary. Remember? ‘Are you afraaaaaid?’” Taako mimics Barry’s red robed attempt at appearing fearsome.

His face heats up. A guy tries to be different one time and suddenly he’ll literally never hear the end of it. “I’m going to bring the scares in a very real way.”

“Uh-huh.”

—-----------------------------------------------

“Next! C’mon, keep the line moving! No pushing, no shoving, y’all are all gonna get to die tonight, don’t worry,” a gravelly voice booms from the striped ticket booth at the front of the line. Thick, dark smoke from some hidden smoke machines hangs around the ankles of those waiting.

Angus does his best not to fidget. The line seems to drag on for eternity, a fact others waiting make no secret of, complaining to high heaven about how long it's taken to move even a few feet. Angus isn't the most patient guy around, but he certainly isn't going around wailing and moaning about things nobody can control. Besides, it's mature to not complain and that, paired with Angus's perfect use of Disguise Self, there’s no way he's not getting inside the Shriek Shack.

The line trudges forward little by little, with the speed of people in line for the gallows, but after nigh an eternity, Angus finds himself at the front of the line.

He smiles cordially at the bespectacled high elf in the booth, but before Angus can even get a word out, the man points to the arsenal of signs around the booth.

“Absolutely nobody underage admitted, no exceptions. Go home, kid,” he says, sounding almost bored and absolutely annoyed.

Angus’s smile falters. “Um, I'm not underage. I'm a big b—um I'm an adult.”

The guy in the booth sends him a withering glare over the top of his glasses. “Yeah, and I'm Fareun's next top model.”

“Oh. Congratulations!”

The man taps his specs. “These puppies let me see through everyone's horseshit. Including yours. You. Are. Not. Getting . In. Now beat it.”

Angus squints at the man and his glasses. He drops his disguise and before he can even properly deflate, a small half-orc child sidles up beside Angus and pulls the booth attendant's attention.

Fat, wet tears are welling up in her eyes and the wobble of her bottom lip is almost earthquake-like in nature. “I-I can't find m-my mommy!” she wails, splitting the ears of those within a few feet. “Sh-she said she’d be back after she w-went inside, bu-ut I can’t find herrrrrr!!!!!”

The booth attendant looks alarmed, rips his glasses off, fiddles with a dial that cranks up all the fog machines, before rushing out of the booth. The line behind Angus groans with malcontent.

After a moment, a back door to the booth springs open. Before Angus can ascertain what's happening, a pair of the glasses are being tossed into his hands and Mavis is beckoning him behind the booth. Once his brain catches up, he meets up with Mavis. She drops a small pouch of coins in the hand of the half-orc kid who's in remarkably better spirits.

Mavis nods her head. “Bethany's kid sister, Marya, got recruited by some bard colleges earlier this year and it's clear why.”

Marya nods and saunters off.

“Mavis, you're a genius, but I thought your mom didn't want you doing recon with me anymore.”

Mavis grins. “Dad's weekend. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. Now, put those on and let's find a different entrance.” She slips on a pair of glasses that match the ones in Angus’s hand.

He raises an eyebrow, examining the glasses. “Are these-”

“Glasses of True Sight? They sure are. Whoever's running this thing apparently has a lotta horseshit to see through. Let's take a look.” Mavis takes off, making a beeline to what looks like a brick wall.

Angus slips the glasses on and is surprised to see how small the entire Shriek Shack appears to be from the outside. He spies Mavis rushing towards a door. He follows behind her before he can think to do anything else.

—-------------

“This feels ridiculous.”

“You're too uptight.”

“No, I've suffered a lot of indignities and this is a new low.”

“This is a new low for you?”

“Well, Merle, I feel like a real horse's ass right now,” Davenport says, adjusting the straps on his shoulders. The fur of his costume might as well be made of asbestos with how comfortable it is.

“You said you didn't want to be the one talkin’ to anyone!”

“I didn't realize it would entail me being directly downwind of you. This whole suit smells like patchouli.”

Merle rolls his eyes and puts the horse head mask back on his head. “You're being a drama queen. Couple more hours and we'll have gotten plany of business drummed up for this thing.”

“I don't want to, is the thing.”

“I can't be an assless horse.”

“What about a reverse centaur?”

“....Yeah, okay.”

—-----

Taako roots around the medicine cabinet for Fantasy ibuprofen. Or the makings of an icepick lobotomy. He's trying to turn this haunted house into a haunted home goddammit, but it seems as though everything that can thwart him is dying to thwart him. Nobody has given him an idea scarier than having visitors stick their hands in a bowl of peeled grapes because it would, and Kravitz quotes, “Feel like sticking your hand in a bowl of eyeballs.”

Ugh. Taako loves the guy, but he’s been to playgrounds scarier than that.

Lup had some decent ideas, but Lucretia put the kibosh on Phantasmal Killer, Insect Plague, and Maddening Darkness. Fun police didn’t want them all to get sued.

Of course, Magnus thinks that all these ideas are terrifying. Big lug can charge headfirst into battle against the actual physical embodiment of apathy and destruction, but the sight of a rubber rat sends him leaping onto a table. Go figure.

A reasonable person would probably call the whole thing off; manifesting a whole haunted house in 36 hours is a fool’s gambit. But Taako’s never counted himself as someone reasonable.

And besides, he wants to win. Win what? That doesn’t matter. There is doubtless something here to win and he’ll know it when he gets it and he’ll win it and his victory will be sweet and well-earned and everyone will say “wow, Taako, you won! Great job!”

The very even keel of this thought rabbit hole he’s been visiting for days is interrupted by a knock at the door. He waits, hoping he doesn’t have to be the one to bother answering.

Another knock, more terse this time. Ugh. Kravitz must be at work. Need everything fall upon Taako’s broad yet soft shoulders? He shuffles slowly to the door, giving whomstever is disturbing his early evening plenty of time to think better of it and slink off. No such luck.

“No solicitors unless you want a taste of Scorching Ray,” Taako says before he can even get the door open fully. Imagine his surprise when he sees two Goldcliff militia officers flanking Merle and Davenport.

“Sir, these two gentlemen said they were working on behalf of you when we got some complaints of them disturbing the peace. That true?” The shorter officer says.

“Never seen them before in my life,” Taako says with an air of boredom.

“Taako!” “You sonofa—”

He waves off both of their objections. “Kidding. These are my old guys, they’re not like, actually in trouble, right?”

The taller officer grimaces. “Technically, on behalf of the mayor, we’re meant to hold cases like this overnight at the jail.”

“But you heard them talking up the entirely cool haunted house that’s going to be hosted here and thought that these nice geezers posed no harm?” Taako supplies helpfully.

“I dunno, we don’t really have that kind of discretion,” the shorter officer waffles for a moment.

Taako leans in to address the officers. “Listen. You’re already here, you probably don’t get paid enough to deal with their bullshit. Whattaya say I let you fools into the haunted house for free, plus a couple of guests, and we just forget this happened?”

“It’s gonna be better than the Shriek Shack,” Merle chimes in.

“Shut up,” Davenport says through gritted teeth.

The taller officer considers this for a minute. “Yeah, sure. Just. Don’t argue about the logistics of an assless horse that loud in a busy shopping quarter again. Or just take that to Waterdeep.”

The officers leave and Davenport quickly disappears inside.

“For the record,” Merle says, “I was just fine with the costume.”

Before Taako can even react, another loud knock on his door. He raises an eyebrow at Merle.

“Don’t ask me.”

Taako opens the door to find another pair of Goldcliff militia officers; this time, they flank Angus and Mavis. “You’re joking.”

Merle peeks around the door and his eyebrows do their best to join his hairline. “Mavis?”

“I can explain!” Angus defends. “I was trying to get to the bottom of who own—”

Taako shakes his head and holds his hands out. “Okay, I don’t have nearly enough caffeine in my system for this. Would the two of you be okay with coming inside for a cup of coffee while we all hash this out?”

The two officers look at one another. The man shrugs. The woman frowns, but ultimately nods. “I don’t see why not.”

Angus furrows his brow but says nothing. Taako ushers everyone inside and shuts the door tight behind him. “Here, let me take your coats,” he calls after them.

—--------

“So, Angster, Mavis, care to tell us how you ended up here?” Taako asks as everyone sips a steaming cup of coffee. He taps his ring against the mug to a beat and squints at Angus.

“Uh. Well, uh I-I heard all about the Shriek Shack at school and everyone was talking about how scary it was and how bad they wanted to go. And a couple of kids made bets about who could sneak in. And I wanted to look cool so I tried and I talked Mavis into it and we got caught and I’m sorry.”

Mavis glances sideways at Angus. “That’s not how it happ—”

“Mavis, there’s no point in trying to fudge the truth. Nobody’s mad, we’re just glad you’re back safe, right Merle?”

Merle finally comes up for air from his comically large cup of coffee. “Right.”

“Listen, sir, we’re glad this can be a teaching moment for you and your kid or whatever, but we confiscated a couple of questionable magic items from these children,” the woman says, crossing her legs.

“May I see? I'm something of a magic practitioner myself and I just want to see how big of an issue we're dealing with here.” Taako silently applauds himself on sounding so professional.

The man sucks in a breath and crosses his legs, mirroring the woman beside him. “Mmm, I’m not sure that that’s such a good idea.”

“Yeah, this is an ongoing investigation, after all,” the woman says.

“Is this going to go on our permanent records?” Mavis asks suddenly, her eyes going big as saucers.

“Shit, your mom’s gonna have my ass,” Merle laments.

The woman smiles for scarcely a moment before it disappears from her face. “Well, we really should be going, but we’ll keep in touch.” She and her partner begin to stand.

“Oh, could you stick around for just a few more minutes? I know my husband would want to be here to get some details from you. I promise he’s just tying up some loose ends at work.”

The officers look at each other again. “It’s not protocol, but I suppose.”

“Wonderful! While I’ve got you here, when did the Goldcliff militia change their uniform colors?” Taako asks innocently.

“Sorry?”

“Yeah, I recall a dear old friend of ours having a far more…subdued uniform. Don’t get me wrong, the two of you have impeccable style, but it seems a little too showy for the job,” Taako says.

“Well, things change.”

“They certainly do.”

Before Taako can say more, a familiar tearing sound rings through the entryway. The two officers don’t turn around.

“Taako, I got your text, what’s going on?” Kravitz asks, shrugging his cloak off. Taako stands to meet him near the door, taking his cloak and putting it on the coat rack. He presses a lingering kiss on Kravitz’s cheek.

“Awww, kiddos got their first escort home from the militia. Mazel tov, babes,” Lup says, stepping through the rift behind Kravitz and waving her hand at Taako.

“You didn’t talk without a lawyer present, right? I went to a semester of law school, I know kids have rights,” Barry says, ambling over to the couch. He levels a gaze at the militia officers on the couch. He squints and runs his tongue over his teeth, concentrating like he’s looking at an optical illusion. Over the woman’s shoulder, he catches a glimpse of Taako making a small gesture that looks almost like handcuffs before he slips on a pair of thick rimmed glasses. Thieves Cant? Since when does Taako know a lick of thieves cant? “Um. Sorry, you just looked a bit familiar.” He sends a small nod to Taako, who creeps quietly to stand beside Lup.

“We have those kinds of faces,” the man says offhandedly. His partner fidgets beside him. She starts surveying the room.

“I’m being so rude, I’m Barry,” he sticks out a hand. For a moment, neither officer reacts. When it becomes clear Barry isn’t in the market to play chicken, the woman shakes his hand.

Lup moves to sit beside Merle, occupying the space left by Taako. She whispers something in his ear. Suddenly, he sits up a little straighter and blinks his eye a few times.

“Lauren. This is my partner, Evan.”

“You dumb motherfuckers!” Suddenly, Taako is beside Barry. Lup and Kravitz fall in line, manifesting their scythes from the ether as Merle yanks Angus and Mavis behind him. “See, something smelled rank about you from the minute you darkened my doorstep, but you’ve really made it all too easy. I mean, Evan and Lauren? You could have at least swapped initials.”

Lup flicks her hand and immediately Evan and Lauren are replaced with two technicolor nightmares.

“But you have to admit, it was so much fun,” Edward says on the verge of pouting.

“How’d you bastards get outta the Astral Plane again?” Merle asks, putting as much space between the kids and the Wonder Twins as he can manage.

Lydia grins wolfishly. “Oh, dear dear Merle, I think you’ll find my lovely brother and I are like crabs; try as you might, you can never truly get rid of us.”

“Ew,” Lup says, wrinkling her nose. “So you’re behind the Shriek Shack? Why? Why not just rebuild your stupid ass circus?”

“Wonderland,” Edward corrects, “Was a true work of art. The Shriek Shack is more like Fantasy Arby’s. Not what you actually want, but ultimately pretty edible.”

“You should be patting us on the back,” Lydia says. “You see, we’re milking these stupid customers for pure, ethical suffering!”

“And giving us a mountain of paperwork to do,” Barry pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Wait. Yeah, we haven’t had a single report of an escape in months, what the hell is this?” Kravitz exchanges glances with Lup and Barry.

Edward rolls his eyes. “Keep up, pretty boy. You reapers are great hired goons, but you’re not the most perceptive types.” He stands and motions for Lydia to do the same.

“I’d say we should do this again, but I find you all so tedious.” Lydia stands to join her brother.

Taako and Merle seem to move in near unison as Edward and Lydia are restrained by heavy chains and creeping vines.

“I’d really rethink the tone the two of you dipshits take with us from now on,” Lup all but snarls. “I ate your essence and shit it out once, what do you think I’m capable of now that I’m out of that thing?”

Despite the restraint and the very real threat of some of the most powerful magic users in the plane, the Wonder Twins still find it in their hearts to snark like children.

“It’s cute that you think a few decades of undeath makes you anything more than a common wizard bitch who’s bound to end up being her own undoing because she’s incapable of doing the dirty work to become a lich the real way. Sustained by love? Get a grip. You’re pathetic,” Edward spits at her.

Before Lup can hurl a fireball, Barry very calmly and deliberately takes off his glasses and hands them off to Angus. He rubs the side of his face, rolls his head around a few times to loosen up his neck, and tips his head back as he mutters something quietly. When he picks his head back up, his eyes are, with no exaggeration, voids. Inky black ooze dribbles out of his sockets and down his face like ichor. The darkness is contagious, dripping down onto the floor and growing impenetrable columns of shadow from where the droplets land. His mouth twists at an unnatural, profane angle.

At the sight of this production, Lydia and Edward attempt to tug at their restraints to flee from Barry’s presence, though it’s a futile effort.

“Are you afraid?” Barry hisses out, his voice echoing in a cacophony of whispers and of nails on a chalkboard.

“P-please, please,” is all the pair is able to babble out, their panic growing the closer Barry gets to them.

“I could put your worthless souls in the darkest recesses of this planet, never to be seen again. To remain forever conscious without even gaining the sweet respite of death.” His voice worms its way under their skin like thousands of biting insects.

“I-I’m sorry,” Edward chokes out.

“Spare us,” Lydia begs.

“Surrender. Unequivocally and entirely, never to even imagine stepping foot outside the Eternal Stockade again.”

“I do have a project I need them for before you send them back though,” Taako stage whispers to the eldritch horror formerly known as Barry.

“Once you help Taako with whatever project he needs.”

“Whatever you need,” they both parrot back, nodding emphatically.

Barry shakes his head and his lovely brown eyes return to their rightful place. “Can I get those back, Angus? That gave me a migraine, I think.” Angus obliges as he whispers something in Mavis’s ear.

“Don’t even ask, bubbeleh, I don’t do the creepy crawly kind of magic like that,” Taako shakes his head. “Can the two of you babble in continued terror a bit more quietly?”

“Okay, Taako, you do whatever plan you need to do, I need to be alone with my husband right now immediately,” Lup says, opening a quick rift before pulling Barry along behind her.

—-----

“Taako, hi, Max Madsen from Waterdeep Weekly!” A drow man with owlishly big eyes and bigger glasses shakes Taako’s hand cordially. “As I'm sure you know, I'm profiling the latest and greatest in Halloween attractions all across Faerun. I gotta say, this haunted house of yours is the hottest ticket right now, especially with the abrupt closure of the Shriek Shack in Goldcliff. The frights are frightening without feeling gimmicky and there's a pretty clear essence of humor throughout the haunt. But for me, what really sells it is the room towards the end, the one where your greatest fear gets sculpted out of smoke only for you to be able to kick the crap out of it. It's brilliant, but you know I have to ask, how's the magic happen?”

Taako zones back in just in time for the tail end of the question. Yeesh, does this guy like to hear himself talk. “Thanks Mac.”

“Max.”

“Whatever. As I'm sure you could guess, I can't give away proprietary Taako From TV, tee em tee em tee em, secrets like that. I gotta save the mystique for all the guests. Let's just say I'm cashing in a favor from some old frenemies. But if you think this is happening, just wait until you see the party.”

Max grins. “An invite to an exclusive Taako party? Someone pinch me, I must be dreaming!”

Taako reaches over and pinches him, perhaps harder than entirely necessary. “No, no, no, that was a figure of speech. See, Max, I've discovered that sometimes it's not about getting a fancy write up in a magazine, it's about spending time with those close to us.”

“I completely get what you mean,” Max nods, enlightened. “I'll scrap the whole story.”

“Well, no need to be hasty.” Before Max can start talking again, Taako peels off to go make sure no funny business is afoot. After all, there's only two liches in the world he can trust, and they're both off convincing kids that reaching into a bowl of cold spaghetti is terrifying.

Not that he'd tell a soul, but he loves his weird little family more than he can say. Sometimes that can be the nicest treat of all, no tricks necessary.

[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @heartstringsduet @thisbuildinghasfeelings @bonheur-cafe @nisbanisba and @paperstorm 🧡

Chapter 8 of Rhythms is now on Ao3, and I don't want to spoil chapter 9 before Sunday, so here is something different! From my TK POV 4x12 coda that I'm planning to share next week!

It was the most terrifying day of my life, when you were born.”

“Thanks,” TK laughs. “Most kids get to hear that their arrival was the best, but whatever.”

“I’ll say this,” Owen begins, looking right into TK’s eyes. “It was really good to meet you. But it was terrifying. We got you home. It was still terrifying. Then time passed and you got a bit bigger and you had these bright eyes that you’d open so wide. And you’d really look around.” Owen grins tearfully. “I’d come home from work and you’d smile at me all toothless.”

“Stop.”

“That was the best,” Owen sniffs and takes a comforting bite from a whole handful of French fries. “And then you were a teenager and I wasn’t really there. Not enough.”

“You were when I came out, though. You were amazing.”

“That was another best-ever day,” Owen says.

It happened after school on a rainy March Monday - a day otherwise ordinary and inconsequential. But it had meant everything to say the words out loud and receive a huge hug in reply. They relaxed on the couch together with takeout afterwards, talking and being pals.

TK feels a twinge of nostalgia for the moment, even though they’re more-or-less doing the same thing now with four buckets of fried chicken between them.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so excited,” TK laughs, looking down at his feet. “You were like Buttercup when we tell him he’s going for a W-A-L-K.”

Buttercup boofs. He knows what that means. He’s not an idiot.

“Buttercup, down!” Owen says as Buttercup starts to heave himself up. “We have to just say W now,” Owen whispers to TK, “He’s figured it out.”

“Really?” TK laughs. This is Buttercup’s equivalent of learning to turn doorhandles like the velociraptors in Jurassic Park.

“Yes, so zip it,” Owen tells him, and returns to the subject at hand. “The day you came out to me is one of my favorite memories.”

“That’s so nice,” TK says softly. There can’t be too many people who hear that from their dad.

“I was happy that you could be yourself. I was happy you felt like you could come out to me when you were so young.”

“Me too.” TK takes a deep, shaky breath, thinking back on it. He was fourteen when he came out to his parents just a day apart, and the way they embraced him ended up closing the distance between all of them.

Open tag and tags below

@reyesstrand @strandnreyes @lightningboltreader @goodways

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@lemonlyman-dotcom @liminalmemories21 @ladytessa74 @freneticfloetry

@orchidscript @mikibwrites @three-drink-amy @irispurpurea

@chicgeekgirl89 @theghostofashton @honeybee-taskforce @sugdenlovesdingle

@herefortarlos @tellmegoodbye @whatsintheboxmh

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@emsprovisions @sapphic--kiwi @anactualcaseofthetruth

@corsage @carlossreaders @henrygrass @the-126-family

[ashomodeus]

How the OM bros + Dateables react to walking in on M!Mc in just a towel after a shower.

Notes: Bad grammar, I haven't written in 2 years, I'm rusty. Though the Mc in obey me is gender neutral, or advertised as such, I just wanted to write about a M!Mc. Probably smut warning- actual smut warning. Milking mentioned and other kinks as well, probably. Sorry, it's all over the place. I'm writing this with a killer migraine and whilst at work. Consider this an I'm backkkk. PLEASE SEND REQUEST IM SO UNORIGINAL. Or even send a request on a full story of one of these scenarios.

Part 1: Lucifer, Mammon, Levi

Part 2: Satan, Asmo, Beel, Belphie

Part 3: Solomon, Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon

I would like to thank Beyonce for everything...

Lucifer

●He was interrogating everyone after a prank gone wrong (right)

●He opened the door with full force calling Mc's name.

●He looked around the room and saw Mc holding his towel that was not so modestly placed on his hip.

●Procceds to walk in the room and close the door. He stares at Mc taking in the lovely view.

●Luci... FOCUS... He pretends as if there's not an almost fully nude MC in front of him.

● "Mc do you know about this prank?" He questions, Teasing Mc now knowing Mc wouldn't know about the prank since they were showering.

● Mc tries to explain that they were showering Lucifer smirks. He takes one good look at Mc’s body and grabs the door handle.

●"Mc please be aware that if you are changing or anything else to lock your door. I don't want anyone else to look at you like this. You're mine after all. That being said, please remain like this I will be back shortly.

● Lucifer locks the door behind him. He finds the culprit and punishes them accordingly. Lucifers mind is normally full and a single thought was the impossible but here he is. Thinking about Mc's perfect body. How every droplet of water made him just sparkle.

● He walked into Mc’s room and sees that Mc’s is still in the same part of the room that Lucifer told him to stay in.

●He walked over to Mc and removed the towel. He observed every part of him, Admiring his beauty.

●"Now let me show you all the things I want to do to you" Lucifer pulls Mc close to him.

Mammon

● Was running away from Levi. He darts into Mc’s room Hiding on the bed. Mc stares in shock at his bed. Levi bangs on MC's door.

●"Come out her Mammon I know you're in there." Mc walks to the door and opens it slightly.

●"OmgI'mSoSorry" Mc closes the door and sighs.

●"Why was he scared of ya-" Mammon was too busy hiding to realize Mc is in just a towel. His ears felt as tho they were burning. He was trying to act cool. "Are you not scared... Mammon." Mc walked closer, teasing Mammon.

● Mammon was mesmerized by his body. He couldn't stop. Mammon's pants felt tighter and he realized his dick is practically begging to come out of his pants. He let out a soft pout as he covered his lap with something nearby.

●"Mammon what are you doing with my boxers..." He looks down at Mcs underwear laid out on his lap. He turned bright red and ran out the door.

●He took the boxers with him.

● Mammon ran to his room his cock just begging to be let out.

●Poor boy came after a few pumps but it wasn't enough for him. After he got over his nerves Mammon returned to Mc's room with his boxers. "You think I'm just gonna let ya walk around naked like that. Remember, I'm your first" Suddenly the greed took over as he kissed all over Mc's body.

Levi

● He planned a game marathon with Mc and was wondering why Mc was running behind, He decided to check up on him.

●He opened the door. Mc is in a towel. His face. BRIGHT RED.

●"I'm so sorry I'll leave you alone" He panics but Mc pulls him by the arm inside.

●He turns his head away to give Mc privacy. He's not sure what to do. No amount of predictable anime or video game could even prepare him for this. Zombie apocalypse? Done. House burns down? Yeah. Late to anime school with toast in his mouth? of course.

●"I'll be done in a second. Then I am so kicking your ass" Mc drops the towel.

●Levi couldn't help but turn his head in Mc's direction seeing the back of him. Levi is so going to masturbate to this for the rest of his life. He's a flustered mess and Mc teases him for it.

●It's not fair that Mc got one up on him. He'll try to change that.He even decided to send a picture of the mess he made to Mc.

[paincallingback]

Dumbass

(Felix crying in the secret tunnels over his stupid mistakes.)

Peeps: @star-tb @myluckymoon @city-of-c0rpses @deeply-moonstruck @w3apon0fchoice @kimisbunny

He hates me.

There's no doubt in it now. He's tolerated my annoying ass for so long, probably lying that I'm not annoying at all. He doesn't have to spare me with the white lies in order to avoid hurting my feelings. It's okay to admit it, X. I am just some annoying dumbass who doesn't use half of his brain majority of the time.

Such a foolish idiot I am.

He was right there. I could have given him the right answer. The correct answer. Yet I chose wrong, leaving him with a look of disappointment that I can not even describe with words.

I'm so stupid.

I could have said everything right then and there, but I'm such a idiot all because I was a little too afraid of change. I don't want things to change. I want to keep everything the same.

I'm supposed to hate the bastard. Kill him while he's unguarded. Insult him till he breaks. Hate hate hate hate hate hate hate hate. That's my job. To be his rival and beat him at something!

So why does my heart start to pound more when I'm near him. Why do I actually like his company? Why do I hesitate to kill him?

I'm such a idiot.

That was my only friend. Throughout most of my life ever since I was in high school, no matter the amount of times I would hate and annoy him, he was still my friend. He hung out with me for no reason, even though I was lame. He stood up for me when I couldn't defend myself.

I don't blame him at this point. Everyone eventually gets tired of me at some point. Even if I tried hard enough to be better, it's all fatal in the end. That's how it's always been.

That was my friend and now he probably hates me. My only friend slipped through my fingers. I lost him. I let him get away. Now he's gone because I'm such a fucken idiot.

I'm such a loser. A damn try hard who makes an embarrassment out of myself when I have no one to prove to. It's all just some game to me I guess.

After all. What is life without a rival? If that's what I can even call him anymore. I'm not sure if he has anything to do with me at all anymore or not.

I guess I'm such a idiot after all.

Things could have ended differently for us. Multiple endings in reality. Though I guess I chose the bad end. Laying here on the floor of the secret tunnels. Safe and alone, so no one can he my tears. I wish this was all just some bad dream.

Perhaps in the future, I will stop being such a idiot.

[itsactuallycorrine]

force

buddie; 1.1K words; eddie-centric angst; s08e06 spec

part 1 of the series

The call with the toddler in the well doesn’t trigger Eddie. 

It should. It should remind him of being buried alive, gasping for air, lost and alone, cut off from the people who mattered most. It should remind him of being taken from Christopher too soon. It should bring on a panic attack, or give him hives, or at least set him back on his heels a little. 

Or maybe it should inspire him, remind him why he fought so hard to escape last time, the strength of will he’d found thinking about Christopher and the family they’d built in LA. How he knew if he didn’t come back from that, Christopher would be alone, how he’d have to live with his grandparents and be raised like Eddie was—one of Eddie’s greatest fears. 

Instead all he feels is tired.

It’s been over four long, tough years since that first well call. In the engine on the way back to the station, he takes silent inventory of his life now, compares it to then, and while it’s different in many ways—it is different, he knows it is—it also drives home how little progress he’s made, no matter how hard he’s been trying. Like nothing has mattered, not almost dying at least twice, not trying to move on, not therapy. Nothing. 

He looks around at his team, his friends, and wonders what the hell is wrong with him. While he’s stagnated, Chim has lost and found Maddie, had a daughter, and gotten married. Hen has made it most of the way through med school and finally been able to add to her family. Bobby has struggled and persevered, found closure, and now he and Athena seem better than ever. Buck literally died and then had a whole sexuality revelation.

But Eddie? He’s still stuck there, frantically beating against the walls around him, crying out where no one can hear him, cut off from the most vital part of himself. Fighting a war of attrition against life and losing, losing, always losing. 

Hopelessness pulls at his limbs as he showers and changes into a fresh uniform, as he pours himself a cup of coffee, and smiles and laughs in all the right places while the team bustles around him. He knows this feeling, knows how seductive it can be to give up. He’s been resisting its siren song all summer. He flirted with the edge of this despair not even three years ago. If it hadn’t been for how bad he’d scared Christopher…

But Christopher isn’t there anymore to call Buck when Eddie can’t find his own way back. He can’t depend on Chris to ask for the help that Eddie can’t ask for himself. He has to learn how to ask, to say it himself. 

The words are on the tip of his tongue the rest of the shift. They crowd his mouth, pressed up tight against his teeth, and he aches to loosen his jaw and let them go. Instead, he bites down. 

In the end, it doesn’t matter.

They’re called out again. This one, a jumper on top of an office building, which just figures given Eddie’s current mental state.

Even better, they find out shortly that the jumper is going through a very messy, very contested divorce.

Eddie stands at the ready while Chim and Bobby confer with the almost ex-husband on the ground, trying to block out the sounds of Bobby and Athena working in tandem to talk the vic off the literal edge. Trying not to think about anything at all. 

A little gets through, though. It’d be impossible to keep it all out and do the job effectively. 

He hears Athena talking about how divorce doesn’t mean giving up, and it’s nothing to be ashamed of. He hears Bobby say how letting go can be a second chance at a life, a happiness you never knew was possible, even if you’ll always mourn what you’ve lost. He hears the ex-husband apologizing, saying, “I’ll always love you, even if it’s not in the same way, even if our marriage ended.”

And something within Eddie cracks wide open. 

He keeps it together as they bring the victim down unharmed, as they deflate the safety air cushion and pack up, as they wind down the shift and go their separate ways.

At home, with no one to hide from, he shatters. 

He thinks of Shannon telling him she wants a divorce, of the anger and hurt he packed away, buried beneath his grief. He thinks of that fucking letter again, the one she left Christopher, without leaving anything for him, any kind of clue of what he’d done wrong or why they couldn’t work it out.

He’s always tried to be so fair to Shannon in death to make up for how he fell short while she was alive. Tried to make up for his parents’ scorn. Tried not to speak ill of her to Christopher, so he always remembers the mom who was there for him, the mom who made smores and surprised him on Christmas and read him stories at night.

But in being fair to Shannon, he wonders…he wonders if he hasn’t been a little unfair to himself, too. 

He’s allowed to be mad that she left him alone with Christopher while he was struggling with PTSD and recovering from his injuries.

He’s allowed to be mad that she didn’t reach out to him for three full years after leaving, that he had to take the initiative to bring her back into their lives.

He’s allowed to be hurt and confused that she came back into his life, fell back into his bed, and then asked him for a divorce when he wanted to recommit.

He’s allowed to be a little relieved about it, too, that she wanted out and asked him for a way, when he wouldn’t have, couldn’t have, and would’ve kept them encased in their mutual misery forever.

He’s allowed to see Shannon, their relationship, in shades of gray—they were both right and they were both wrong, and they were kids and they were both forced to grow up too soon, and they made a beautiful miracle together but they both ran from it, from him. 

Eddie sits on the floor of his living room, head hanging between his knees, and he lets it all go, lets it roll through him, sobs shaking his body, until he’s heaving.

“Eddie?” he hears, and doesn’t try to hide as Buck drops down beside him. He hadn’t even heard the front door and there is no Christopher to make the call, but somehow it doesn’t surprise Eddie that Buck just…knows to be there.

Bucks wraps an arm around his shoulders, not saying a word, not asking a single question. Eddie does what he never would’ve done before. He reaches up and grabs Buck’s arm, pulling his embrace tight, a silent and shameless plea for comfort, for care. Stay.

Buck presses his face to the top of Eddie’s head, nods, and lets Eddie cry himself hoarse.

ao3

[hollowed-theory-hall]

What do you think would be the biggest points of divergence in Harry's character if he'd never met/never befriended Ron?

I mean, if Harry didn't meet Ron on the train and befriend him, say he figured out the platform 9 3/4 situation before the Weasleys arrive and so they don't meet at that point, I think the first change would be that he won't have the added bad impression from Draco on the train, and then, it's possible he wouldn't be that desperate to not be in Slytherin. So, a Harry who didn't befriend Ron on the train might end up in Slytherin. I also think he'd be more studious. I mean, he read all his coursebooks before school and only really started being lazy about schoolwork because everyone in Gryffindor was doing it. A Slytherin Harry who didn't befriend Ron would probably be more academically inclined (though, he'd still play Quidditch).

From this point, there are so many points of divergence that it just becomes a whole fic at this point. It would change how first year goes, and second year (Ginny won't be able to steal the diary back for starters, but would Harry even be in Myrtle's bathroom to find the diary? Would Ginny's crush remain the same if she didn't spend a whole summer watching Harry hang out with her brothers? How would Harry even get to Hogwarts if Ron isn't there with the flying Ford Angelica?). Third year would also change, I mean, the Weasleys would probably still go to Egypt and have their photo in the Prophet which would cause Sirius to escape, but Peter would be pretty far from Harry this go around. And Fred and George would have no reason to give Harry the Maurader's Map.

Harry won't be in the Quidditch World Cup at the beginning of GoF, or, at least he won't be there with the Weasleys. If Harry doesn't befriend Ron, it means he either goes to live with someone else during August or he's stuck at the Dursleys for longer each summer without the Weasleys' support. I also don't think Harry would really consider Ginny as a dating option if he wasn't close to the Weasleys, so I think he'd find someone else to think he has a crush on.

And the plot continues changing, obviously. Like, I'd say a lot would change. Ron (and the Weasleys in general) is pretty plot-integral.

[justevelynnnn]

Halloween🎃

A/N: Quick drabble cause halloween😭 i had nothing big planned tbh. Also barely proofread as of rn i got too much school stuff to worry abt to proofread good or make that masterlist 💀 so sorry guys but anyways Happy Halloween!

Summary: The crews first halloween together!

Warnings: Cussing and Logan stabs Wade once

- Logan never really celebrated halloween. I mean this guy saw the holiday become what it is now. But he never went trick or treating and even as he got older he’s always had other things to worry about.

- Wade was the same (the never celebrating halloween thing not being old enough to see Halloween come to america)

- Both of them had tough childhoods.

- Wade went to a few halloween parties and dressed up but his heart was never fully in it (other than that year he had with Vanessa..)

- This year instead of it being just him and althea now he has her, Logan, mary puppins AND laura.

- He felt…more excited? This year?

- He really wanted to show Logan around his universe and celebrate all these holidays with him. And even though Laura was older she actually wanted to go trick or treating still just to experience it.

- “Peanut, you have to step up and at least take her to a few houses!” Wade said to Logan at dinner.

- “She ain’t my daughter or responsibility, bub. Ion gotta do shit.” Logan snapped as he took a swig of his beer. “Plus, ain’t she a bit too old for that shit anyways? We can buy her candy at the damn store.”

- “Logan…we have an opportunity here to change her life! Give her a good memory just once!”

- “Fuck off.” Logan looked away.

- Wade thought a moment. “Okay…if you take her to..” he thinks for a second, “Take her to 5 houses and i won’t talk for a whole day!”

- Logan looked at Wade but didn’t move his head.

- “Okay. 5 days.”

-“Deal.”

- “Wanna shake on it?” Wade stretched out his hand but Logan declined.

- “I knew you were scratching your balls under the table, Wade”

- “Oh.”

- Wade helps Laura pick a costume and left Al to decorate and Logan to watch her decorate.

- “That’s upside down yknow.” Logan said looking at the Halloween poster on the wall.

- “No. I don’t know. How could i know? You’re just as dumb as that idiot.” Al joked as she turned the poster right side up.

- Logan just shook his head and looked out the window. Kids were already walking around with parents and going around. Wade said he might be late getting back and to just “hand out the candy to the kiddies, peanut.”

- He grumbled. No one showed up yet.

- Deep down he felt a twinge of sadness over not getting to experience this. It was very small. He actually liked halloween as time went on because it was the one night mutants could be mutants and not get judged…

- The door bell rings which snaps him from looking out the window. Al yells at him to get the door. It was probably Wade and Laura finally.

- It was not.

- “Trick or treat!!”

- A small ghost and a slightly taller Princess hold up semi filled pumpkin buckets. The princess smiles widely the ghost of course was emotionless.

- “Hey…there….” Logan said quietly. He was not good with damn kids. No no no. Nope. He almost closed the door and said fuck it but the princess started to look confused.

- “Hey, mister where’s our candy?”

- “Right….” Logan gets some candy and pours it into the kids pumpkins. “Okay…..run along now.”

- The kids run off giggle to the next door across the hall from the apartment. Logan sighed and closed the door.

- Another kid came alone a few minutes later. They were dressed up as sabertooth and for some reason this scared logan enough to accidentally draw his claws.

- “Shit- Sorry kid. Didn’t mean to-“ Logan rubbed his hand where the claws came out and but the kid to his surprise wasn’t scared…he didn’t run off to tell anyone he found a mutant…

- “Are those…real?” The kid asked point at his hand.

-“Oh…no..it’s my..costume. Yeah. Yeah, i’m that wolverine guy..” Logan lied.

- The kid beamed. “Wow! That’s awesome!”

- “Thanks kid. Y’want come candy?” Logan picked out he bowl but the kid shook his head.

- “That was way cooler than candy…can i see it again? Can you do it again? Pleaseeee?”

- Logan slowly drew out his claws as the kid looked shocked. “Wow wow wow! They look so real! You’re cool! Can i touch one?”

- Logan let him and told him to be careful.

- The kid started to leave and Logan waved him goodbye. Maybe kids aren’t so bad after all…

- Right when the kid left Wade and Laura came around the corner.

- “See you’re great with kids!” Wade said as he slow clapped.

- “Whatever..” Logan brushed it off, just this once. He was in a good mood right now..

- Logan complimented Lauras costume and let her lead the way as she was actually excited for once. She smiled up at him as they walked the neighborhood and went to definitely more than 5 houses. She talked about the other Logan and how she missed him and how grateful she was for him to take her to do this.

- “No problem, kid.” Logan just said. “Ready to head back?”

- Laura’s pillowcase was full now and also heavy so Logan had it. It was so full you couldn’t even close it anymore.

- She nodded as they walked back home.

- Wade wanted to join but he decided to stay back and let Logan and Laura have their time.

- Also he had to take over handing out candy duty since Al kept dropping candy in the floor, missing kids buckets and pillow cases.

- Halloween music played now and orange and black balloons filled the apartment along with a couple of random Halloween themed decor. Wade finished decorating for Al also because a lot of stuff was in the wrong spot.

- “Al way did you put the front door mat by the bathtub?? And what-? Why is the string of orange lights covering the couch and not the wall? And..why is Mary puppins not in her wolverine costume???”

- When Logan and Laura got back laughing Wade smiled. “Looks like you two had fun!”

- “Yeah, and we went to more than 5 houses too so now you have to shut up for 100 days.” Logan joked.

- “Yeah, so that was not part of the deal…”

- “Too bad. Shutting up time starts now.”

- Laura laughed and handled Wade his favorite candy. “It’s okay..take this. I’ll convince him to shorten you sentence.”

- Wade just nodded sadly and ate the candy.

- As the night came to an end, the family decided to watch a couple of scary movies and share Laura’s candy. Laura got scared for a moment when she saw Mary puppins secretly got into some of the Hersey pile but Wade soon reminded her, “She’s a deadpool remember? She’ll be fine…”

- “Oh right..”

- Logan quickly stabbed him with one claw barking, “Hey! No talking remember?!”

- Wade mouthed, “Geez..” And rubbed where he got stabbed but said nothing else.

- The night ended with Logan passed out drunk(he’d forget the deal he and Wade made by morning for sure), Wade falling asleep next to him, Al going to her room after the first movie ended, Laura falling asleep at the end of the couch on Logan’s other shoulder, and Dogpool sleeping in a pile of chocolate candy wrappers…

[cha-melodius]

Hello hello! Firstprince at a trashy American fast food or fast casual restaurant of your choice please!

(Idk if Waffle House counts as fast food or fast casual, but it had the right vibes. 😂 Thanks so much for the fun prompt, carrot!)

Infinitely Late at Night

(T, 2.7k, read below or on AO3)

Alex can’t pinpoint the first time he truly notices the man who sits at the third stool from the end of the counter. It’s almost as if he’s always been there, just outside of the periphery of Alex’s vision, until finally something about him sticks in Alex’s mind. Perhaps it’s that, from the back—which is how Alex mostly sees him—he’s not very notable. Tall, blond, with broad shoulders and a narrow waist, wearing the most boring and nondescript clothes you could imagine. But then, one day, as Alex is taking a little break to stretch his back after hours of being hunched over a computer, his eyes catch on the man and he thinks: Huh.

There aren’t a lot of people who regularly come to this Waffle House in the wee hours of the night during the week, which is one of the reasons Alex likes it. There’s Joe, who comes in at 5AM the end of his overnight shift, and Cindy, who stops in around 2AM for a cup of coffee in between bus routes. Then there’s Alex, who started coming here during his first year of law school for all-night study or writing sessions, and who still finds his way here when he can’t sleep and needs to get out of his apartment. Which is regularly. He always camps out in the same booth in the front so he can watch the night sluggishly move by through the front window when he’s not working. There’s something comforting about the smell of frying bacon and waffle batter, and Pamela who works overnights always keeps his coffee topped up.

He likes his routine. He’s not expecting it to change.

Once he notices the new(?) blond man, though, he can’t seem to stop. The way he hums softly sometimes, snatches of melodies Alex can’t place. The curve of his full lips, just about the only things that are flushed with color on his otherwise pale face. His long, elegant fingers first, drumming idly on the countertop as he bends over a book to read, or curling around a ceramic mug. The lilt of his British accent when he exchanges a few words with Pamela. And once, Alex accidentally caught his gaze when he got up to leave, and he got briefly trapped in the most stunning pale blue eyes he’s ever seen. The man never eats anything, no matter how long he stays, only orders a cup of tea and leaves an enormous tip when he departs.

Alex is fascinated despite himself, even though everyone knows you mind our own goddamned business in the Waffle House at 3AM. Where did he come from? What is he doing here? Not even Pamela knows—he’s asked, on nights when the man hasn’t shown up—and Pamela knows everything.

Then, one day Alex is coming back from the bathroom and not paying attention to where he’s going, and his shoulder collides with a very solid body. The mystery guy barely moves, but he lets out an oof as Alex bounces off of him, only narrowly keeping his feet.

“Fuck, sorry man,” Alex apologizes, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stares. He’d known the man was tall, but it still surprises him how far he has to look up into those startled blue eyes. Up close, he seems to be about Alex’s age, though it’s very hard to say. There aren’t any obvious creases marking his skin, but there’s something that feels oddly ancient in the man’s gaze. Mesmerizing, even when his eyes drop to follow the movement of Alex’s tongue. Alex feels caught in it.

Something had hit the ground when they’d bumped into each other, and Alex finally tears his eyes away and looks down to find a worn leather notebook on the floor. It falls open when he picks it up, the pages full of dense, elegant cursive in an unusual red-brown ink, but he doesn’t have a chance to look at it closely before the man snatches it away, holding it close to his chest with clear alarm.

“That’s mine,” he says sharply, his eyes wide.

“I know,” Alex replies carefully. “Just picking it up for you. Y’know, since I was the reason it was on the floor.”

The man swallows. “Right. Thank you.”

“I’m Alex,” Alex says, sticking out his hand. Perhaps predictably, given his odd behavior, the man just stares at it. “You’re a regular now, huh? I’ve seen you around.”

The man blinks slowly, making no move to shake Alex’s hand, and Alex is just about to drop it and give it up for good when he finally reaches out. His hand is soft and cool to the touch, his neatly trimmed nails standing in contrast to Alex’s bitten-down ones.

“Henry,” the man says. “I just moved here a month ago.”

“Night owl, or night shift?”

Henry hesitates. “A bit of both, I suppose,” he answers after another few beats. “I do work nights.”

“Better than just not sleeping,” Alex laughs self-deprecatingly.

“Perhaps if you didn’t consume coffee at quite that rate,” Henry says with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, which surprises him. Alex hadn’t realized Henry had been noticing him, too.

Alex grins. “Everyone’s a critic.” He lets a moment of silence pass; the faint clatter of dishes filters out from the kitchen. “You were heading out?”

Henry nods. “My next shift.”

“I’ll let you go, then,” he says, even though he wants to ask doing what. Henry didn’t offer, and he’s not pushy enough to ask. Yet. “See you around, Henry.”

~~~~~

He does see Henry around after that, quite a bit. Sometimes they just exchange greetings and stick to their own business. Sometimes Henry sits with him in his booth, after Alex invited him one time and it became a bit of an irregular habit until eventually Henry sits with him more often than not. He learns that Henry is a year older than him and he’s been living in the US for a while, but only recently moved to Texas. That he came here to escape the family business and ended up in it anyway—though Alex doesn’t find out what that business is.

He also learns that Henry is witty and smart and really fucking charming. When he fixes Alex in that pale blue gaze of his, it’s like nothing else exists in the world. Alex is, for lack of a better word, entranced. He wants to spend more time with Henry. Get to know him. Kiss the coy smile off those full, pink lips.

“Hey, uh,” Alex ventures one evening, fidgeting restless in his nervousness. “You ever do things in the daytime? Like, maybe we could have a normal meal together? Go for a walk?”

Henry smiles at him, an odd wistfulness to the slant of it. “Not usually, no. I mostly sleep during the day.”

The thing is, Alex is also pretty sure Henry is a vampire.

Vampires aren’t real, of course. Everyone knows that. But the list of evidence Alex compiles is pretty damning. Extremely pale skin. Only active at night. Never eats regular food. Seductive as all hell. Preternatural reflexes—Alex once saw him catch a falling teacup at a speed that shouldn’t be humanly possible. Sometimes talks like he’s from an earlier century. And more than once, there have been little dark splatters on his clothes. Henry said it was ink, but it could have been blood.

Alex doesn’t want to think about why none of this seems to matter to his interest in Henry. Maybe it’s Henry’s vampire mind control powers. Maybe it’s just Alex’s tendency towards shitty self-preservation. Regardless, Alex still wants him. Wonders how to broach the subject. Hey, just so you know, I’m a blood donor. That’s probably too cheesy. He’s workshopping it.

For now, they spend time together, and Alex catalogs every time Henry’s gaze lingers on his hands, or on his body, or on his lips.

Alex is pretty sure Henry wants him, too. Hopefully, for more than just a meal.

~~~~~

Their visits to the Waffle House don’t always overlap. Alex isn’t there every night, and some nights, Henry doesn’t show. Alex tries not to worry. They’ve never exchanged phone numbers because they see each other so regularly. It’s not lost on him that Henry could just disappear and Alex wouldn’t know how to find him again, but he still hasn’t gotten up the nerve to ask. He’d need a reason, wouldn’t he? And every time he tries to suggest they do something else outside of sitting at a Waffle House in the middle of the night, Henry brushes him off.

It’s fine. He’s perfectly happy like this.

It’s nearly 4AM, which means Henry’s most likely not showing, and Alex decides to call it a night. He’ll go home and scrape together a few hours of sleep, then come back tomorrow. So what if he’s getting less sleep than ever before because he doesn’t want to miss the chance of seeing Henry at the Waffle House? He’s managing.

By this time of night, the air has lost all of its lingering heat, but somehow it feels closer than it did when he came in. The sounds of traffic from the highway nearby are muffled, and everything is unnaturally still. Alex picks up the pace as he heads toward his car, hunching over a little as his hand tightens on his satchel.

“Alex.”

Alex’s steps falter and he looks over his shoulder, but there’s no one there. “H?” he calls out. “Is that you?”

A shadow moves near the rear of the building, slowly resolving into the shape of a person. Tall, lanky, broad shoulders. His face is shadowed, but the harsh streetlights cast a glow around the edges of his pale hair. It’s gotta be Henry, because no one else matching that description should know his name. At least not anyone who’d be at a Waffle House at 4AM. 

“Anyone ever tell you it’s kinda creepy to hang out in the dark?” Alex asks with a nervous laugh as he takes a few steps closer, glancing over his shoulder into the darkness pressing in around them. “What’re you doing out here?”

The man-who-might-be-Henry doesn’t move, and Alex keeps approaching, drawn in despite the warning bells going off in his head. Something pulls him in, inevitably and inexorably, and his feet move without his permission until he stops in front of Henry—or, not Henry, because when the man finally looks up his eyes are completely black in the low light, and his mouth is hard and cruel as it splits into a vicious grin.

“Waiting for a meal,” he growls in a voice full of gravel and nails.

With a speed that definitely isn’t human, his hand darts out and closes in the front of Alex’s shirt, hauling him nearly off his feet as he swings around toward the building. The back of Alex’s head slams into the brick wall when he’s shoved up against it, and he gasps as stars burst in his vision. Trying to blink them away, he struggles against the man’s hold, but the single hand might as well be pressing with a thousand pounds against his chest.

“Mm,” the man hums, leaning in close to Alex’s neck as his other hand comes up to press just above Alex’s collarbones, icy cold where they dig into soft flesh. “He’s always had good taste, I’ll give him that.”

Alex digs his fingernails into the unyielding wrist, choking as his vision swims. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of gleaming white. Fangs.

So vampires are fucking real. Alex would feel vindicated if he wasn’t scared absolutely shitless. Fuck, if he gets himself turned undead, June’s never going to let him hear the end of it—

The vampire jerks backward, as if struck by an invisible blow. A second later, Alex realizes that he wasn’t struck but dragged away by another person. Tall. Blond. Blue eyes almost glowing in the low light. And absolutely covered in blood that’s spraying everywhere as he draws a gleaming knife across the vampire’s neck. A horrible gurgling keen pierces the night for a split second, only to be cut off when Henry drives a wooden stake up under the vampire’s ribs and into his heart.

The only sound that breaks the dreadful silence that follows is the ragged sound of Alex’s breathing.

“What,” he croaks out, “the fuck.”

Henry kneels by the vampire’s supine form, an odd sort of regretful expression on his face. “I’ve been hunting him for a long time,” he mutters before he glances up at Alex again. “You’ll want to look away for this part.”

Alex doesn’t need to be told twice, nor does he let himself think about what Henry might be doing back there. He hums to himself to drown out any sounds, staring up at the stars, until he feels a gentle hand brush his shoulder.

“I thought they turned to dust when you staked them?” Alex asks. The vampire’s boots are just visible out of the corner or his eye.

“A common myth,” Henry says, a little wryly. “Are you all right, love?”

Alex clears his throat and narrowly resists reaching up to touch his own neck as the endearment lands squarely in the middle of his chest and sends out warm fingers that chase away the lingering chill from the vampire’s grip. “Fine,” he says. “Though it’s possible I have a mild concussion? I don’t know how else to explain what just happened. Are you some kind of vampire hunter?”

“Monsters, more broadly. Vampires are the most common, though.” Henry gives a small, humorless laugh. “The family business.”

“Fuck,” Alex says. “I just thought y’all were in, like, marketing or something.”

“You thought I worked nights… in marketing?” Henry asks dubiously.

“I didn’t really think about it that hard, ok?” Alex huffs. “Can we go back to the part where you saved me from a vampire?”

Henry’s face crumples. “I’m sorry, Alex. I should have known he’d go after you.”

“Hey,” Alex says gently, “it’s not your fault.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Henry says, his lips twisting bitterly. “He had a penchant for turning people that I… care about. I think he liked the sport of it. It’s part of why I’ve not let myself get too close to anyone in years.”

“Oh,” Alex breathes as the implications of all of that sink in. “You care about me.”

Henry gives him a look like he’s being ridiculous. “To a rather dangerous degree, as it turns out. I nearly got you killed. Or worse.”

Alex moves before he even knows what he’s doing, grabbing Henry on both sides of his face and hauling him into a bruising kiss. It’s a little awkward because of the angle and the fact that Henry freezes, but a second later he’s kissing Alex back just as desperately. He does not, however, put his hands anywhere on Alex’s body, which is as disconcerting as it is disappointing.

“Why aren’t you touching me, baby?” Alex nearly whines, his lips still brushing Henry’s. He’s shaking now, whether from the adrenaline crash or the terror of realizing how close he came to death finally catching up to him is hard to say, but he’s pretty sure he’s going to die if he allows more than an inch of space between them right now.

Henry makes a sound like he’s been wounded. “I’m covered in blood, darling,” he protests, though he punctuates it with another kiss. “Don’t want to get it on you.”

“I don’t care about the fucking blood, hold me, please—”

Turns out, there’s nothing in the world that feels better than being wrapped up in Henry’s strong arms.

~~~~~

“I can’t believe you thought I was a vampire.”

“C’mon, baby. You kinda fit the profile.”

“Only because the entirety of your knowledge of vampires comes from films.”

“And Buffy.”

“Oh, of course. An unassailable source. Why on Earth do I put up with this?”

“Because you love me?”

“Mm.” Henry kisses him, soft and slow. “That must be it.”

[shannonsketches]

Why is the anime so weird, it's not even the same series dude?? It's like,

Anime:

GOKU: I have a great idea to bring peace to the universe, and my leadership and compassion alone will unite us all. I have No Flaws and am A True Relatable Everyman :)

VEGETA: NO! I AM THE BEST AND I WILL CAUSE PROBLEMS UNTIL I AM RECOGNIZED AS SUCH!!!!

Manga:

GOKU: Vegeta what's cornmeal made of? I know it's what the corn eats, but what's it made of? VEGETA: Hey Kakarot let's play the quiet game until one of us dies.

[stardustedknuckles]

Memory loss associated with Adhd has got to be the stupidest and cruelest symptom because without fail it's like. Me wavering on whether I should take my meds every single time, followed by sitting on my dumb ass three hours later going "wow, I'm actually feeling emotions and connected to people I've loved and lost and I feel capable of facing the complicated grief and emotions associated with a lot of those memories. I wonder why that - oh. Right. I'm a whole idiot."

[mlobsters]

supernatural s1e1 pilot (w. eric kripke) part 1 (part 2)

I can't do this alone. Yes, you can. Yeah. Well, I don't want to.

will he stay or will he go part 6 of ?

[normalbrothers]

i don't think gifted kid programs here really exist - maybe they i did while i was in school and just wasn't aware or maybe they do now - beyond specific cases where a child displays genius levels of intelligence (<- also flawed in a way), but i think being repeatedly told you are special and smart even if you weren't taught discipline and how to take notes and are now floundering in college (as if going to college/university isn't also a huge privilege) is still a better more dignified academic fate than being repeatedly told you are an idiot loser with no hope

[ectonurites]

SUPER DARK TIMES (2017) DIR KEVIN PHILLIPS